by Thom Erb
Even the ceaseless rain seemed to stop for a split second as the dozens of red-eyed bastards surrounding Dex were decimated in a flash of dust and fire.
“Holy shit!” Arnie bellowed.
His voice sounded a million miles away, and Warren knew they needed to go.
“Come on, to the truck,” Warren shouted, his voice a mere echo in his battered ears as he got to his shaky feet and ran toward the Chevy.
“But... What about...Dex?” said Arnie, already at the tailgate of the truck.
Warren couldn't stop to think about it. Dex knew what he was doing, and after all, wasn't now the Children of Light all that mattered? He wasn't certain if he was asking himself the question to doing his best to convince himself of the let's save the world insane scenario he'd found himself embroiled in.
Warren said, “I know, man. I know.” He hefted the shotgun into the bed of the truck, grabbed Capt. Al by the legs and helped Arnie get the man into the truck.
Maico let out a sharp bark as he hopped into the bed and growled at the enraged throne of the dead.
There was still a remaining stretch of fence that held fast and kept an unknown number of crying dead from reaching the truck, but the rusty and battered links began to shudder under the awakened rage of the red eyes. Warren didn't like the shoddy looks of the fence and hurriedly finished shoving the grumbling DJ into the bed and slammed the tailgate.
“Hope we got enough gas, man.” Arnie said.
“Let’s hope we do. I don’t think we’d want to be here if not.” Elton patted Warren on the shoulder and ran to the passenger side of the truck.
“We’re cool, man. You good?” Warren asked as he reached in and snatched the shotgun, fending off the cold-nose assault of his dog.
“Yeah, man. But...Dex.” Arnie’s head hung low and nearly stole Warren's heart away, but what was he supposed to do? There wasn't a correct answer. Either way, this whole thing turned up snake-eyes, but it was the hand he was played and Warren wasn't going to let his best friend go for nothing. He thought for an expensive second and turned to Arnie. “Hey, man. This ain't Aunt B's study hall anymore. Dex knew it, too.” Warren gripped Arnie's arm tight and nodded. “You got these two? They look like a handful.” He felt himself smile as he turned and ran to the driver's side of the truck.
The short reprieve they had was gone and the black skies poured down cold, driving rain, hurtling to the earth and pelted them as they had reached the truck and opened the doors. The undead pulsed with a low humming noise that emanated from their center. It grew louder and louder as the rain poured down with more intensity. They began to thrash back and forth on the gated fence. It swayed with the rhythm of the indiscernible hum.
“Is that damn thing gonna hold?” Warren asked, to no one in particular, and his voice shook. He climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut
“It should be good, bro.” Capt. Al settled into the wet and cold bed of the truck. “It will give us enough time to get the hell outta here,” He finished and got himself situated, and then checked the flamethrower and its tanks again.
Then a harsh, metallic screech bounced throughout the stone walls and nearby buildings as the fence gave way and the groaning sea of undead fell and staggered into the Armory's lot.
Warren didn't even need to look.
“Aw, hell,” he exhaled.
103.
Get Away
The United States Armory,
Main Street.
Rochester, New York
The wrenching sound of metal on metal echoed through the brick courtyard, and what came next chilled them all. The loud clash of metal on the wet pavement announced the large chain link gate crashing to the ground, letting the horde of hate and hunger-filled undead free, and they rushed for the truck. A large crack of lightning struck nearby and lit up the parking lot, and all those inside the bed of the truck got a full shot of what was coming for them.
Pushing in a wave toward the truck was what Warren quickly guessed were dozens upon dozens of crazed, hungry zombies. Many had body parts and chunks of flesh missing. Their chilling moans and calls reached out to the living as they moved closer to their meal.
“Get this motherhuckin’ thing movin’!” Capt. Al shouted, leaning against the tanks of the flamethrower, aiming his M-16 and fired a round that struck one of the dead soldiers in its throat. Pieces of reddish-brown flesh exploded out the back of its body and onto the sea of undead behind him. Fresh blood spilled down and mixed with the rain, turning his Foreinger concert t-shirt from white to a dark pink. It dropped, but another flesh-starved zombie stepped into its place.
Warren stared into the rearview mirror as the undead began to fill the entire parking area of the Armory. The heat from the gas pumps caused massive beads of sweat to roll down his face and was getting hotter. The thought of Dex filled his mind, but he had to keep pushing it down.
Maico panted and whimpered beside him while Elton kept calling his name.
“Master Warren... Ummm, Master Warren!” The weird wizard’s words finally brought him back. Warren shook his head, pushed up his glasses, and turned the key, and the Chevy roared to life.
“Let’s get the hell outta here, man!” Arnie shouted through the rear window and started to fire random shots into the indistinguishable crowd.
“I'm trying!” Warren said. The engine responded as he pounded the gas pedal to the floorboards and cranked the wheel to the left, and heading toward the fallen gate. Rain splashed onto the windshield and blurred his vision. The large tires tried to grip the wet pavement and spun instead. All in the truck reacted as the 4x4 swayed from one side to the other as Warren tried desperately to gain control of the unwieldy truck.
Thunder played alongside the careening truck and ballistic blasts of lightning created a horrific soundtrack as it listed to one side, and its large tires sliding over three zombies that tried to crawl onto the back. Their flattened flesh and bones washed away with the torrential rain that beat upon the entire city. The undead just kept coming at the swerving truck and grasped at it with outstretched arms and mouths.
And those nightmarish glowing red eyes.
104.
Rev On the Red Line
The United States Armory,
Main Street.
Rochester, New York
Elton reached over and helped Warren get the truck back under control as the rear end slammed into the stone gate house and a number of cars blocking their way.
In the bed of the truck, the collision sent the flamethrower's tanks skidding into the tailgate, as Capt. Al leaped after them.
Arnie jumped and rolled after the tanks, and as the truck lurched back in the other direction, he smashed his head into the metal support post in the bed and went slack.
“No!” Capt. Al bellowed and scrambled for his M-16.
Arnie shook the white flashes from his eyes and shrieked as the red glow of three zombies' eyes peered over the top of the tailgate. Their festering bodies followed behind them.
The truck lurched forward out of the Armory’s parking lot and fish-tailed onto Main Street. The momentum launched a female zombie from the bed, and it crunched against an overturned RTS bus and slid down its undercarriage. She landed in a twisted heap about its rear axle.
The rain kept coming down and made the bed of the truck slick and mixed with the blood oozing from the wound in Arnie's head. A large, muscular zombie, dressed like he just left the gym, climbed into the bed and its angry red eyes glared at Arnie and Capt. Al, who huddled against the back window of the truck. The DJ smiled as he sighted in the big man with the M-16. The foul creature seemed to notice as it sneered at him. It licked its black, blood stained lips as its square jaw opened and let its noxious breath out into the cold rain. No steam came from the dead mouth. It knelt and grabbed Arnie by his hair and easily pulled the boy's stocky frame up to its face and turned its gaze back to Capt. Al. It smiled a gory, black-toothed grin.
“This will b
e a tasty morsel, and so will you be, you pathetic dog. Just enough to tide me over until the Master comes and this realm once again becomes his,” the zombie said, but it didn’t seem to be coming directly from the decaying creature. The disembodied voice filled the bed of the truck. Arnie weakly punched and kicked at the monster, but it ignored his attacks and lifted him up and licked Arnie’s face from the chin to his forehead. All the while, it stared cruelly into Arnie’s wide eyes.
“What’s wrong god-boy? Devil got your tongue?” The glowing eyes of the undead bodybuilder burrowed deep into Capt. Al’s as it stepped forward, dragging Arnie’s now limp body with it.
The truck swerved and they all slid to the passenger side of the truck. The muscle-bound demon stood as still as a statue and didn’t move an inch. It just stared at the helpless DJ in the eyes and challenged him with his greenish, decaying grin. Capt. Al froze and couldn’t force himself to move. Arnie lay limp in the giant’s hand.
“Well, boy, what you got to say before I gut this pathetic fool who calls himself a war hero, and eat his intestines right in front of you, and then I devour every inch of you and the rest of your pitiful rabble? Hmmm, what will be your final words, padre?” The chill voice of the zombie was cut short as everything above its nose disappeared into a red and brown mix of mottled flesh and blood. The pocking sound of an M-16 flashed in Arnie’s ear and the muzzle flash matched the lightning strike that landed just to the right side of the truck. What was left of the zombie's big frame flew backward and sloshed onto the soaked concrete. Its thick blood mixed with the rain. The myriad of undead that filled the road kept coming.
Dex crawled over the blood-covered tailgate and collapsed in a heap on the soaked bed of the truck. Long plumes of smoke still flit out from the barrel of the pistol lying in his slack hand.
105.
Big City Nights
Main Street. Rochester, New York
The way down Main Street didn’t improve as Warren sped through the once metropolitan main thoroughfare of downtown Rochester. The darkness split into a myriad of tiny red pinpricks as the swarming undead crawled out of every building, alley, and gutter that lined the street.
A multitude of lightning flashes accentuated their listless, staggering bodies as they all stood to face the speeding truck as it passed. The wall of undead created a barrier, blocking their way, and Warren shuttered each time the plow recoiled after cutting into a group of dead and splattering the windshield with a sick miasma of pus and blood.
“I can't see a damn thing, man!” Warren shouted.
“Keep following the light, Master Warren. We must hurry,” Elton begged, but Warren was doing the best he could with the limited driving skills he'd learned. As another grouping of dead lunged out of the rainy, morning darkness, Warren went with his big brother's advice. “Hey, dude, all else fails, go faster.”
Warren buried his sneakered foot into the gas pedal and kept the center pillar of the plow mount in the middle of the bright light leading the way. The magical white path the British dude’s spell invoked still shone brightly in the dark, dank rainy night and paved the way through the undead wall of flesh.
A flash of light in the rear view caught his attention, and he could have sworn he'd seen Dex in the bed of the truck. He shook it off as wishful thinking, fought back a tear and rammed headlong into another charging throng of the demonic undead calling for the Child of Light.
106.
19 and Non-Stop
Main Street.
Rochester, New York
Dex fought to sit up. He felt every inch of his body burned with pain. His lungs felt as if they were filled with prickly fiberglass. Each deep breath and the cold air piping into his lungs felt excruciating, yet rejuvenating. He thought it was insane but after the entire Rod Serling-esque spiral the world had been thrown into, this was a painful walk in the park.
“Dude?” Arnie said.
“Dude.” Dex snatched up his pistol and leaned against the tailgate and let the cool tearing wind and rain wash over his aching body.
Arnie asked, “You okay, man? I thought you—”
“Bit the farm? Yeah, me too.” Dex sank back into the bed of the truck and looked to Capt. Al, who had his jaw locked and gritted teeth. His American flag headband was soaked with rain, sweat, and blood, and he just nodded at Arnie as the old vet checked his weapon, and then went to looking at wave after wave of undead that passed them by as the truck sped east down Main Street.
“You son of a bitch!” Warren's voice welcomed Dex through the sliding back window. Arnie and Dex moved to the back window, as the truck swerved to the left and right and jerked as it ran over body after body that got in their way.
Dex watched as the wild-haired guy leaned on Warren's shoulder, and Elton shouted over and over again, loud enough for him to hear, three words:
“Mount Hope Cemetery.”
107.
Living for Tonite
Main Street.
Rochester, New York
“Master, we are securing the portal and setting up protective wards, and the young fleshling is still unconscious.” The black figure prostrated itself before its large master, who stood before the rain-slicked, hillside mausoleum. Lightning flashed high above and illuminated the large courtyard and the Gothic water fountain that lay before the hundred-year-old burial chamber of the old mage. Inside the concrete tomb was an old High Lord of the Crimson Council. The white alabaster marble read the family name of Criscione. The pillars of the mausoleum stood strong and housed one of the mightiest necromancers this realm had ever known. It was the mighty power of this undead mage that would help to facilitate a vortex that would enable the Knights to transport their precious cargo back to the realm of their master, where he could then complete the ending ceremony that would send this world into the depths of the Nine Hells.
The dead grass turned to mud as the rain relentlessly poured down onto the centuries-old cemetery. The remainder of the undead Knights paced nervously as their master yanked the unconscious Child of Light to a cement obelisk that jutted three feet out of the soaked earth before the two tiers of tombstones of the High Priest Criscione resting place. All the Criscione’s family laid there. Unlike the rest of the huge cemetery, this grave remained unaffected by the rain-infected Sanctity Virus. No children of Dread Lord Orcus crawled forth and shambled about the earth. Those precious family members were being preserved for later plans. The master Knight recalled the orders given to him by High Priest Moltke. He was specifically told not to disturb the old master just yet. His time would come soon enough.
Bright flashes of lightning cast stark shadows on the acre-sized lot that loomed before the Criscione burial estate. A multitude of stone and granite angels and gargoyles kept silent watch over the large field of dead grass and long-gone wildflowers. The Master Knight pulled tightly on the manacles that were attached to the young one. The girl’s limp body flopped about like dead fish on a nylon line as the master attached her to a large iron ring on the three foot tall stone post in front of the old burial plot. The rain sliced even harder through the darkness and created divots the size of quarters deep in the soil of the graveyard.
“Once you establish a secure perimeter, I shall make ready for the teleportation spell,” The master Knight spoke. All of the lesser Knights followed his orders and spread out among the stoic tombstones that created a semi-circular pattern about the Criscione burial estate. The wind began to pick up and seemed to have no source of direction. The uncharacteristically cold wind shifted direction by the second. Syncopated flashes of lightning painted the rain-soaked landscape in a Monet-esque glow. The night air was filled with the groans of the undead and the continuous pounding of thunder. The long steel blades of the Mortem Eques caught the moonlight and refracted it into a thousand beams of light that disappeared into the enveloping darkness of the old cemetery.
Lord Vorkhal sensed the she-bitch was one of the Children of Light, and he felt a deep, savage hunger gr
ow inside him, but he knew of the great cause and stayed his hand.
There would surely be plenty of opportunity to satiate his dark urges once the Hell-Vulgate was open and his master sat on the throne of this dimension.
108.
Speedfreak
Mount Hope Avenue,
Rochester, New York
The streaming white swath of light filled the entire right lane of Main Street. Its bright luminescence reflected in the multitude of puddles that covered the pavement like a sheet of ice. The speeding four-wheel drive Chevy slid and swayed on the rain-slicked roads as it followed the white beam of light east. Undead flushed out of every building and darkened alley, all of which sought to impede the living’s progress. Bloated, rotting body after body was splattered across the plow and hood of the truck or was turned to loose green flesh and coagulated blood underneath the mammoth tires that wouldn’t be stopped. Hundreds of severed limbs, torsos, and heads filled the night air of downtown and the truck left a swath of blood and gore as if it were a red Christmas.
The truck hydroplaned to the right, but Warren straightened it out and navigated the hairpin turn onto Mount Hope Avenue. The half-smashed, golden arches of an empty McDonald's welcomed them as the large truck barreled by. A blockade of vehicles and human debris clogged the once heavily traveled thoroughfare. The stoplights hung lifeless in the dark of night. To the left, they could see the large, dark, and foreboding empty husk of the University of Rochester. It was once a center of medicine and science and held some of the best and brightest minds of the time. Now it just stood vacant and forlorn, and its many tall buildings jutted out into the rain filled night, like broken teeth tearing through purplish black rotten gums. Warren brought his attention back to the water slicked roads, and the numerous dead vehicles and shambling zombies that littered the avenue.