by Zuko, Joseph
It was the infected blood of the man he’d beaten to death with the butt of his gun. After his third failed attempt to undo the same button, Michael couldn’t take it anymore and ripped off his shirt. Plastic discs pinged across his desk and landed on the floor. He wrestled his arms from the sleeves and tossed the shirt into the trashcan. Michael pumped four squirts of Purell onto his palm and rubbed his hands together. He went back for more and worked the sanitizer onto every square inch of exposed skin.
He wanted to scrub three layers off his epidermis or dip his entire body into a boiling vat of water. Whichever would get him the cleanest. He went to the pump for even more sanitizer and ran it through his hair like mousse.
Exactly how is this infection spread?
Is it only bites?
If I get enough of the infected blood on me could I become like them? His hands trembled as he reached for the bottle of Purell and twisted off its top. He shook a few ounces loose and rubbed it on himself. His hair was slicked back with sanitizer. His face glazed. The disinfectant stinging his eyes. He watched himself in the mirror as he applied more. The bottle was half empty now and he beheld a crazy man. A sopping wet mess stared back at him.
“I never want to leave this room,” he said as he sat the bottle on his dresser. He plopped into his chair. His fingers fidgeted around on his desk. Idle hands. He pointed at his reflection and spoke as if it were Brother Paul sitting across from him. “I will not step a single foot outside this building. Not ever again. I don’t care what you say. God himself couldn’t make me move.” His voice broke. “I am not a soldier.” Fear had a stranglehold on him. The adrenaline his body produced on the battlefield had vacated his system. The growing sense of his weaknesses and insignificance festered into a full-blown panic attack.
“How am I going to get through today? Or the next week? I won’t make it.” He hyperventilated and broke into a sweat. “I can’t become one of those things out there. I can’t handle the pain.” His fist encircled a black stapler. He flung it at the mirror. The reflective surface shattered on impact. The sound the shards made as they scattered across the floor put him on edge. Like a hard slap to the face, it got him thinking clearly. It wasn’t the fear of pain that scared him to his core. It was the knowledge he was no longer in control. That was what bothered him the most. Control was a drug to Caruthers and he craved it like an addict.
“Maybe I am not in charge of my life, but I am completely in control of my death.” Michael tugged at the center drawer of his desk, dug under a stack of papers and found what he was searching for. He lifted the pocket knife and slammed the drawer shut. He flicked it open. Since it had never been used the stainless-steel blade was spotless and razor sharp.
“What am I doing?” He set the knife on the desk and stared at it as if the thing might spring to life and get him. There it was. His two choices. Live or die. Survive in this painful and disgusting hell for the next few days or do something about it.
Can I do it? Can I take my own life? He contemplated.
He lifted the knife. “It would mean an eternity in Hell as Lucifer’s plaything.” He touched the cold steel to his skin. The blade seemed heavier than before. Perhaps it was already carrying the burden of his suicide. He scoffed at the thought. He didn’t believe in such nonsense. He figured his mind must be playing tricks on him. He wasn’t even sure he truly believed in hell.
Devils with pitchforks? Brimstone and fire? Clearly these were mere stories designed to scare children into behaving.
He set the edge to his wrist. “It couldn’t be worse than what is happening outside.”
The knob on the door twisted.
A second later Scott stood in Michael’s office. Scott’s expression went slack. He slammed the door closed and raged. “What are you doing?”
Brother Paul tossed the shovel from the grave. “This will have to do,” he said to himself or to Dana’s corpse, it was unclear who he was communicating with. He climbed from the chest high opening in the ground. His lungs expanded and contracted quickly as they labored for oxygen. He got to his knees and rubbed his raw hands. He reached for Dana’s body. He was going to need someone’s help to lower her into the grave. Above him, high in the clouds, a bright light flashed and there was a tremendous clap. The sky opened and down came the rain.
Brother Paul sung a mournful tune. “… to wash the spider out.”
Chapter 3
Leon slowed the bus to a crawl. They crept along the highway toward a microscopic, one stop sign town by the name of Hockinson. There was no police station, fire department or post office. Six businesses resided on the main drag and five of them were in the same small building.
“The last bit of civilization before we reach the homestead,” said Karen as she moved forward to the front of the bus. She hovered above Leon’s shoulder. “That’s the place I was talking about.” She pointed at a general store called, Hockinson Market, on the corner next to the one stop sign. A painting of a friendly cow hung from the storefront window. Inside the rest of the building was an office for used cars. A gravel lot to the left held an assortment of vehicles with bright neon price tags on the windshields. The lot held fifteen rides, max. Squeezed in next to the auto sales was a chiropractic office, a massage spa and a yoga studio. The four businesses took up only one-third of the structure. Karen wished there was time to stop in for a massage. Someone with magic fingers and the power to relieve every ounce of stress in her body. The knots in her back felt like they were waging war against her spine.
The masseuse probably called in dead today.
They scanned the area. There appeared to be zero infected. The intersection held no burned-out cars. No dead bodies. The coast was clear. A small elementary school sat across the street from the store. The lot was free of vehicles. On the opposite corner from the school was a small gray building with a rollup garage door labeled Hockinson Auto Works. A few classic cars sat out front. A 57’ Chevy caught her eye. It reminded her of Stephen King’s, Christine. Beyond that lay empty fields, half built McMansions and a massive abandoned building that was once a church. Tall trees filled the spaces in between. Everything was lush, green, and full of life. The Northwest at its best. A breeze pushed in from the east and set their limbs in motion. The place was frozen in time, as if the twenty-first century was still decades away.
Sara moved in behind Karen and nodded at the school. “Good, they got an early enough warning to evacuate the kids. I wasn’t in the mood to take down anymore tiny zombies.” She slung Frank’s old shoulder harness across her back.
Karen’s jaw dropped as she faced the woman, “What?”
Sara adjusted the harness to fit her slight frame and said, “Don’t ask. It was… don’t ask.” She slid a Beretta into each holster under her armpits and snapped everything into place. Dark red stains covered the shoulder straps and ruined the perfect brown leather. Both ladies did their best to ignore the gore that was once their friend, Frank.
Karen tapped Leon’s arm. “Try and get as close as you can to the front door.”
He glanced up at her with a frown. “You wanna stop for a Twinkie? Shouldn’t we keep moving?”
“Jim’s parents have a good-sized pantry full of food, but we are about to show up with six adults and two kids. We’ll burn through the stockpile in two weeks. By then this place will be picked clean.”
“So, you want to do a little looting, sis?” asked Troy. His voice sounded lighter than it had all morning.
“Exactly.”
Jim’s face was pale. His eyes closed. He sat in a seat next to his girls. A smile inched across his lips. “I got to do some looting yesterday. It was great. You guys are gonna love it.”
Leon nuzzled the rig within ten feet of the front door. Between them and the store was a low metal canopy. It covered an old timey gas pump. He put the bus in neutral and hit the parking brake.
“What’s the plan?” asked Leon as he peered into the store’s dark windows.
Karen thought about it. “I don’t want any mishaps. No needless deaths.” She glanced at Leon. He nodded in agreement. It was only last evening when they went on the hunt for a car to hotwire. It ended with spilled blood and tears. Karen checked her sidearm as she continued. “We should try and keep it quiet. Noise attracts them. Leon, kill the engine.” She slapped the full magazine into the bottom of her Ruger.
Leon reached for the key. “Shouldn’t we be ready to roll in a flash?”
“We need to keep this as quiet as possible.” Karen glanced at everyone on the bus. Sara and Troy both had their guns ready. Leon turned the key and the engine went silent.
Jim cleared his throat. He spoke with his eyelids shut and fought to ignore the pain in his shoulder, ankle, nose and forehead. “Give the front door a hard tap, then listen for movement. I’d also check to make sure there is a back door. It’s a good idea to find all the exits.”
Karen bobbed her head. “Everyone got it?”
They grunted in agreement.
Shawna climbed from her seat and headed for the front.
Sara’s palm wrapped around one of her Berettas. “Where are you going?”
“With you… to help load out supplies.” Shawna’s hands rested on her hips.
Sara spoke a little louder. “Can we trust her?”
The sound of Jim’s heavy breathing filled the bus. A full minute passed without a single word from the group. Everyone except Jim stared at the new girl. Dried blood from her fallen friends caked Shawna’s hair to the side of her skull. Her clothes were also soaked in red. She wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, but her conviction was clear.
Shawna took a step forward. “If I had my choice, yeah, I’d be back at my church. Unfortunately, that’s not how it went down.” Her jaw quivered for a second, then she motioned to Jim. “I didn’t have to fix him. I could have let him bleed to death, but I didn’t.” She took another step. “If you’re going to force me to come along, then I should have a chance to help. I want to survive this madness as much as you do.” She matched each of their stares. “I can tell you are good people. Let me earn my keep.”
Karen tongued a split in her lip. “Sara, did you grab that baseball bat?”
Sara let go of her pistol. “The one Jim taped the knives to, yeah. It’s in the last row.”
Karen examined the end of the bus. “You can use it to protect yourself, but if you get twitchy or act in a way I don’t like… I’ll drop you. Without any warning.” Karen heard herself. She sounded like a completely different human.
Shawna swallowed hard and said, “Fair enough.” She reversed her direction, and mid-step Jim caught her by the wrist.
His eyelids opened slowly as he tilted his head. He spoke softly and said, “Thank you.” The grip on her wrist wasn’t forceful or angry, more like the first attempt to offer an olive branch.
The two little girls next to Jim smiled so brightly at her it was contagious. They were so happy to be sitting next to their Daddy.
Shawna couldn’t stop herself, she smiled back at their adorable tiny faces. “You’re welcome.”
He held her for only a few seconds more, then let go. He draped his arm around the two girls and pulled them closer to his side. “You need any help carrying in the bags, Sweetheart.” Jim jokingly called to his wife.
“No, baby. Your mission is to watch the girls. Honk if there’s a problem and don’t let anyone jack the bus.” Karen took the first step down into the doorway.
“I’m the perfect man for the job.” Jim gave her a half-hearted salute.
Leon lifted his rifle from the dash as he rose from the driver’s seat.
“Leon, can you hang here for a little?” Asked Karen.
“Why?” Leon tuned into a hurt puppy dog. “Put me in coach, I’m ready to play.”
Karen let half of a grin slip. She reached for the lock. “If we lost you, we wouldn’t have a driver.” She popped the lock and raised her gun. “I’ll let you hit the field, once it’s safe.”
“Alright,” said Leon as he dropped his butt on the captain’s chair.
Troy stood at the top of the steps. “Hey, normally ladies go first, but ya think you can let me act like the big brother here and allow me to lead this excursion?”
“Lead on.” Karen opened the door and turned her body so Troy could slip through.
Two seconds after his feet hit the concrete there was a bright flash above them, followed by a loud thunder clap. Then the rain came in droves. Heavy drops plunked against the metal canopy.
“Perfect,” said Troy as he turned his baseball cap backwards. Now he meant business. Gun raised, he smoothly pivoted one-eighty, as the others climbed from the bus.
“Stay safe,” said Leon as he shut and locked the door behind them.
Karen’s heart rate climbed. Being out in the open made her a nervous wreck, like juggling flaming battleaxes on a tightrope above a fully loaded shark tank. As Karen stepped closer to the store, she kept Shawna in her peripherals and hoped to God she made the right choice. Trust was a hard thing to earn in this new environment. She caught a glimpse of her features in the glass door of the store. Her lips and jaw were swollen. Hate burned in her heart for the man who had punched her lights out, but she didn’t have to worry about him anymore.
He’s a maggot farm, now. That’s when it hit Karen. Her rage for Eric was projected toward this new girl.
I’ll hash it out with her later. Now it was time to stay sharp.
Karen peered over her shoulder at the bus. The little ones watched from the windows. She gave them a wink and thumbs up.
Troy tucked his shotgun tight to his armpit. “Shall we check the place, before we knock?”
“Sounds good,” said Sara as she stepped onto a ramp that led to the spa and car sales part of the store. The rooms on the other side of the windows were pitch black. Sara tapped the barrel of Frank’s SKS against the glass. The sound echoed down the street. She reached for the door. Locked.
Troy scratched at his beard, “Sara and I’ll check the back of the building. You two stay here and keep an eye out.” Troy charged into the rain. He was soaked to the bone in a matter of seconds.
Sara kept on his heels as they rounded the corner of the building. In front of them was the small car lot. Troy kept moving. They jogged to the back corner of the building. Troy came to a full stop. Sara stood hip to hip with him as he peered around the corner.
Sara whispered, “What is it?”
He kept his voice low, “Two, munching on a third. They didn’t spot me.”
Sara raised one eyebrow, “What do you want to do, blast them quick or take them down quietly?”
Troy crunched the numbers. “They’ve got their backs to us. In this rain, if we move like ninjas, they may not hear us.”
“Then what?”
Troy slung his shotgun to his back and produced a knife from a sheath on his hip. “We carve them like a juicy ham on Easter.”
Sara slid her head through the SKS’s strap and positioned it across her back. She grabbed her knife and followed Troy’s lead.
The infected crouched around the dead body with their backs to the humans. They ate feverishly and slurped up the gore like it was ice cream. There was thirty-feet of open ground between them and the monsters. They stepped lightly, letting the rain mask the sound of their footfalls.
One of the infected zombies wore overalls. The words Hockinson’s Auto Shop were stenciled between its broad shoulders. The other infected was half its size. It sported a messy ponytail and wore a bright pink sweater.
There wasn’t much body left. Its skull was picked clean. Only a few strips of muscle held it into place. The dead body had on a pair of gray slacks and matte black dress shoes.
Fifteen-feet away from the disgusting meal and Troy and Sara were hit in the face by a wall of foul stench. They must have ripped open the dead man’s intestines, or they had a nasty load in their underwear, either way it was like getting slapped in the nose b
y a recently used adult diaper.
Troy kept his mouth open and stopped breathing through his nostrils.
Sara buried her face in the crook of her arm.
They inched closer and closer.
They hovered above the two zombies and stayed out of arms reach. The scene was rancid. The rain had begun to dilute the blood and wash it toward the drain, but it made everything slimier. The goop was goopier. The torn flesh, fleshier.
They locked eyes. Troy held out three fingers. Then Two. One.
They thrusted their knives into the base of the zombie’s skulls and it was lights out. The bodies slumped over the corpse. The lot went quiet except for the rain.
Sara rotated on the balls of her feet. Ready for round two. “I think that’s all of them.”
Troy wiped his knife on the pink sweater to remove the black sludge, before placing the blade in its sheath. “We make a good team, darling,” said Troy as he ran his hand across his face and brushed away the excess water.
Sara cleaned her knife on the mechanic’s overalls. Her grin grew a little larger. “Let’s keep moving.”
The only exit on this side of the building was a rollup garage door. Troy gave the metal entrance a good hard tug. It was locked solid. “Nothing’s coming in this way.”
“Alright let’s go do some looting,” Sara took off in a sprint. She was eager to fill her belly with junk food.
Shawna pointed at the front of the store. Blood leaked from under the door. A dried puddle pooled on the first step.
Karen cupped a hand around her face and pressed her nose to the pane. The aisles appeared untouched. The store was tiny. It perfectly matched the size of the town.
Then she saw it. A large body lay face down in its own blood.
Something appeared on the other side of the glass. It had rings of black around its eyes and red lips. It moved within a few inches of Karen and terrified the shit out of her.
“Fuck!” Karen cursed as she backed away from the window. She aimed her pistol at the ghoul. “Something’s in there.”