The Last in Line

by Thom Erb

  “Blessed be, Father. You sly fox, you,” Elton said, picking up the blood-drenched gem. He closed his eyes, and began to speak the words.

  59.

  Train in Vain

  Kodak/WSMF Parking Garage

  Rochester, N.Y.

  Warren gasped as he watched the small stranger trip, fall, and disappear before the oncoming crowd of dead things. He looked to Dex. He stared back at him, and Warren judged by the look on his friend's face, they both felt the same way.

  “Go?” Warren asked through the fogged-up back window.

  “Go,” Dex replied.

  In a split second, Warren snatched the Deerslayer and kicked his door open. Maico leaped over Warren's lap and tore around the front of the truck.

  Dex hopped down from the bed and ran toward Elton. Arnie's head spun as if on a swivel, not certain what they were doing, Warren surmised. “Stay if you want, man. I get it. But we have to try and help.” Warren nodded and followed his dog and Dex toward the howling red eyes. He smiled to himself as he heard Arnie gripe and climb down from the back of the truck.

  By the time Warren rounded the front of the pick-up, Dex fired two rounds and dropped two of the approaching dead that were nearly upon Elton. The light in their eyes snuffed out.

  Maico jumped in front of Elton. His big paws slid in the puddle of blood and gore , his big hairy body spinning wildly in circles into the thick of the dead, causing them to topple and fall like rotten wooden soldiers.

  “Maico!” Warren found himself shouting and fired a round from the shotgun into the grasping dead surrounding the snarling lab.

  A flash from Warren's left startled him as Arnie swung the butt of his pistol and crushed in the skull of one of the monsters. “knock-knock, peckerhead!”

  “Nice shot,” said Warren.

  The red-eyes shouted and turned in unison at the sound of Warren's voice and let out a screech that caused him and the others to cover their ears.

  “What the hell is that?” Dex ran to stand behind Elton and fired another round into the gathering shamblers.

  “I’ll hold the heinous creatures for as long as I can. You get those others out of the vehicle.” Elton stood; a steady stream of blood ran from his clenched fist that offered a growing glow. He spoke in the same weird language he used back at the elementary school, Warren recalled.

  Once finished, a bright flash filled the entire level of the parking garage. The undeads’ eyes maintained their haunting glow, but just like back at the school, their undead forms ceased to move. Elton turned to Warren and Dex, “That was their Master's call, young lad. They want your friend here. I'm afraid Master Brennan has some powerful enemies that will stop at nothing to capture him.” The latter part of the strange man's sentence seemed to be a struggle, and Warren watched as the man's eyes rolled in the back of their sockets, and he immediately dropped to the pavement.

  Warren and Dex stared at one another, then looked down at the slumped stranger and turned back to the static undead. Maico steadied himself and took off toward the van.

  “What?” Warren stared at the surrealistic scene before him and fought for a fraction of understanding.

  Dex checked the pistol and turned to Warren, “Not a damn clue, man. Nada.” He nodded his head toward the van and Warren's runaway pooch, “but you might want to catch that damn dog, man. We can talk about that crazy stuff he was rambling on about.”

  “Uh, yeah, right. Good idea.” Warren ran after Maico, who barked and tore at the zombies gathered around the back doors of the toppled van.

  “Hey.” Dex nudged Arnie, who stood like a zombie himself, staring at the frozen atrocities all around them. “Hey, man, give me a hand with Gandalf the weird wizard here, would ya?”

  Arnie said, “Yeah, yeah. Sure.” He gathered one arm while Warren ran after his dog and went to see about the people in the van.

  A brutal cruel wind gusted through the parking garage, and with it came a god-awful waft of death. Warren covered his mouth as he grabbed Maico's collar and fought from vomiting. The entire city is dead and rotting, he thought.

  “It's okay, boy. Easy. Let's get these folks out of here before these things wake up. With the van on it’s side, it was difficult but Warren grabbed at the door handles and gave them a strong yank.

  It was met with the shattering of glass and a deafening gunshot from inside the van.

  60.

  Escape

  Kodak/WSMF Parking Garage

  Rochester, N.Y.

  The light that once seeped into the van was now blotted out by the mass of starving undead, singing the same song they heard over and over again as they continued to rock the van with more force in rhythm to their deadly chorus.

  A sudden flash of golden light pulsed through the back windows, then it all stopped. No pounding on the van. No eerie taunting dead folks chattering. Nothing. Silence.

  “What's happening now!” Sam gripped the smoking pistol and stared out the two gaping holes in the back window of the upturned van.

  “No clue, but goddammit, nice shooting, kid.” Capt. Al cheered from the driver’s seat, the excited DJ's own gunshots filling the van.

  Then came a barking dog and a pounding on the back door. Sam panicked, flinched, and fired.

  “I...I got `em...I think I got `em,” Sam said. The large pistol grew heavy in her hands.

  The silence only lasted a second as the excited piercing barking came again from the other side of the back doors.

  Capt. Al swiveled awkwardly toward Sam. “Is that a dog?”

  Sharp nails screeched and scratched at the metal of the door and a flurry of hurried shadows filled the windows. Sam aimed the pistol, fired again, and the hammer fell with nothing but a metallic clunk in response. Empty.

  “Damn. I...think so.” Sam flipped the pistol around, gripped it by the barrel, and leaned heavily against the van. She made the sign of the cross, whispered a silent prayer to her savior, and waited.

  “We come in peace!” one voice said.

  “Shut up, dumb ass,” another chided.

  Sam didn't know whether to laugh or scream for blood and knock the heck out of the fool who opened the doors, or hug them

  The dog kept clawing and baying at the door until yet another voice joined in.

  “For crying out loud. Cut it out, guys. Down, Maico. It's okay, buddy. Hey, Capt. Al, are you in there? I...I'm a huge fan. I heard your call for help on the radio and I—”

  “Hey, man, we all heard the dude.”

  “Okay, okay, we heard you and wanted to come and see if we could help.”

  “What should we do?” Sam whispered and turned to Capt. Al, who began to pull himself toward her and the back of the van. Sam noticed he had the M-16 slung over his shoulder.

  “Well, honey, I'm thinkin' if they wanted to kill us, they could have let those brain-dead meat-eaters do their dirty work, and then come in and pick through what's left,” Capt. Al said, coming to rest next to her.

  “We're coming in. Don't shoot.” The two back doors of the van crashed open and made Al drop the M-16 from his shoulder. He aimed it toward the figures standing in the doorway. His eye gaped as he witnessed his saviors.

  A heavyset figure stood over Sam, and he held a shaggy lab by the collar.

  “Whoa, whoa. It's okay. We are here to help you!” The dark-haired figure offered his hand to Sam as a sign of comfort. Both of the other figures looked to be teenage boys, they stood back, with various weapons in their hands.

  “Hi, I'm Warren. We're here to help. We don't have long before these dead things wake up. So, ummm. We should go.” The chubby stranger pushed his glasses up on his nose and smiled. Sam guessed he was around her age and looked like the most unlikely savior in history. He was a heavy guy with thick glasses and wore a superhero T-shirt. The whole situation felt surreal, and yet, Sam felt like maybe her prayers were being answered. At least she hoped.

  “Hello, I'm Sam, and this is Capt. Al.”

  61.r />
  Into The Fire

  Kodak/WSMF Parking Garage

  Rochester, N.Y.

  “Great to meet you.” Warren felt his cheeks go flush and called himself all kinds of names. “I’m a big fan.” He tried to cover his glaringly obvious inappropriateness.

  Maico budged passed him and began to lick the girl's face, his tail spinning a million miles a second.

  “Oh, hey there, puppy.” Sam laughed, letting the big oaf's advances succeed.

  “Hey, kid, thanks. Nice timing. I thought we were about tits up for a second there. Thanks, man.” The DJ held an assault rifle in his free hand and offered his other in greeting.

  “It's great to meet you. You got me through some really tou—”

  Dex jumped in, “Hey, I hate to interrupt this little cute Love-Connection you have here, but I'm thinking we need to get the hell out of here, like, oh, I don't know... maybe, now!”

  Thunder rolled through the parking garage and Warren was grateful for the distraction. “Yeah, yeah. He’s is right. Hey, Sam, this is Dex. He's my best friend.”

  Sam nodded, smiled, and pushed Maico off her lap. “Nice to meet you too,” she said.

  “Yeah, the same. But we really should get moving.” Dex's words were colder than the air outside, but Warren knew he was right.

  “He's right. Dex, you give Capt. Al a hand, and I'll get Sam here to the truck.” Warren heard his words come out as if on auto-pilot and paused.

  “Oh great. What? Am I regulated to Maico duty?” Arnie asked in a defeated tone.

  As if in snide reaction, the hyper lab huffed and offered a bark at Arnie.

  “Chill out, man. You know Maico loves you,” Warren said as he ushered the girl out of the van.

  “Don't worry, I'll get the captain.” Dex shook his head and walked into the overturned van.

  “On your feet, Captain, time to boogie on out of here while those flesh-eaters are out of it. So let’s go,” Dex barked the order at the prone figure of Capt. Al on the floor of the van.

  “Pound rock salt, punk bastard! Are you blind, bro? Can’t you see I can’t fuckin' walk?” The belligerent DJ shouted and reached for his M-16.

  “Whoa, whoa, hey man, sorry man, I didn’t know,” Dex said and knelt to give Capt. Al. a hand up.

  “Bah, just get me my chair, and I'll help myself.” Capt. Al fiddled around with a canvas sack and began to shove a bunch of things inside.

  “Over here.” Warren pointed toward the rumbling Chevy beyond a few rows of unmoving dead.

  Warren showed Sam toward the pickup. “Sorry about scaring you guys, we didn't—”

  “Look out!” Sam interrupted. All color washed away from her face in an instant as she pointed over Warren's shoulder.

  “What? Warren spun around and nearly screamed as a few dozen of the dead broke free from Elton’s magic. The once brilliant white light that enraptured the dead and dulled their eyes, looked to be fading fast as some of the undead began to move. “Oh, crap. Hey, guys, uh...we gotta go...like now!”

  Warren brought the shotgun up. “Arnie, get her to the truck. Maico, truck, now!” He hurried to block the path between the waking dead and his friends and pretended he was brave, hoping no one noticed if he just happened to piss his jeans.

  Maico held his ground and barked at Warren.

  “Go now, buddy. Go!” Warren bellowed and, finally, the dog relented and chased after Arnie and the girl.

  “Come on, Dex. They're waking up, man.” Warren turned to see Dex trying to help Capt. Al up. He knew someone had to keep point, but the fact that the DJ was wheelchair bound had slipped his mind. “Dammit.” Warren shook his head and ran to the van and looked for the wheelchair.

  “It's in there somewhere, honest injun, bro,” Capt. Al promised.

  Warren and Dex both tore through the wrecked contents of the van and found the wheelchair under a tattered old Indian blanket.

  “Got it.” Warren's hand found purchase on the chair, yanked it out from the van, and snapped it open.

  “How much shit you got in there?” Dex asked and helped Warren get the portly DJ into his wheelchair.

  “Just everything a bachelor needs, brother.” Capt. Al chortled and pulled the blanket over his lap. “Hey, help a brother out and hand me that bag, would ya?” he asked Warren.

  Warren anxiously watched as the white light faded fast and begrudgingly went back into the van to find the bag Capt. Al asked for. It was getting close and they needed to get out of there, but Al was one of the reasons he made it through things back home.

  “Hurry up. It's about to get really shitty out here, man,” Dex warned from outside the van.

  “I'm hurrying.” Warren pawed through a sea of girly magazines, Elmore Leonard and Stephen King paperbacks, empty cigarette cartons, decks of playing cards, and rolling papers. His heart fluttered when the first moan echoed off the stone walls of the garage.

  62.

  The Lady Wore Black

  Kodak/WSMF Parking Garage

  Rochester, N.Y.

  She had a name. She was fully aware she had. Her brain just couldn't quite access that part of her cognition. A deep, penetrating coldness like she'd never felt in all her twenty-five years, filled every ounce of her body.

  Nurse—the word...the concept, seeped into her veiled consciousness.

  Her clothing, once white, was saturated the color of crimson and split pea soup. Her torn stockings strained to keep her bloated bluish and green blotched legs within the stretchy fabric. She wobbled as she staggered her way toward the delectable living forms standing only ten feet in from her. Her syncopated walk was made worse by having lost her left shoe weeks ago. She used to be responsible for taking care of the living.That she could remember. The only other thought her cold, rotting, brain needed to remember was to feed and find the Child. That thought froze her in her tracks, and it took all she could do to keep her rigor mortis aching joints and muscles to respond. She managed to keep from falling over. Her shrunken brain was fighting with her id to follow the hunger, the anger, which burned inside her or the overwhelming compulsion to seek out this Child and devour every inch of flesh and marrow from its tender body. No. She mustn't devour the Child. No, only seek out and find them. All the other living creatures she and the others could consume at will, but not the Children. Of this, she was most certain.

  She had died. Some kid on a gurney with a broken ankle from a skateboard accident. She remembered how the snarling brat tearing into her fleshy belly as she tried putting a cast on his broken arm. Since them, all she knew was the engulfing darkness, and then she awoke with the hunger. A deep, overriding starving sensation she had never felt before. Standing in front of her were four warm-blooded, tender flesh-filled walking buffets. The fat one made her undead stomach growl, and she would have drooled if there were any body fluids left in her decaying form. Instead, she let out a hungry call that drew the attention of all the free undead family behind her.

  63.

  You've Got Another Thing Comin'

  Kodak/WSMF Parking Garage

  Rochester, N.Y.

  Dex was no stranger to the cold. His family went skiing at the white slopes of Brantling every winter since he and his brother were barely able to walk and he loved the snow and all that the New York winters had to offer. However, the cold that gripped his bicep sent a deep chill into every tissue, fiber, and bone in his thin body. The slow, spreading barbed chill, traversed its icy grip from his arm to his shoulder and into his back and neck. There was little time to contemplate what was happening.

  “We claim the Child for the Dark One. Give it to us,” a rotting woman in a nurse's get-up demanded. The fog was swirling faster and seem to be getting thicker.

  The concussive blast of a shotgun flew past the frozen left side of his body and its target sent a spray of coagulated red and green all over his face and upper body.

  Warren stood with his arms shaking. His shotgun waved in Dex’s face. His eyes seemed as big as sa
ucers through the thick lenses of his glasses. His large chest raised and lowered at a quick pace. Dex stared as the rancid blood of the nurse zombie rained over the approaching crowd of undead.

  Dex pulled hard at the stiff arm that was still attached to his bicep, and threw it aside with a disgusted effort, then looked at Warren with a thankful glance. They had been friends since fourth grade and had always been there for each other. Dex was always jealous of Warren’s stable family life. His own family was pretty messed up by many standards, and whenever he went over to Warren’s house, they could do whatever they wanted. They could stay up late, drink fake lemon-flavored iced tea, and watch Monty Python and Mel Brook’s movies until their bloodshot eyes bulged out of their heads and they passed out. They must have watched Night of the Living Dead at least a dozen times last summer. At Dex’s house, it was to bed at eight o’clock and silence soon to follow. The television was an alien form of vile contamination that needed to be weeded out at every chance. There had been frequent conversations at school that involved a whole group of kids talking about the A-Team, M.A.S.H., Dukes of Hazzard, the Incredible Hulk, and many other shows everyone was a buzz about that Dex never understood due to his parent’s strict rules. He missed his parents, but they treated their kids in a contradictory way that never ceased to boggle Dex’s mind.

  Dex’s parents never understood why his friends would never come over. It was damned obvious to him. Nevertheless, Warren always came over. He was always there. Arcadia Falls was a small town, and if you could find someone who got you, then you were lucky. Dex knew he was damn lucky in that regard, and he now understood why Warren had to do Barry the way he did. He had no choice. That was about as far as his luck would run.

  64.

  Mystery Song

  Kodak/WSMF Parking Garage

  Rochester, N.Y.

  A strange fog began to creep through the cold parking garage, spreading its thick, mustard-colored tendrils to every corner.