by Javan Bonds
The rest of the shots were wide and harmlessly passed the third amigo. This was definitely to the chagrin of the survivors directly in its sight. The human nearest the revenant lost his footing after the beast launched itself onto him, sending them both crashing to the concrete.
He screamed and scraped his elbows on the rough cement as he fought with everything he had. His strength couldn’t compare to that of a starving monster and he quickly lost the battle. The revenant brought its teeth down to get a mouthful of juicy human. As soon as the skin was broken on his lower neck, the beast raised up to attack the next closest victim. By this time, the second man had a pistol trained on the head of the trans-human. He double tapped 22 rounds at close range into the blue cranium of the crazed blunatic. The tiny pieces of lead were nearly silent as they popped from the pistol. Two minuscule punctures were made near the top of the skull. The peevie reeled and blinked before its yellow eyes rolled back into its head and it dropped lifeless and losing blood onto the now infected human below it.
The terrified man squealed as he was soaked in running blood and liquefied brains. He reached up to his neck to discover the monster had left a definite bite wound. There were faint remnants of blood in the teeth impressions. His blood. He nearly sobbed in frustration.
A completely fruitless idea came to him. He stood up and pulled the small bottle of bleach Dr. George had given him to carry in his back pocket. The doctor had discovered yesterday that disinfectants like alcohol, ammonia, and bleach were repellents to the peevies. This new find was mysterious, and without rigorous testing, The Medicine Man had been unable to give any kind of explanation. He had guaranteed its validity, however.
The newly infected man doused himself in Clorox. He winced as the bleach burned the open wound and shouted, “Look! I can’t get infected now.” His buddy next to him stared in disbelief.
The man that had been pushed through the door stepped out with his rifle at the ready. He spoke to the man who had pushed him. “What the fuck, man?” He pointed to the bleeding teeth marks on his face.
The other man was generally apologetic. “I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t know–.”
“You think I give a shit? I’m dead because of you!” Without another word, the bit man opened up on the pusher. He unloaded thirteen bullets from his pistol in that direction.
Seven of the shots struck the intended target while four of them impacted the man with the 22. The man holding the rifle took his last breath as every round impacted his chest. Blood exploded as chips of bone rocketed from his sternum and ribs. Lungs burst as he tried to gulp down air. It wasn’t clear if suffocation or blood loss overcame him first.
The man holding the small pistol took his four shots in the side, under his outstretched gun arm. The topmost round sank into his armpit and destroyed tendons before shattering the collarbone. The other three bullets bounced around, deflating the lung and severing arteries. The man dropped his firearm as he collapsed in indescribable pain.
Dripping with bleach, peevie brains, and blood, the newly infected man bent to grab the fallen pistol. “Dude, what the hell did you do that for? Latrell didn’t do anything to you!”
“I was just going for that mufucker there.” He pointed to the man with seven holes in him. “I wasn’t going for your buddy, honest!”
The newly infected man clinched his jaw. “Well, you still fucking did it!” He paused briefly. “I’m just as forgiving as you, mufucker!” He flipped the tiny pistol to point at the man across the alley and tapped the trigger six times.
Three of the bullets impacted the man in the forearm, the next caught him in the wrist, one hit his bicep, and the last harmlessly grazed the shirt above his shoulder. The insignificant wounds would have been more than survivable if that one bullet had not nicked the radial artery in his wrist. He began dumping blood from the tiny puncture wound. He dropped to his knees, trying to figure out how he could stem the massive blood loss. He stuck his hand into the air, buying himself a few precious minutes. Still, he was going to die.
He lifted his rifle with his good hand. “Yeah, good job. Your little pea shooter did what you wanted to. But not fast enough!” He launched four rifle shots at the man that had just killed him.
Two of the rounds went high while the others pierced both of his eyes simultaneously. His eyeballs exploded into jelly and leaked down his face. The ocular cavities and everything between the eyes and the brain were completely destroyed. The brain cushioned the lead so that they only popped open the back of the skull and bounced off the wall behind him. Blood and gray matter poured from the black holes where the eyes used to rest as the lifeless body fell on its face. The man holding his hand above his head felt that taking it easy and laying down to rest was also the best thing to do. He was suddenly tired. After lying still for a moment, he no longer felt anything.
☠☠☠
The Expert heard gunfire before topping the hill, but she wasn’t expecting what she found. All four defenders sported gunshot wounds. Three truly dead tangos lay scattered among the bodies. She was flabbergasted and had absolutely no idea why the deceased would have shot each other. At least one of them was clearly bitten, but that still didn’t explain why his comrades had put him down. He had roughly eight hours of his Americanism remaining. Why would his buddies rob him of that?
She did a quick three-sixty. All seemed quiet on the Western front even with at least two fresh bodies leaking blood. There wasn’t a single tango in sight. She sniffed and caught the strong aroma of bleach. Maybe the scent of a disinfectant masked the coppery odor of blood. She eased when realizing there were no charging ruskies after scanning the perimeter.
Turning, she noticed a broken drink machine with a few bottles of “coke” ripe for the taking. She unsnapped her helmet, clipped it to her thigh, and walked over to the drinks. “I do believe I will,” she mumbled to herself as she reached over to pick up a warm but still tasty Dr. Pepper.
☠☠☠
Halfway down the hill, her radio buzzed. “We’re good to go in here!” The disconnection was finished. This was an easy job. It had only cost them four brothers in arms.
She spoke into her radio. “Storm. Samus here. Southern power lines disconnected and you’re good to go! Mission accomplished. Out.”
11
The Quest For The One Ring
“I THOUGHT WEDDING rings and engagement rings usually came as a set.”
“Usually.” Easy paused as he made a wide arc around a disabled vehicle on the highway. “I didn’t really like the wedding ring that came with this engagement ring, though.” He was driving his Eclipse to a jewelry shop in Albertville.
“And why can’t we just go to Lord’s Jewelers down on the island?” Bradley rode in the passenger seat.
Easy shook his head and smiled. “I saw this one ring at K. Skinnard Gentry’s years ago.” He cracked his neck and spoke of its perfection. “Beautiful, man! I gotta put that on Aka’s finger.”
“What makes you think it’s still there?”
“It was their most expensive piece. Plus, I just got this gut feeling.” Easy smiled, knowing his brother would have something to say about the monetary worth of a large diamond set into a diamond-encrusted band of white gold. “It’s got to be there. It’s fate or something, dude.”
“Well, okay. But couldn’t we have done this earlier than now? This kinda seems last-minute.”
The question bounced off the armored bodybuilder. “I’ve been doing stuff. Besides, this is just how I roll.”
His former football teammate wearing the Daredevil costume shrugged. “I guess. Let’s do it!” Out of all of Gene’s collection of armor and superhero costumes, he had immediately called dibs on this red outfit. Not really afraid that the monstrously muscular, bodybuilding paraplegic had any chance of getting bit, Mo simply wondered why he’d chosen this particular uniform and not one of the dozens of others. Bradley had responded, “Daredevil is handicapped. So am I. All handicaps are the same. Plus,
the DD kind of looks like a B!” The Hero could only stare in disbelief at the insensitivity of a handicapped person.
Bradley pushed the wide door fully open and reached around behind him to work his chair out from around the seat. After he had the chair sitting squarely on the ground, Mary hopped from his lap to his left shoulder. She remained planted as he threw himself from the sports car to land gently in the wheelchair.
Once settled into his seat, he reached inside the car to grab his trusty melee weapon. He pulled out Lucille and threw the attached sling over the back of the chair. This was another must-have for Bradley. When he saw the iconic Louisville Slugger wrapped in barbed wire in Gene’s fantasy brawling compendium, it had his name all over it. Already featuring dents and bloodstains from its manufacture, The Walking Dead heavy hitter would surely prove to be just as deadly as it did in the hands of Negan. The barbs had been sharpened to razor points. This bat would continue to swing for the fences as long as it was in his hands.
Easy came around the front of the car to stand by his friend. A massive Warhammer, red with silver accents, was slung over his shoulder. One end of the giant, square head was a completely blunt block used specifically for smashing. Turned over, the wicked hammerhead was lined with microscopic but deadly razors. He could slice an enemy to ribbons before it came near him. Finally, a slicing blade was featured in the handle if it was unscrewed. The Protector feared no evil carrying his Warhammer 40,000 weapon.
He put his Iron Man plated gauntlet on Bradley’s shoulder. “You ready for this?”
The paraplegic bodybuilder flexed his huge arms and his simian companion barked with equal glee. “Hell yeah. Get some!”
The crime-fighting duo moved to stand where the front door once was. It was now nothing more than a gaping entryway, exposing the interior of the building to the elements. The front room had been bathed in rain, used as an overnight stay for all types of animals more than once, and was the receiver of a few random items courtesy of the wind. The door had clearly been beaten in. It was anyone’s guess what had taken place here.
The standing bodybuilder guessed that Mr. Gentry had simply been infected when one of the revenants tore into the store. But the door had to have been locked or they wouldn’t have broken it down. Maybe Mr. G didn’t know what was coming. Easy hated to think of the elderly businessman, a local icon for decades, as a naked animal, attempting to devour any person he came across. Thoughts of what must have happened ran through his mind.
☠☠☠
“They’re right behind me! Millie screamed as she burst through the door and threw her body against it.
“Who is?” Mr. Gentry looked up from a wedding band he was resizing. Business had been nonexistent today and he couldn’t fathom what had gotten his wife so upset.
“The crazy people. Come help me!” She tried to pull one of the display cases to barricade the door. He stood to walk to his frantic wife of fifty years, planning to just wrap her in his arms until she calmed down.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just tell me what’s bothering you and we’ll figure it out.” As he ended his sentence, what sounded like a body slammed against the door. The banging grew louder and more intense with each passing second.
“I told you. Those nuts are out there!”
He helped her bring a display case around in front of the door and brushed himself off after it was in place. “Okay. Now, tell me what’s going on.”
She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself enough to speak reasonably. “There are crazy people everywhere. They’re naked and their skin is blue. They try to eat everybody they see! It’s all over the radio.”
“I’ve been in the store all day. Not heard anything about it.”
“It’s from that flu or whatever down in Mobile. It’s spreading! When somebody gets it and they turn blue, they start ripping their clothes off and biting other people. It just takes one bite. The people that get bit start getting sick and eventually become a crazy like the person that bit them. They start biting other people and the scene just repeats itself!”
Mr. Gentry walked over to the window and looked out. He could see naked people charging cars that were driving directly at them, diving onto windshields and crashing through, just to attack the driver. He saw a car that had stopped on the side of the road to see what was going. As soon as the driver opened his door, he was pounced upon by one of the crazies. This was beyond belief. They … America was under attack! Was this some type of terrorist laughing gas? Did the Russians have a hand in it?
He looked back from the dreary day outside. “What should we do?”
“I’m certainly not turning into one of them! We need to barricade all the windows and doors.”
“Good idea!” He hurried to the rear of the shop to lock the back door, but before he could make it into the next room, something thrust into the rear exit. He watched the wood splintering. There was no way to secure that point. Stepping back, he shut the door he was about to enter and pushed a case of jewelry in front of it.
☠☠☠
The elderly couple barricaded the doors and windows. They had moved to the bathroom at the center of the business. K. Skinnard Gentry Jewelry Shop had been a brick house before it had been converted to a jeweler’s. The bathroom was at the center of the house. They sat on the side of the tub, holding hands and speaking softly. Millie told her husband that the news was calling them “plague victims.”
The plague victims were determined. They eventually broke through the outer barricades and worked their way deeper into the building. Mr. Gentry gripped the handle of his 45 revolver. He had six shots to defend his wife. He knew it wouldn’t be enough.
“You know there are more than six of them.” He laughed bitterly. “Even if they were to line up so I could take two of them down per shot, that still wouldn’t be half of them. What do you want to do?”
Her mouth was a grim line. “There’s only one thing you can do.”
He knew what she meant. He had always been told that was the coward’s way out. But then again, soldiers who were injured or trapped on the field of battle would off themselves rather than be captured, interrogated, and undoubtedly tortured. That was an honorable way for a combatant to go out. Would it not be the same for a civilian in the exact same situation? He debated with himself and finally came to a conclusion. If the loonies broke down that door, he would do as his wife requested. The only answer he could give was a sad, affirmative nod to Millie.
The continuous flow of plague victims screamed and broke down every door protecting the old couple. They were hungry. And somehow, they knew that people were in there. There was no further retreat. This would be the last stop.
There was nothing to hold the nutcases back in this tiny, windowless room. The only thing keeping them out was the insignificant lock on the thin door. They just wanted some fresh meat!
“I love you,” Millie offered to her husband as she turned his head to her and kissed him on the lips.
“And I’ve always loved you.” Their kiss broke and they placed their heads beside one another. He placed his heavy revolver against his temple. They would never be parted again.
☠☠☠
The slick-headed Tony Stark impersonator walked into the shop. Insects and rodents had done a good job of cleaning the spattered remnants of peevies from most surfaces. After the zombie apocalypse, there was of course no theft. All the display cases remained intact and full of jewelry. Each piece of silver and gold, glittering in the dim light with diamonds and gems of every description, had obviously not been touched since May Day. Easy would find his prize after he did a little recon.
☠☠☠
Every single door in this old residence had been broken down except the doors leading to what used to be the bedrooms. He followed the short trail of wreckage to a small, dark room, its door broken off its hinges. Everything was as he suspected.
He broke a glow stick and tossed it into the room to
put some light on what lay inside. When it clinked against the opposite marble wall, a pair of animal shrieks could be heard.
The rabid cannibals had been nesting in a bathtub and were just now awakened. They clearly were not morning peevies. The inhuman screams were nearly deafening in the enclosed space. Easy took a step back as bare feet smacked on tile.
“Bradley. Company!” The Protector bellowed, drawing his hammer from over his shoulder. The main protagonists had earlier discussed there would be no use of firearms. On the mainland they didn’t want to give the monsters a reason to swarm because they were loud. They left their rifles in the car, choosing to kill any of the undead in hand-to-hand combat. If they were involved in a battle today, tooth and nail would clash against sharpened steel and bludgeoning wood.
Of course, with a twisted puppet master like The Screenwriter, they were destined to endure bloody combat. Easy’s belief in the words of The Oracle were becoming more and more solid after he made it through each impossible conflict. He didn’t even know of his own title, but he already grouped himself with the rest of the main protagonists. There was no reason to fear death as long as one had a role to play.
He readied his massive Warhammer in both hands as the famished blunatics charged from the darkened room. Even after over a month with little food, the waifs both body-slammed The Protector and forced him onto his back. They clawed and attempted to bite the face of the helmet and neck. Former human teeth shattered and undead fingernails bent and broke as they attempted to get through the impenetrable barrier. With the shaft of the hammer across his chest and under the starving peevies, he pushed up. With the force of a freight train, he jammed the metal bar against the monsters on top of him. Ribs cracked and stomach bile was vomited from the peevies as they were thrown back into the doorway from which they had come.