The Last in Line

by Thom Erb

  Elton stood before his newfound friends, gathered inside the sacred circle, and within its magical confines he looked much different to Warren and the rest. Inside, he looked much taller. He held a much stronger presence, and his power emanated from him and filled them all with a feeling of safety and serenity. While he still looked like the same scrawny, wiry haired hippy, he seemed to be almost demi-god-like inside the sacred magic circle.

  Elton raised his head and faced the skylights overhead. He seemed to be looking much higher than the steel girders of the Armory. He outstretched both thin arms that faced north and south. He closed his eyes and spoke:

  “Boreas, thou Guardian of the Northern Portals; I, do summon, stir and call you up to witness our rites and guard the circle!” He lowered his head and cupped his hands in prayer and continued. “Ye Great Creator, Lords of the Watchtowers of the Universe, Dread Lords of the outer spaces, thou powerful God, thou gentle spirit of the Aether, we invite you to our meeting,”

  Elton paused and lit a long piece of incense from his bag and the comforting scent of Nag Champa filled the air. Smokey tendrils floated their way from one circle member to another as if on a preordained path, and then returned to Elton.

  “O’thou Loving Creator, o’ thou Mighty Mother and Father, we gather before you to beseech to aid us in our hour of need. The great evil has stolen that which belongs to you and to us all. We need your divine guidance to find the path to the Child of Light, and it’s only you, O’ Great One that can light the way.” Elton fell to his bony knees, and the hard thud repeated off the hard walls.

  The soft blue light turned to pure white, and with it came a deafening sound. It almost sounds like a trumpet, Warren thought, but the sheer volume felled him and the others to their knees. They all watched Elton’s body tossed to the far side of the mess hall, where he slammed into the double doors with a clashing crash. His body fell to the concrete floor with a thud. Dex and Warren tried to go after Elton but were frozen. They could only watch Elton’s slumped body from across the room.

  “My son, you have failed me. How did this travesty happen?” the familiar voice returned to Elton’s swirling mind. His body ached all over, and he knew the question inside his head was purely a rhetorical one. Elton managed to raise himself on his elbows and braced his back against the cold metal doors.

  “Dear Father, I tried with all my might, but I couldn’t stop the vile servants of the Dark One. I didn’t have enough power to tell which one to save, Father. What would you have me do?”

  “It’s no matter now, child. I’ll give you what direction I can. The great demon has grown immensely in power and the balance is swaying heavily in his favor. The realm has shifted with the capturing of the Child of Light. All I can do is provide you with a path. Hurry, my son, for you are the last vestige of hope we have in this realm. You must find the child before...” the ethereal voice was silenced. Not by its own doing—something else had intervened. That forced Elton’s face to rise. He knew the darkness and evil were creeping across the earth and this realm was not long for this world, and he needed to act.

  * * *

  Warren watched as Elton’s head fell into his hands and his body seized in spasms of some kind. And Warren struggled to his aid. It was of no use. He was nailed to the spot. Just like everyone else. His tears began to well in his eyes. He knew with each second that passed, the chances of them finding Sam alive were dwindling. It killed him.

  * * *

  Shining from the center of the circle came a white light that branched out into a path, which led out toward the double doors where the weird magical dude lay. He knew what that meant and struggled to his weary feet.

  At that moment, all inside the circle became free.

  The ivory colored path was visible by all. That, Elton thought odd, but he didn’t question the Great Creator. He ran to the circle, frantically gathered up all the items, and shoved them into his bag, and ran back to the doors.

  * * *

  Warren and the others shook their limbs to motion, all save Al, who did not need to. He felt grateful for this minuscule gift, and slung his assault rifle from his chair’s handles and checked over the flamethrower.

  “Alright, motherhuckers, let’s ride. We have a young girl to save.” Capt. Al’s voice proudly resounded around the mess hall. Arnie came to him and began to push forward on the wheelchair. Maico hopped about and danced between them and barked toward the white light.

  “The good captain is correct, my friends. We must follow the blessed, celestial path before us. We do not have much time, and I’m afraid, if we fail,” Elton said, “all is lost.”

  It was painfully obvious to Warren that Elton was close to exhausted. The dirty, Lennon-shaped glasses bounced on his hand as he rubbed his red eyes.

  “It will be the end of our world. So, let’s move swiftly.” Elton kicked the heavy metal doors open and headed toward the large garage from which they came only a few hours earlier. The rest followed.

  97.

  Hells Bells

  The United States Armory,

  Main Street.

  Rochester, New York

  The garage bay sat as it did only a few hours before. The same broken-down vehicles stood silently and the bay doors were sealed shut. That much Warren was grateful for. He rushed forth, and the others followed him. The only sound was that of Al’s squeaking wheelchair, once again breaching the silence of the Armory. Maico sniffed the chill, foul air and growled. His haunches rose at the very sound of the sea of moaning undead lining the fence outside.

  Warren wished they’d thought of oiling that damn wheelchair; there had to be some oil around. It was a mechanics bay after all. He jumped as a loud crack filled the garage. He spun to see Dex cursing and pulling his fist, after moronically punching the workbench next to him. He stood, his long shaggy hair bobbed about his face.

  The illuminated path ignored Dex’s rage and passed through the steel garage door. Elton pressed the control of the remote to the door on the wall, and it began to open the first bay door with a low, grinding noise that filled the entire bay.

  The first hint of faint, sallow moonlight filtered in through the small opening the clanking door offered. With the tainted light came the smell of humid air, rain, and the horrid stench of death and rot. It came through in waves almost as visible as the beams of moonlight that penetrated the Armory. It was then, even with the newfound lit path, that they noticed they were not alone.

  As the metal door reached its zenith, the overwhelming cloud of death filled the parking garage of the Armory. Out beyond the parking lot area of the military post, past the twenty-foot stone walls and chain-linked fence, there stood an army of undead that clamored and wailed at the metal gates. Their lost souls and vacant rotted faces were masks of evil and hunger. There was a buffet on the other side of the concertina wire and the zombies needed to feed. The number of undead was uncountable. It had been created from the over a million living people and the multitude of cemeteries throughout the entire city of Rochester and surrounding communities.

  * * *

  “Holy shit!” the chorus came from all of them save Elton, who was busy tracking the glowing white light of the pathway. It led straight through the thick metal fence and through the sea of undead. The wave of staggering, blood-splattered zombies didn’t even faze Elton, and he stepped past the teenage boys and headed to the waiting truck.

  “Hells Bells! The gas pumps are blocked, and I know the damn truck has to be close to empty.” Warren pointed at his father's truck on the other side of the dead clamoring at the fence. It might as well be on the moon, he thought. How were they going to get past all those red-eyed monsters and over the fence to his truck? His face grew hot, and he shook with anger and frustration. Maico lapped at his quivering, clenched fist and wagged his tail. “Man, how are we going to get by all...that?”

  “We must keep moving, lads. We have no choice. There is no time to waste, don’t have much time. There most ce
rtainly must be a vehicle we can commandeer.” Elton’s voice rose above the din of baleful moans of the dead, and it seemed to anger them as if they sensed the warm flesh, but even more so, it seemed they knew the speaker and wished to rip all of his tender meat and flesh from his small body and gorge themselves on the Keeper's high-IQ brain. They all saw an olive drab Dodge four-wheel drive truck sitting by the gas pumps.

  Dex hunkered down close and whispered, “As you keep saying, dude, there ain’t any time. Trust me. I've got an idea.”

  98.

  Wild Child

  The United States Armory,

  Main Street.

  Rochester, New York

  “Oh?” Warren asked, not liking the mischievous tone in his best friend's words.

  Dex ran to the tool bench and rummaged around until he found something. Warren couldn't make out what he located at first but felt his gut twist once he saw.

  “No way, man. You aren't gonna, are you?” Arnie chortled.

  Dex replied, a small grin on his thin face. “Oh...oh yeah, dude.” He held the large set of bolt cutters in front of him and sternly nodded. “I am.”

  “What?” Elton and Capt. Al asked in unison.

  “Oh, crap.” Warren sighed.

  “When I cut through the chain on the fence doors, Warren, you guys bust ass behind those cars and get to the Chevy, while I draw them dead bags toward the gas pumps. Got me?”

  “Uh, no. Are you nuts?” Warren refused—having bared witness to Dex's penchant for chaos.

  “Maybe. Don't worry, man. I got this.” Without another word, Dex slunk off toward the waving chain-link fence. The writing undead thrashed violently and the chilling calls for the Child of Light pierced the thick, cold night air.

  99.

  Long Stick Goes Boom

  The United States Armory,

  Main Street.

  Rochester, New York

  Warren shook his head and watched as Dex bashed on the fence and the dead moaned and reached out for him with rotting hands and gnashing teeth.

  “Crazy son of a—” he muttered, but cut himself off. Sam needed them, and they had to go.

  “Young sir, the good lady Samantha is in need. We mustn't tarry,” Elton said, and Warren knew he wasn't being an obnoxious jerk on purpose, but the first thought he had was to knock his damn block off.

  “I know. I know,” said Warren, growing angry and frustrated at the Warren Zevon lookalike and the pressing ticking clock. Warren took in a deep breath, let it out, and turned to Arnie.

  “Arnie, I'm going to head to the Chevy. You have the captain?” Warren asked, not waiting for an answer and heading through the thick maze of static vehicles. “Good. Let's do this.”

  “Sure, man, right behind ya.” Arnie grunted as he navigated Capt. Al's chair through the narrow gaps in the cars and trucks. Warren thought he heard Arnie mumble some rather unkind words about Warren's manhood and sexual orientation. Warren was amazed at his growing sense of not really giving two craps. Sam needed help, and she needed it like yesterday.

  The moon had shifted, creating small sickly mustard-tainted shafts of light that fought to penetrate the rainy darkness. A vicious gale buffeted Warren as he slunk between a rusty Ford Pinto and a small Datsun. He caught his breath and surveyed the riled-up mob now gathered at the gate of the Armory and the thin asshole taunting them. Dex. Dumb-ass. Warren shook his head and looked for the next least conspicuous route around the moaning horde.

  Warren turned to make sure Arnie and Capt. Al were behind him, and Elton ran straight into him, nearly knocking him off his already unstable feet.

  “Oh, so sorry,” Elton squeaked.

  Warren was about to let loose some snarky comment, but when the harsh clunk of metal being snapped echoed off the bricks of the Armory's aging walls, his head spun toward his friend.

  “That Dex fellow is sodding insane,” Elton uttered from behind Warren.

  Warren shook his head and said, “You don't know the half of it, man. You sure he’s not the Child of Light?” He wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or honest.

  Like a lanky, shaggy-haired, freckled Moses parting an undead and rotting sea, the chain-link gate swung open with a loud clank that echoed harshly against the stone wall. The dead cried out and staggered through, following the hoots and hollers of one crazy Dexter James Lee.

  100.

  Wild in the Streets

  The United States Armory,

  Main Street.

  Rochester, New York

  Behind him, Warren cringed at the tell-tale metallic screech of Capt. Al's wheelchair. Warren hefted the heavy canvas bags of weapons and ammunition and prayed they'd make it to the Chevy that waited on the other side of the fence.

  A handful of swaying dead turned toward them, and Warren froze. “Shit,” he muttered and dropped to one knee behind a shot-up and blood-splattered Rochester City Police cruiser.

  “Well, this isn't good, mate,” Elton said as he clumsily fell to the wet blacktop.

  Warren and Elton shot Arnie a frustrated look, and all he offered Warren in return was a sheepish grimace and a shrug of his broad shoulders. He mouthed the word sorry as he dropped behind Capt. Al.

  “For Christ's sake, kid. Sure, hide behind the goddamn cripple,” Capt. Al shouted as he racked the M-16 on his lap.

  “Sorry, man!” Arnie shouted in return.

  The dead that turned to the sound now headed toward them. Their bright red glowing eyes spoke of death and pain. “Gotta go, guys. Like now!” Warren stood, yanked Elton to his feet, and ran through the rest of the parked cars toward the open gate.

  “Come on, you Skeletor-looking bastards. I may be skinny but hell, I'm worth a late-night snack, at least. Come get some!” Dex screamed and waved his thin arms wildly, and Warren knew he was doing his best to draw all the deadbeats his way. Warren wheezed as he leaned against a WOKR 13 TV News van.

  The swelling mob drew closer to Dex and Warren caught him leaping over the gas pumps, where he disappeared, although, he could still hear vicious taunts of his best friend.

  Realizing this was their chance, Warren took a deep breath and ran to the open gate, then stopped and motioned the rest toward him.

  “Get the hell out now!” Warren ordered and leveled the shotgun toward the mass of undead that gathered around the gas pumps and Dex.

  “Come along, Master Warren, Samantha is in need. Tick Tock,” Elton ran passed him and slunk his way to the Chevy and hopped up into the bed, offering a hand to Arnie, who pushed Capt. Al through the sloshing rain.

  Warren shot Elton a violent look that went unnoticed by the man, but Warren let it linger for a few long moments just for his own livid edification.

  Arnie pushed Capt. Al passed Warren, and he gave Arnie a reaffirming pat on the shoulder.

  “Bet you miss Aunt B's study hall now, pal?” Arnie chortled as hurried toward the truck.

  Warren couldn't believe that even in the darkest of moments, Arnie still found it within himself to find a small spark of humor. Warren actually heard himself laugh. As sick and vile as things were, his laughter broke through the darkness.

  “Yeah.” He admitted with a rising fear in his heart and tears in his eyes.

  That's when two things happened.

  The sudden crack of a pistol firing split the cold night, followed by the gas pumps exploding with a deafening wallop that sent them all sprawling to the pavement, and a blinding, fiery explosion lit up the Rochester city skyline for miles in all directions.

  101.

  Guardian of the Night

  The United States Armory,

  Main Street.

  Rochester, New York

  Barry Lee came to a staggering halt among the graveyard of cars and bodies that littered the exit ramp from 490 to downtown Rochester. His rotting army of dead citizens of Arcadia Falls came to a stop all around him. It had been a long walk from Arcadia Falls. But with death, comes the ability to not feel fatigue or the need to rest or
sleep. The only need that was felt was that of hunger and feeding. Human flesh was all that would satiate the walking dead and their senses for finding such tender delights was strong, especially when it was the tasty flesh of your piece of shit, traitorous brother.

  The undead form of the eldest Lee brother stood on the large bridge that led into downtown of the Flower City, with a zombie entourage with over three hundred tagging along behind him. He licked his cracked, dried lips and surveyed his surroundings. He looked to his left, and then right, and then, like a hammer to the nuts, it hit him. A black light appeared before him, and it led to the north east. His head began to ache. The overwhelming words that barraged his rotting brain were hard to ignore. It promised food, nourishment, and even more important-Revenge.

  The three words that pounded his pulsating, dead brain were, Mount Hope Cemetery.

  Barry was very familiar with one of the oldest bone yards in the entire upstate New York area. He used to take some of the high school girls from Mercy there in hopes the spooky graveyard would scare the panties right off their young flesh. If his manly organ still worked, he was most certain there would be some stirrings in his stained Levi's. He licked his lips again at the vivid memory and realized his current purpose. He motioned to his undead followers east and they made their way through the darkness and pouring rain, down the slick bridge and along followed the ebony light that lead the way.

  102.

  Fight Fire with Fire

  The United States Armory,

  Main Street.

  Rochester, New York

  The harsh, overwhelming stench of burnt flesh and gasoline scorched Warren's nostrils as he struggled to clear his concussed brain. A loud, muffled, pulsating heartbeat filled his ears, and it felt like he was back at the Motorhead concert they all went to last fall. It took a month for him to get his hearing back to any resemblance of normal. This was worse.