The Last in Line

by Thom Erb

  I Speed At Night

  Intersection of Rt. 441 and 250

  Penfield, New York.

  They had driven barely twenty five minutes when a sudden flash of the Camaro’s red brake lights washed the inside of the truck, blinding Warren as he reflexively slammed on the brakes. He threw an arm out to prevent Elton and Maico from crashing into the dashboard. The lab let out a quick yelp.

  The truck shuttered and slammed into the rear-end of Dex's Camaro snowplow first. Followed by a loud sound of rented metal and the bitter stench of burning carpet erupted as the brake pads screeched and smoke filled the chilly air.

  The Camaro spun wildly out of control, as if on ice, and slammed into a pack of vehicles at the intersection. The violent collision caused the stout muscle car to spin, sending it down a slick embankment. Its tires left deep trenches in the mucky grass. It smashed with a loud crash into a telephone pole at the bottom of the hill. A large plume of white smoke filled the night air, and a quick flash of fire followed.

  In a flash, Warren leaped from the truck, Maico hot on his heels. He made his way down the rain-soaked embankment.

  Dex staggered out of the driver's side and fell into the high grass.

  Warren slid down the slick hill and reached his best friend. He fell to his knees, and checked Dex over the best he knew how. His hands set to work, finding no blood or compound fractures. Maico offered his talented sniffer to double check his master's work.

  “Man, I'm so sorry. You okay?” he asked.

  “Nah, that's cool, dude. I'm good.” Arnie coughed from the passenger side.

  Maico took off toward the sound of his voice, his paws kicking up puddles as he ran.

  “Damn it, dog,” Warren shouted.

  Dex shook his head and wiped his eyes. “You okay?” he asked, wincing.

  Warren turned back and smiled. “Me? Shit, man, I just took out the Blitz. Are you okay?”

  “No...no, quite alright. I’m good. I'm feeling better. I want to go for a walk.” Arnie groaned sarcastically in his best Monty Python voice, then fell to the ground under a bath of Maico's healing licks.

  “While I do hate to bother you all, we could easily spend all night asking who's doing well or not while the hell spawns of Orcus draw closer, gentlemen.” The short stranger wearing the funny hat's shadow loomed over them and said, “Might I suggest we make haste and extricate ourselves from this perilous place.”

  Warren turned, looked up the hill, and he and Dex laughed as a bright fork of lightning filled the dark sky.

  “Gandalf?” Warren and Dex chortled in unison.

  Warren helped Dex to his feet with Maico constantly licking and sniffing out the window.

  “I’m good to go, pooch.” Dex scratched behind the dog’s ears, but Maico didn’t relent.

  “Brilliant, gents. Plucky lads you are. I am quite certain that my old friend, Raoul Tolkien, may he rest in peace, would have been tickled pink to know you did indeed, during the bloody end-of-days, made some rather pedestrian jokes at his expense. Well played, young squires. Well played indeed.” Elton shook his head and returned to the truck.

  “Wait? You knew Tolkien?” Warren asked, sharing a quizzical look with Dex. Then they turned their gaze back up at Elton at the top of the hill, they followed him, shaking their heads up, the rain-slogged embankment, their sneakers sinking into the grassy mud. Once at the top, Warren and Dex saw the stranger as he sipped from a flask. Petting Maico, Arnie leaned against the truck.

  Once they joined the others at the truck, Elton tipped his hat and said. “Aye, lads. That I did. You don’t think he came up with all that brilliant rubbish all on his own did you?”

  Warren and Dex stared at the small man, chins nearly hitting the soggy ground.

  “More of my tales later chaps. Yeah.” Elton smiled wide.

  “Uh, gee, glad you guys are safe,” Warren said, helping Dex to sit next to Arnie.

  “No thanks to you, dude,” Arnie said, tapping the stranger on the shoulder and eyeing the flask. “Hey, don't bogart that, Mr. Wizard.”

  The stranger startled, hesitated, then reluctantly handed Arnie the flask. “Oh, of course. Pardon my rudeness, lad.”

  “Yeah, well, you seem to be doing just fine,

  “Hey, man, I'm so, so sorry about the Blitz. Why the hell did you stop so fast anyway?” Warren asked.

  “I'll live. Just a car, man. Not like it was my brother or anything.” Dex's words dripped with ice.

  Warren felt a knife twist in his heart. Dex's barb bore deep, and Warren wanted to snap back, but he also understood. He caught himself and held his tongue. He turned toward Dex and went quiet as he saw the reason the Blitz now lay smashed down in the watery ditch.

  Dex pointed down the road at the intersection. “That's why.”

  Before them, Routes 250 and 441 laid thick with every make, model, and year of vehicle clogged together tighter than a Gordian Knot. A sea of swaying forms performed their deadly dance. The harsh winds preceded the rotted flesh.

  “What are we going to do now?” Arnie asked.

  Elton leaned between them. The brim of his hat jabbed them in their heads. “Leave. Leave as quickly as the foul winds may spirit us away.”

  “There has to be another way to the Armory, right?” Warren asked, trying desperately to keep a faint trace of hope.

  “You got a map?” Dex asked, turning back toward the truck. Maico followed him and Warren smiled.

  Warren said. “Yeah, I'm sure Dad must have some stuff in the glove box or something.”

  “On it.” Arnie stood up and ran to the door, opened it, and rummaged through the truck.

  The swirling, mother-of-pearl sky twisted and contorted with the chaotic storm as if it prepared for battle. The dead power lines swayed with the attacking storm, and the rain returned in full assault.

  Elton held his hat on his head and slowly walked to the back of the truck, looking from whence they came.

  “What is it, uh, Elton? Is it?” Warren teased, staring at the dark, distant road behind them.

  Elton froze in place, then slightly cocked his head. “I'm not sure, Master Warren, but I'm sensing something.”

  “Yeah, of course. There's only like a gazillion dead things over there ready to strap on their lobster bibs.” Warren let slip a scared laugh.

  “No...no, that's not it. Although those nasty buggers of Orcus will be coming for you soon enough, most assuredly.” Elton turned to face Warren, his face finally in clear view. It was thin, with a slightly large and twisted nose and two deep, blue eyes that were shaped under years of sadness and heavy burdens. With his spastic mane of hair and wide-brimmed hat; it reminded Warren of part pilgrim, part Indiana Jones.

  “Who the hell are you, man?” Warren said.

  Off in the cold distance, ghastly groans and howls of the dead cut like rusty daggers against the wet night.

  “I told you before. I am Dr. Elton Reese Habersham, the—”

  “The third. I know that, but who are you and what is this Child of Light bullshit? Am I one of those...children?” Warren closed in on the small man.

  Warren felt Elton's hand squeeze tighter. “I must keep you safe, Master Warren. I swear I will explain everything and answer any and all of your questions once we find safety. I apologize for keeping you in the dark a bit, but there's just so much to tell you, and out here is not the most conducive of locations. I am sorry.” Elton's face expression turned sad, yet promised hope.

  That was enough for Warren, for now.

  “Okay, Elton. But, man, I can't wait long. You're scaring the hell out of me.” Warren patted Elton on the shoulder and turned back to his friends by the truck.

  “Hell is precisely what I'm worried about, young lad,” Elton said low. But the words didn’t escape Warren’s hearing.

  * * *

  Arnie climbed into the Chevy and opened up the jam-packed glove box. Seeing the radio was on, he turned up the volume and felt a comforting smile cross his fac
e. It was his old morning companion, Capt. Al on WSMF. Arnie loved to listen to the grumpy DJ. He kept him company every morning when he’d be working on his uncle’s farm, milking the cows.

  “Hey, good family. This is Capt. Al, still hanging in there; I sure hope to all hell you’ve gotten your tuchuses over the see Jimmy at the Armory on Main Street. It’s not looking good out there. Those poor folks down there walking around, like they got somewhere to be and not knowing where. From my high perch here, it seems like the number of them dead are growing like shambling weeds, every day. Just sad. Goddamn sad. So many lives just...gone. “The sadness coming from the radio couldn’t be denied. Behind the DJ’s voice came a loud pounding sound. Even the blood-curdling moans of the undead forced their way through the static-filled speakers. “But, enough of that melancholy bullshiz, kids. As you can tell, someone’s knocking on my door. Don’t think I can avoid this much longer.” The DJ’s words were projected in a ghostly whisper, as if he was just thinking out loud. Arnie could tell the man was crying. He too, had to wipe a tear from his eyes.

  “Bah, don’t worry about this old paratrooper. I’m good-to-go. I’ve lived one helluva groovy life. All is more than good. Just get safe while you can, my brothers and sis...”

  The radio crackled and went silent.

  “Ah, shit.” Arnie’s hand found purchase on a map of Rochester, but tears were still streaming down his cold face. He knew the guys weren’t going to like what he knew he wanted to do.

  * * *

  “I'm so very sorry, lad. I know this whole thing seems like a fairy tale, or nightmare, as the case may be, but the Great Creator has shown me you are indeed one of the last Children of the Light. I know all my insane talk about casting spells, demons and such must have you believing I am a true madcap, and while there might be some small truth to that assumption, I swear to you by all that is holy and righteous, I speak the truth.” Elton put his hand on Warren's shoulder and gently squeezed, offering a sincere grin. His sad eyes told Warren he was telling the truth. Warren couldn't explain why, but he just felt it deep down.

  “Ha! Found it,” Arnie said.

  Warren turned toward the truck. Arnie and Dex gathered around a map while Maico stood watch.

  “I found a route to the Armory. It’s a really simple route. But, I think we need to make one pit stop first,” Arnie said.

  “Come on, man. I’m pretty damn sure Country Sweet isn’t open for business anymore.” Dex shook his head.

  “Very funny. No man. No. Ain’t nothing like that.” Arnie was never one for being serious. Even in the toughest of times, Warren couldn’t remember when his friend ever took anything seriously. Even when they flipped his dad’s car coming home from bowling in Newark one night. Arnie could’ve freaked out, but instead after they climbed out of the upturned Ford Escort station wagon, he looked around the cornfield and did a ten-minute set of Robin Williams’ jokes. That was until his father showed up and things got ugly. Like they usually did.

  Warren had always found joy in playing the role of amateur psychologist and he chalked up Arnie’s sense of humor as a defense mechanism and the best way Arnie found to deal with a father with a very hair-trigger temper and an uncontrollable love for the booze.

  “Go on, man. What is it?” Warren asked.

  Arnie’s face flushed red and he leaned against the blade of the snow plow.

  “Out with it, man.” Dex demanded. “We’re sitting ducks out here.”

  “Okay, okay.” Arnie looked up and absently tugged at his thin blonde mustache.

  “It’s Capt. Al. You know, the DJ?”

  Warren said, “Yeah, of course. On ‘SMF.”

  “Yeah, him. Well...” He paused.

  “Jesus, dude.” Dex wore his growing frustration on his face proudly.

  Arnie stood straight and held his chin high. “I think we should go get him.”

  Elton coughed and calmly said. “Gentlemen, I do believe we should be on our way.” Warren caught him looking behind them at the gathering crowd of dead people coming their way.

  “Why? We need to get to the Armory where it’s safe. Not playing hero to some hippie,” Dex said.

  Arnie huffed and his face was turning a darker shade of red for another reason. “Well, Mr. Smart guy, if it wasn’t for the ‘hippie’, we wouldn’t even know the damn Armory existed, for shit’s sake.”

  “Gentlemen?” Elton leaned a little heavier on the word.

  Warren looked from Elton, to Dex and back to Arnie, who now crossed his arms and set to pouting.

  “Man, now I know you’ve always had a fan boy thing for that dude, but we have to think of ourselves now. I don’t think we can risk a side trip for a guy who’s probably already dead. I know it sounds cold, man. ” Dex’s demeanor softened as he put a hand on Arnie’s shoulder. “But we’ve gotta do, what’s best for us. As we have done.”

  Warren knew that last part of Dex’s statement was aimed at him and he felt torn. He agreed with what Dex was saying. It was the most pragmatic and safe. But his heart also ached for Arnie. And weighed painfully heavy with the loss they’d all suffered since the virus took its fatal toll. His mind wrestled with what his two friends argued about, and when Warren’s eyes fell on Arnie’s rain and blood soaked Arcadia Falls Wrestling t-shirt. Peeking at the map of Rochester, splayed out on the hood of the truck, Warren smile.

  “Hey, just don’t stand there; show us what you’re thinking.” Warren stepped quickly to Arnie’s side and looked at the map from his hand and opened it up, and looked for the radio station.

  “Ah, come on, Warren. This is bullshit. Let’s beat feet to the Armory. This is batshit crazy, dude.” Dex protested.

  “Hold on let Arnie speak, man,” Warren pushed.

  “Lads, the dead are mere feet away. I do believe we must make haste. Now!” Elton insisted and headed for the truck’s door.

  After a quick second, Arnie’s finger found both desired locations, and he smiled.”Like I was saying before, we can do both. Look.” He showed them the short distance between the radio station and the Armory. Not more than a block or two away. Arnie slapped the hood and smiled.

  “Let’s go.” Warren folded the map and ran to the truck, “Come on Maico.”

  Arnie snagged the map back, a wide, shit-eating-grin on his round face.

  Maico rubbed against Dex’s leg and howled.

  “Ah, hell with it.” Dex ran his hand through the lab’s wet fur and pushed him toward the truck. “After you, Cujo.”

  “Duuuuude!” Arnie tried to high-five Dex but Dex was already set on leaving.

  The baying of the dead grew louder, and their hell-spawned calls wafted into the maelstrom all around them.

  Warren climbed into the driver's seat. Maico jumped on his lap and crawled clumsily over him. “Sorry to get in your way, your highness.” Warren shoved the dog's hindquarters over to the bench seat.

  “Shotgun!” Arnie called, racing for the passenger side door.

  He was met by Elton, who was already in the seat, beaming a wide smile down at Arnie.

  “But...I have the map,” Arnie said in defeat.

  From behind the truck, came the sound of Dex's cold voice. “Give it up. Just get in the back, man.

  Elton offered Arnie a friendly, taunting wave.

  Maico peered down. His pink tongue panted as if the canine were laughing at him.

  Arnie turned, head hung low, shoulders slumped as he made his way to the tailgate of the pickup. “But I have the map,” he mumbled.

  Dex offered him a hand up into the bed of the truck. “Yeah, well, get your ass and your map up here.”

  Once Dex convinced Arnie to sit down, Warren slid the back window open. “Hey, man, I need some help with the directions here. Get up here so I can hear you,” Warren said.

  “What? Can’t you and Doctor Who, use your celestial navigation to get us to the zombie DJ?” Dex said.

  “Funny as a crutch, Rich.” Warren said. “Funny as a goddamn c
rutch.”

  Elton turned his head and asked, “Rich?”

  “Yeah, as in Richie Cunningham? Happy Days. The freaking tv show?”

  Elton offered a blank stare.

  “Ah, never mind, man.” Warren shook his head.

  “Sorry, man.” Dex offered.

  “Knock it off, guys.” Arnie slid closer to the cab of the truck and looked down at the map. “You need to turn around. There will be Owens Road on the left. Take that. It should get us away from the jam. After that, we’ll get to 490 and should be good-to-go.”

  “Thanks, captain,” Warren said and dropped the truck into gear.

  They all were happy to put some distance from themselves and the crying of the undead.

  50.

  Spirit of the Radio

  Downtown Rochester, New York.

  The radio message ended, and the sudden cold static sent shivers down Sam’s spine.

  Thick, ash-colored rain clouds filled the swirling sky, causing it to seem more like mid-winter than early summer.

  Peering around the corner of a large stone building, only a handful of dead people milled about among the permanently parked cars. The softly glowing eyes cut tiny rays of red light through the gloomy street.

  “Thank you, Father.” Sam's words were but a soft whisper on the steely wind. Making the sign of the cross, she took a deep breath, and fixed her eyes on the radio station letters, and without another thought, she turned onto Main Street. The Armory was not too far off, but first, she needed to find the radio station and try and save Capt. Al. She didn't know why. It just felt like the right thing to do, and she didn't know if she could live with herself if she didn't at least try.

  The clouds had their way with the sun again and overtook the sky. It broke open and cried with rain, only steadier this time. It seems that all the sky has to offer is rain anymore, Sam thought. The sky, the earth, the entire world, seemed to be crying. As the darkness filled the sky, a bright red sign dominated the skyline that read: KODAK. Below it in large, red letters, WSMF.

  The nineteen-story iconic skyscraper was constructed by the film entrepreneur George Eastman in 1914 and was the headquarters of the Eastman Kodak Company for as long as Sam recalled. Her grandfather was always telling her stories about the rich history of the city and the immeasurable impact George Eastman had made upon it. It was a magnificent structure just a few days ago; now it stood as a giant darkened obelisk, a grave marker for the dying city.