by Rand, Thonas
The bridge was cleared.
Tom dropped the empty launcher and sat, almost falling down on his ass from exhaustion; Anthony rushed to his brother and caught his fall.
“I was saving that one for a special occasion,” Tom said with a grin. “Guess that will have to do.”
“Wow,” Maggie said in amazement. “Look at that.”
The boat glided under the destroyed bridge and the only thing that challenged them was the dust cloud from the explosion. Behind them, the hordes still pursued them without end.
“You saved our asses, Tom,” John said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Tom answered in a weak voice. “You owe me, okay?”
“Sure, whatever you want,” John said.
“After I’m gone,” Tom said and John saw the wound in his armpit. “You take care of Anthony for me, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Really.” Tom said in a serious tone.
“Really, I will.” John assured him.
“Good,” Tom closed his eyes to rest.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Anthony said in sadness.
“Just to sleep, baby brother.”
They all knew what was going to happen to Tom—it was just a matter of time—and they didn’t know how much time that was, which was the problem. Bear looked at the others, they all looked at each other, and they knew what had to be done; it was just a matter of who was going to do it. Even though the undead hordes produced a deafening noise behind the boat, the silence of the group was so taut that it was uncomfortable. Derek decided to break the silence by checking his rifle; he racked the loading bolt back to make sure it was loaded. The rest of the group looked to him.
It was decided.
He would do it.
“What’re you doing, Derek?” Anthony asked suspiciously.
“Nothing, kid.”
His suspicion turned to anger. “Bullshit!”
With his eyes still closed, Tom said, “Calm down, little brother, it’s okay. Derek, you have to understand that my brother isn’t stupid, and neither am I.”
“I’m sorry, Tom, but you’re infected, it’s nothing personal,” Derek was honest.
“I know,” Tom assured him, “but I’m not in any danger of turning in the next few minutes, that much we all know about the infection. When the times comes; I’ll take care of it myself, so if you all don’t mind, I’d like to relax without having to kill any of you,” Tom tapped his fingers across his pistol in his hand.
“Okay, Tom, don’t worry about it. You can trust us, we owe you that much,” Bear said.
“Thank you, kindly.”
Tom sat there in Anthony’s arms and rested as everyone kept an eye on him, and Anthony kept an eye on all of them. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to his brother.
“You remember when we were younger, Anthony?” Tom said. “When we use to spend summers in Laughlin with mom and dad?”
Anthony smiled slightly. “Yeah, I do.”
“We’d spend the whole day on the lake racing our sea doos while mom and dad putted around in the boat.”
“Uh-huh, and I always beat you.”
“I let you win, squirt.”
“Sure you did.”
“By the end of the day we were both sunburned, but we still wanted to keep going.”
“Those were good times,” Anthony said.
“I remember when we use to camp on the lake and mom and dad would make us sing campfire songs with them.”
“Make us?” Anthony said. “They extorted us. Was it one gallon of gas for the sea doos for every song we sang?”
“Yup.”
“That was awful.”
“It was great. I miss those times.”
Anthony thought about it. “Yeah, me too.”
“Row, row, row your boat,” Tom said. “That was mom’s favorite.”
This increased the tears in Anthony’s eyes. “I remember.”
Even though his strength escaped him, Tom began to sing, be it with a broken voice. “Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream—” he looked to Anthony to join him, but he didn’t. “Come on, kid, don’t leave me hanging.”
Anthony struggled to hold back his tears, but they were already flowing down his cheeks.
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s gonna be alright. Sing with me, come on, like we use to with them,” Tom reassured him.
“Okay,” Anthony whispered.
Tom started again. “Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream…”
Anthony joined in. “Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream…”
“…Merilliy, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream…”
“…Merilliy, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream…”
The group stood there and watched the brothers. They were being chased by thousands of dead things, but this is what had their attention. It was somber and touching, and it reminded them of what they all had before the infected darkness fell over the world. It also reminded them of what they were fighting for, besides just staying alive another day. This solidified their purpose and they weren’t going to forget this moment anytime soon.
Not too long ago, Maggie lost her husband and, more importantly, Corina, her daughter. She hadn’t begun to cope with those loses because this was the first moment of peace that she had time to think about it. Watching Tom and Anthony sing this childhood lullaby pushed her past the brink. Her eyes blurred and she wept silently. The humanity of the moment overwhelmed all of them, even Ardent who, nevertheless, kept his eyes forward as he steered the boat. He was a Naval officer and he had to keep his composure and guard up at all times. He ignored the burning sensation in his eyes.
Maggie calmed herself enough to join Tom and Anthony. “Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream…”
And the boat pressed on through the dark waters as countless monsters followed them. Their future was dark and they had no idea what awaited them. It was the unknown and—besides each other—it was all they had left.
“…Merilliy, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream…”
DAY 23:
PAUL and KATIE
PAUL RAN LIKE MAD THROUGH A STREET OF LONDON APARTMENT BUILDINGS. His feet pounded on the pavement like a jackhammer and the reason he ran so hard was right behind him—five fast movers screeching madly as they chased after him. At the start, there were about seventeen that wanted to run him down, but many of them trailed off and attacked other innocent bystanders they came across. Paul was left with these five and he couldn’t shake them.
Half a block ahead, through his jittery, bouncy vision, Paul saw a few people who were in the street looking at the black smoke of the crash site. He would be running by them in a few seconds and the dead would most certainly attack them. “Get out of the street!” Paul yelled, but he was too far away and only one of the people looked in his direction.
“Get back inside!” Paul shouted.
This time all of them looked his way but, to them, all they saw was a group of people who looked like they were jogging.
“Run, goddamn you!” Paul shouted, but it was useless.
He aimed the Glock into the air and fired two shots, which go their attention; all of them ran and disappeared into their homes. Except for one curious older man who stood looking at Paul approach. “What is going on here? What are all of you running from?” he shouted.
“I’m running from them!” Paul yelled. “Get in your house, you stupid bastard!”
“How dare you!” the old man declared as Paul ran by.
The senior turned and saw the things. “Oh my lord!” he tried to run, but it was impossible as two of the stenches tackled him and tore into him.
Three remained on Paul.
A car turned the corner ahead of him and came toward Paul, who pointed the gun at the driver. “Stop!”
The car came to an abrupt halt, but not fast enough as Paul slammed on the hood. The driver, a man
about Paul’s age, and the girl in the passenger seat were in shock to see a man wearing torn clothes and covered in blood crash against their hood. They hadn’t noticed the three ghastly figures coming up behind him. Paul quickly dashed along the side of the sedan, passed the girl’s scared face, and got in the back seat before they could react. “Lock the doors!” Paul shouted as he locked his and the one across from him.
“What do you want? Money?” the driver said in a panic and grabbed his wallet. “Here, take it!”
“Lock the bloody doors!” Paul yelled and stuck the gun in the man’s face, which only froze him in fear for his life.
The girl screamed suddenly when she saw the three stenches coming at them. The first one jumped on the hood and collided into the windscreen, splintering it. The other two were on both sides of the car, smearing their faces against the windows. The couple immediately locked their doors. The creature on the hood rammed its arm through the defeated glass and clawed around madly for anything to grab.
“God!” the driver shouted.
“Get us out of here!” Paul shouted.
The driver was too scared to hear Paul as he avoided being grabbed by the corpse’s hand. Feeling nothing that it could eat, the creature withdrew its arm and then lunged its head into the windscreen hole. Only its mouth and nose fit through, the thing howled and its ghastly breath filled the car. It kept pushing with everything it had, stretching the skin on its face to the point of tearing. Its black tongue, coated in infectious blood and saliva, wiggled violently for some food to taste. Incredibly, the thing made the hole wider as it pushed through and its skin tore off its face, including the eyelids. Completely exposed non-blinking eyes stared at them in rage as the corpse thrashed its body to get into the car, but the partially defeated glass wouldn’t give anymore. It was stuck at the shoulders.
The creature jerked its head rapidly to get in and the jagged glass cut into its neck from all sides, big chunks of flesh fell from its neck until there was nothing but neck bone against the sharp glass. With no flesh to hold it up, the beast’s head went limp, but it kept pushing to get in. Finally, the glass found its way between two of the vertebrae, slicing clean through. The head fell off, bounced on the dashboard, and landed in between the girl’s legs.
She was wearing a dress.
The severed head was still alive and its snapping jaws bit into the inside of her thigh, blood peppered her chest and face as she screamed in agony.
“Emily!” the driver gasped.
Paul reached over, put the handgun barrel to the corpse head, and fired; the bullet ricocheted inside and burst out the skull, hitting the girl’s leg and then bounced off her femur. The round flew out of her skin and shattered the passenger door window, giving the undead thing access to her. It pulled half of her body out the window and ripped into her face, neck, and breasts. Paul reached over to the driver, put the gearshift in reverse and slammed his hand on the driver’s knee, which caused his foot to hit the gas pedal. The tires burned rubber and the car rocketed backwards.
The driver was too shocked to comprehend what was happening and wasn’t steering. The out-of-control sedan hit parked cars on the passenger side, smashing the girl and the corpse feasting on her, their bodies pulled away violently and left sprawled on the street. The driver snapped out of it and grabbed the wheel, but turned it too hard—the sedan shot across the street and plowed right into another parked car with a low front-end—sending the sedan up and over. It tumbled onto the street, landed on its side and slid until the rear crashed into another parked car.
Paul was on his head and knocked senseless, but was still conscious. He tried to get his body upright, but stopped suddenly when two corpses attacked the driver through the broken windscreen. Paul watched helpless and terrified as they dragged him out kicking and screaming and ripped him to pieces. They hadn’t seen him yet, so he looked for the best way out of the car. The front of the car faced the street and they would surely see him the second he crawled out. The backside was against a parked car, he had to escape through the back window, it was cracked, but still intact. Reluctant to make any noise, Paul kicked the window, hoping to break all of it out, but it didn’t give. He looked around for any sign of being discovered—the two ghouls busy feeding on the driver just outside the front of the car didn’t notice. Paul kicked it again, harder this time, and part of the window frame popped out. He moved as quietly as he could and exited the car on his belly.
He made it under a parked car unnoticed and stopped to get his bearings. He saw more of the undead all around him, maybe seven to ten more attacking anyone they saw. Doors were busted open and windows broke all around him. “How did so many get here when they weren’t here a moment ago?” he thought. It didn’t matter; he needed to find a way out. He heard a woman scream behind him—he saw three stenches pulling an old woman out of her building when she came out to investigate the commotion. They tumbled down the stairs and onto street with her—Paul couldn’t do anything for her, but he saw that the building door was left open. This was his way out and he went for it, cautiously climbing out from under the car. He looked all over to make sure he wouldn’t be seen and then ran for the building.
Before he got to the steps, one of the undead saw him and sprinted after him. Paul ran up to the door and closed it just as the dead thing crashed into it. He ran through the hallway of the flat to the small living room—he came upon an old man sitting in a chair watching the local news reporting about the plane crash on the television—“Who the devil are you?” the old man demanded.
“Run!” Paul said.
“What?”
“Hide, you fool!” Paul shouted and burst out the back door.
The front door jerked open and the thing came in after him.
Paul ran through the back yard and out into an alley.
The old man remained seated and watched as the undead thing ran past him.
The fast mover appeared in the alley right behind Paul, running with incredible power and closing the gap. He glanced back and knew the thing was going to catch him. He looked at the Glock in his hand and wasn’t sure if it still had any bullets left. Before this, the only experience he had with guns was from what he saw in films and that was probably all rubbish anyway. Paul’s legs burned, he wasn’t going to last much longer. His speed was already decreasing and the distance between him and the creature was much less. It seemed he could hear the thing squealing as if it was right in his ear.
Paul had to make a decision, even though it might be his last…
He stopped dead in his tracks, spun round, and took aim at the dead thing—it was closer than he thought—ten feet melted to nothing in a heartbeat and he pulled the trigger. The fury of the corpse’s face disappeared in the whiteout of the barrel flash and it blinded Paul. He didn’t know if he hit it, until he heard the loud THUD on the asphalt. The thing was at Paul’s feet with a bullet hole in the cheek, close enough to hit its brain. Paul furiously exhaled, unable to stop breathing hard from exhilarated terror. He stepped away from the expanding pool of infectious blood rolling toward his feet.
A garage door opened next to Paul as he stood there trying to gather himself. A young couple was inside the two-car garage and they were loading up their older model Land Rover; their other car was a newer model Mini Cooper. They had a little girl, about four, and she stood at the front of the garage looking at Paul. She wasn’t frightened; she was actually more concerned about holding her stuffed Teddy Bear. Her parents were too busy loading their SUV with supplies to notice him. They weren’t going camping; they were getting the hell out of Dodge.
The woman finally saw Paul. “Oh God!” she was startled. “Marcus?” she called to her man. They both stared at Paul and saw his state—torn, bloody clothes, the gun in his hand, and the dead thing at his feet—the mother pulled her daughter back, but the man approached Paul. “Is that one of those things then?” he asked Paul. “They’re already this far out?” he said and looked around for mor
e.
Taken aback, Paul said, “Sorry?”
“From the plane crash, is that one of the crazy people?” he asked.
“Yeah, but this one wasn’t on the plane, it was infected by one from the plane,” Paul told him.
“How do you know it wasn’t from the plane?”
“Look at its clothes, they’re too clean,” Paul said. “Besides, I was on the plane and I don’t remember seeing her.”
“You were on the plane?” the woman said. “It looked like everyone died in the crash?”
“They did, except for me,” Paul answered.
“Right, we were watching the news on the television when those things attacked the newsman and ate him, then they attacked the cameraman. It was gruesome,” the man said as he put a case of water into the SUV. “That was enough for us, so we’re leaving.”
“Can I borrow your Mini?” Paul asked.
“Our car?” the man said.
“Please, I have to get to my girlfriend,” Paul pleaded. “She’s pregnant.”
The man thought about it. They heard screams coming from down the alley, accompanied by roars and screeches of the infected that were on the attack.
“Sure, mate, take it,” the man agreed. “The keys are in the sun visor.”
“Thank you,” Paul said.
“Yeah, good luck to you,” he said and they finished packing their SUV and got in.
The Land Rover engine turned on and the family pulled away.
He got in the Mini Cooper and found the keys in the visor. Inserting the key, he started the compact car and drove down the alley.
Paul turned onto a street, looking to his left in time to see the family heading away. Three undead were chasing after it, but the SUV was too fast for them. A corpse jumped onto the hood of Paul’s car—scaring the hell out of him—and banged on the windscreen. Paul pressed his foot down on the accelerator and the dead thing rolled over the car and hit the street. It got up quickly and chased after the Mini Cooper, but Paul was long gone.