The Good, the Dead, and the Lawless: The Undoing

by Archer, Angelique

  Brett set the bat down, opting for the more effective weapon. He pulled the slide back slightly, making sure there was a round in the chamber. Then he scanned the hallway for anything suspicious.

  When he felt it was safe, he moved quickly through the house, feeling much more at ease with his Glock.

  He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the mangled door to the garage hanging haphazardly from one of the three hinges.

  ***

  “Did you hear that?” Rosemary asked hoarsely into the dim room.

  Faith crawled over to the attic door, dust swirling around the cramped space as she moved. She was shocked that she could even hear anything after listening to the undead moan hungrily for them for hours on end.

  She crouched low to the floor and listened. Upon hearing a familiar male voice, she looked up excitedly. “It’s Brett!”

  “Let him in. Hurry,” Rosemary replied, wiping a thin layer of perspiration from her forehead. Her skin was clammy and pale.

  Faith pushed the attic ladder down and rushed to meet her brother.

  As soon as she ran into his arms, she began to cry.

  Brett held her as the two walked up the steps, then he reached back and pulled up the ladder.

  “Hey,” he said soothingly, “don’t cry, kiddo. Haven will be alright. I’m going to cover her.”

  Faith shook her head, realizing he didn’t understand why she was upset. She sadly looked behind her. His eyes followed her gaze, widening when he saw his grandmother. Rosemary was breathing heavily, her figure slumped against the slanted ceiling. In a flash, he was kneeling beside her.

  Brett gently lifted his grandmother’s arm and turned to Faith helplessly for an explanation, his mouth open, but unable to utter a word.

  “No,” he whispered, trying to hold back tears.

  Rosemary feebly stroked his face. “My handsome grandson. Don’t you worry about me. Help Haven.”

  ***

  The moans of the undead behind her carried loudly on the wind. The drone of it was overwhelming and caused her breath to quicken and her strides to become uneven. Haven was almost back at her grandmother’s house when she stopped. She could faintly hear her sister’s voice above the moaning. She was screaming for her to hurry.

  Haven felt a wave of panic hit her hard as she looked ahead.

  Apparently, she had created enough noise to attract not only her block, but the remaining half mile of the neighborhood. While there were maybe fifty or sixty houses total in their rural location, Haven was facing over two hundred zombies, and the gap between them was closing steadily. Fresher, newer zombies half-skipped, half-shambled towards her with limbs not as stiff as their older counterparts.

  She glanced at the metal chair leg, frustrated that it was her only means of protection. She missed having a gun in her hands. While she could have easily outrun a few of them, their sheer numbers were enough to make escape impossible. There was no way that she could avoid coming into contact with them on her way to the house, no matter which direction she took. Being forced into close combat with the monsters heavily increased her chances of being bitten, and she begrudgingly wished in vain for a full suit of chainmail.

  Haven began a quick sprint towards her grandmother’s. She was good at sprints. The time in which she had managed to run the three hundred meter sprint for the FBI personal fitness test had been her strong point. She forced her mind to focus and pretended as though she was running for the test again.

  She had just jumped over two overturned trash cans when the first of the creatures reached her, but she didn’t even have to turn around to know it was there. The smell hit her before anything else.

  A large man in coveralls lunged at her with jaws agape. She dodged its groping hands, rolled to the ground, and struck out with her booted leg at its knee, kicking viciously until she felt it snap. It fell down unceremoniously, but its lifeless gaze never left her. She leaned over and plunged the chair leg into its rotting left eye. Haven didn’t have time to grimace when gooey, green pus dribbled out. As she scrambled to her feet, four new zombies were kneeling down to grab her.

  She rolled sideways, bracing herself in a push-up position with her arms as she lashed out at them with all of her might until she was several feet from their grasp. Her boots smashed their decaying, uncoordinated bodies, easily sending them backwards, but the impact didn’t put them down for good. They wheezed and groaned as they reached for her again.

  It wasn’t until a gunshot cracked noisily a few inches away, the bullet hitting a teenage boy with its teeth hovering above her shoulder that she realized just how much danger she was in. Haven was relieved that her mouth had been closed when the boy’s head exploded beside her. Bits of brain clustered in her hair and on her cheeks, but she had no choice except to ignore it and move forward.

  She picked up a trash can lid and began using it as a shield as she plowed through the growing masses. She was close enough to the house that she could hear her brother and sister screaming at her. Several shots echoed past her ears, but she didn’t look back. She could only focus on the ghouls that were ahead of her, blocking her path.

  A thick knot of six zombies had made it to the driveway before she did. Haven hit the first one, a middle-aged man in a tattered business suit, in the temple with the chair leg, lifting the trash can lid to her right to avoid the snapping jaws of a portly mechanic who had lived down the road and worked on Rosemary’s car whenever it had problems.

  Two shots rang out, one bullet making contact with the skull of Chris, a neighbor whom Haven had had a crush on as a girl. The other hit the shoulder of her grandmother’s old friend and gardening buddy, Lil. She knew the first shot was undoubtedly from her brother. The second more than likely came from her nervous sister, who was not the best marksman, especially under pressure.

  For a split second, she wondered why her grandmother was not shooting with them. She was just as good of a shot as her brother.

  More surrounded Haven, but she didn’t have enough strength to kill each zombie that attempted to attack her; she was lucky if she even had the energy to push them back. Haven’s muscles began to give out on her as she fought the normally clumsy zombies, but with the promise of food so close, they were determined and relentless. Her arm holding the makeshift shield started to droop, and her blows to their skulls became weaker and less effective. She was even having difficulty yanking the chair leg free from their heads. If she didn’t make a run for it soon and take the risk of getting bitten as she pushed through them, she was going to be torn apart in a matter of seconds.

  Haven had just plunged her weapon into the eye of Kelley O’Brien, the mother of Jake and Amy, when the zombie reared its head back before Haven had a chance to retrieve her weapon. If she darted after it, she would be bitten in at least half a dozen places by other rabid monsters. With both hands securely holding the front of the trash can lid, she summoned up the last of her energy to slam into the zombies surrounding her.

  Their odor was overwhelming, almost suffocating. She felt nails scrape over her jacket as she ran, gnarled fingers snapping as she twisted away from them. Something jerked her backwards by her long hair, and she cried out in agony as she tore free, feeling the strands rip away from her scalp.

  More gunshots boomed behind her.

  She kept running until she reached the end of the driveway. She knew that she didn’t have enough time to climb through the broken windows because they would follow her in an instant. Instead, she threw the lid down and reached for the rusty old metal trellis covered in ivy and honeysuckle.

  Haven yelled in frustration when the toe of her boot wouldn’t fit into the grooves of the trellis. She jumped as high as she could and began pulling herself up using only her arms. Her limbs burned from the effort, and she almost thought she wouldn’t make it, but her training for the FBI fitness test once again showed its priceless value.

  With a final burst of energy, sheer determination to get to her family pumping adre
naline through her veins, Haven scurried up three-fourths of the way just as several sets of hands grabbed hold of her right boot. She yelped in alarm as she felt her body being roughly yanked lower along the trellis. Glaring down at her attackers, her eyes widened in horror as one of them moved towards her calf with jaws wide open. She kicked wildly, hitting one in the face and knocking it back a step or two, its overripe skin sloughing off onto her boot, but its hands remained steadfastly wrapped around her leg.

  More were starting to flood the driveway. Haven’s energy was practically non-existent. Her fingers began to slip, and she screamed in anger as she tried to free herself from the zombies’ clutches.

  She was halfway down the trellis when she felt two strong hands grab her wrists. She looked up in surprise to see Brett on his stomach, pulling her towards him. Faith stood beside him with the Glock, shooting the zombies nearest her sister, missing a few, but for the most part, making headshots thanks to the pinpoint accuracy of the laser. The hands groping her boot fell away.

  “I got ya, Sis,” he reassured her. With renewed energy, Haven climbed up the last few feet of the trellis and collapsed on the roof.

  “That was close,” she gasped, lying on her back as she attempted to slow her breathing. “Next time, you get to round ‘em up.”

  She moved to her knees and looked out over the edge of the roof. A sea of undead faces stared up at them. The front yard was filled with zombies, and many were already in the house, pulling themselves over shards of glass as they struggled to find a new way to the humans. Her mind wandered, and for a moment, she wondered if her home would simply collapse from the onslaught.

  Haven backed away slowly and rose to her feet. “Upon reflection, I’m not sure this was the best idea.”

  “Haven, it worked. We’re inside with Faith, Grandma, and our supplies. That’s all that matters,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze.

  He took the Glock from his sister and walked back to the small window of the attic. Haven noticed that Faith hadn’t said a word to her since she climbed onto the roof. There was a distinct sadness in both of their eyes.

  Haven furrowed her brows and grabbed his arm. “What’s going on?”

  Faith had gone to the other side of the roof. Haven could still make out her muffled sobs over the loud drone of the zombies.

  “Brett, what is it?” she persisted impatiently.

  He looked away and wiped his eyes. “It’s Grandma. She was bitten.”

  Chapter 21:

  Colin was genuinely enjoying the peace and quiet since he woke up. He was even more enthused that he had found the hidden shelter and that the zombies following him had wandered off.

  At first, he had been hesitant to venture out of the tiny cabin again considering his near-death experience from the night before. However, there wasn’t much food in the cupboards, and a few cans could only last a grown man his size so long.

  He peeled back the aluminum foil on the window and peered out. Not one zombie in sight. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and walked over to the small pile of clothes thrown haphazardly by the door. Lazily pulling on his kilt and wrapping himself in the woolen blanket on the bed, he decided to go fishing and picked up a fishing pole that he had spotted the night before in the corner of the cabin.

  He climbed out of the window. It was chilly outside, but the prospect of a warm meal cooked over a nice fire was impossible to resist.

  Colin knelt down at the side of the house and dug around for some bait for the fish, as he figured they really wouldn’t appreciate peaches. After a few minutes, he tossed a couple of earth worms into a can and walked to the beach, his bare feet padding along the cool sand.

  He began to put a worm on the rusty hook. He didn’t flinch as the white, red, and yellow goo oozed out of the worm when he pierced its skin. It always reminded him of mayonnaise mixed with ketchup and mustard. His fingers sticky, he cast the line out a ways, sat down, and leaned forward to rest his forearms against his knees.

  He remembered his last fishing trip, as a child with his father. Colin had gotten pretty good at fishing from Jack’s detailed guidance. He recalled the times his mother used to pack them a hearty lunch before they drove off in the old car to his father’s secret fishing spot.

  Colin felt another wave of loneliness. He made friends wherever he went, and over the years, he had rarely spent one night alone thanks to an endless supply of female companionship. It wasn’t that he minded having a bit of solitude; it provided him time to reflect on his past, a subject he’d never given much thought to before, including the pleasant memories spent with his deceased father. What did bother him was that he felt like he was the last human being out there, that he might end up a lonesome old man, unless one of the bloody zombies got to him first, of course. This was unacceptable.

  A tug on his pole brought him back to the present. He started to reel his catch in when he paused. A far-away noise captured his attention. A pop... crack? What was that?

  The strange sound echoed across the lake. He slowly rose to his feet. Why hadn’t he noticed it before?

  Gunfire. Lots of it.

  Perhaps he wasn’t the only living person on the continent after all.

  ***

  Haven hadn’t said much for a while. She sat in a corner of the attic, Rosemary’s head in her lap. She had spent several hours at her grandmother’s side, holding her hand and wiping her brow with a dampened towel until Rosemary fell asleep. She looked so small and frail under the dusty blanket, nothing like the strong and capable “Renaissance” woman Haven had known all of her life.

  Because of this, she knew that Rosemary was dying.

  Haven took a few sips from a bottle of water and looked around. Everyone was silent, their eyes mindlessly focused on the wooden floor. The glow from a few candles illuminated their haggard expressions, full of despair.

  Faith stared numbly out the window, her listless expression a reminder of the hopelessness of their situation. Haven glowered at her from where she sat. She had asked her sister how her grandmother had been bitten, and Faith had tearfully recounted the story to her, how it was her fault, that she should have come to her aid sooner. She had been afraid, and that fear had paralyzed her.

  Haven had been livid. In spite of Faith’s repeated apologies, Haven viciously blamed her. Deep down she knew she was wrong to do so, but her emotions got the better of her, and she refused to think any other way. If Faith had helped her grandmother more quickly, they wouldn’t be counting down the hours until Rosemary passed and subsequently turned into one of them.

  She leaned back against the wooden beams and listened to the rabid wail of the undead as they swarmed the house. The moaning of each combined to become a guttural roar that Haven was certain would attract more from the surrounding neighborhoods. Their numbers were quickly multiplying as the hours wore on, and their supplies wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, they would need to forage for food and water. But for now, how they were going to leave the confines of the house was beyond her.

  She couldn’t think about anything else, but that she was losing her grandmother. Her temples throbbed as she tried to focus.

  What would they do when Rosemary turned? Putting her grandparent down like a rabid dog seemed impossible. On the other hand, tying her up to prevent her from infecting someone else was perhaps inhumane and definitely dangerous. It would also be the undoing of everyone to watch her once kind, grandmotherly visage twisted and snarling, struggling against her bonds to reach them.

  She carefully set Rosemary’s head on a rolled up towel and rose to her feet. Swishing aside some old cobwebs, she walked over to her brother, trying to tread lightly to avoid making excessive noise that would stir up the creatures in the house.

  “Brett,” she said softly, crouching down to the one person whose advice she trusted most.

  “Hey,” he answered, not looking up from his gun as he cleaned it.

  “I’ve been thinking about what we should do,” sh
e began. “We can’t stay here forever. And Grandma...” Her voice trailed off.

  “I know.”

  Haven looked at the floor, her boot tracing little lines into the dusty wood.

  Brett watched her foot for a moment, then stared up at her. “Haven, you need to stop blaming Faith. It’s not her fault.”

  Haven ran a hand through her hair. “All she had to do was defend her; that was it. No rescue missions, no supply runs. Just stay home and protect our grandmother. She couldn’t even handle that.”

  “Hey, I don’t think that’s fair. You’ve seen those things. They’re terrifying. Remember the first time you saw one? And you know how Faith is... What were you expecting? Rambo? Besides, you couldn’t have known that she would actually need to defend Grandma. Who would have thought this would have reached us so quickly?” Her brother had a point, but her anger prevented her from acknowledging it.

  Haven exhaled and pulled her jacket around her. The sun had almost disappeared over the horizon, and the nights were quickly getting colder. She reached out and held her hands over the tiny flame of the candle.

  “I’m just so frustrated that I can’t do anything to reverse this. I’m so angry,” she confided, her voice barely above a hushed whisper.

  Brett set the Glock on the floor. “You have to forgive her. I mean, to be honest, I was pretty pissed at you for what you did to Phillip. But,” he added, “I’ve thought about it some. You did the right thing. He was dead already.”

  “Maybe. I can’t do that to Grandma though. She’s family, Brett.” Haven wiped away a tear and bit her lip to stifle any more from falling.

  Brett put an arm around her, but sounded weary and despondent as he spoke. “I don’t have an answer right now.”

  Haven knew he had to be exhausted and hungry. Her own stomach grumbled, but she couldn’t think about food. “We should eat some dinner. What’ll it be, refried beans, tuna fish on crackers, Girl Scout cookies?”