Night of the Living Dead

by Christopher Andrews

  It didn’t work.

  With a sickening crack, Johnny’s head and neck collided with the raised grave marker of one Clyde Lewis Myers. He twitched for two or three seconds ... and then lay very, very still.

  It all happened so fast. Why, just one minute ago, certainly no more than two, she and Johnny had been bickering over their father’s grave. And now—? How was this—? How could this be?!

  Barbra gasped as the man crawled forward onto Johnny, his mouth open ...

  ... and it was that very sound escaping her lips which drew the creature’s attention back to his original prey.

  And that’s what he is, a creature, not a man, not a maniac, it’s a creature, a ghoul, oh, God, she could see it in its eyes, they were so cold, so lifeless.

  But not entirely empty. As lightning streaked across the sky, Barbra could see craving in those eyes — a hunger, a wicked desire ... for her.

  Forgetting Johnny, the man, the creature, clambered to his unsteady feet. His mouth moved, but not to speak. He was chewing the air, just as he wanted to chew her flesh.

  They’re coming to get you, Barbra.

  Barbra ran. She did not think of Johnny, lying there helpless. She did not even think to call for help — who was around to hear her cries?

  She just ran.

  And the creature followed.

  Even as she stumbled over the uneven ground, desperate to get back to the car and away from this place, she could hear it, shambling and battering its way through the low-hanging branches of the trees. It was coming, and it wasn’t going to stop until it—

  One of her heels sank into the soft earth, and she fell. For a moment she could only lie there, certain that the creature would fall upon her at any moment!

  But no, it was still in pursuit, just not as close as she had feared. It was awkward and clumsy, and could not hope to catch her so long as she kept moving.

  Kicking her other heal off with a flick of her foot, Barbra pushed onward, and at last reached the car.

  Jerking the door open, she threw herself into the driver’s seat. She might not own a car, but she knew enough about driving to get the hell out of ...

  The keys were missing.

  Of course they were. The keys were in Johnny’s pocket.

  Johnny ...

  Coming back to her senses enough to lock the doors, she moaned as the creature caught up with her. It grab the handle and yanked on it helplessly, appearing confused and frustrated that it would not open. In fact, it was pushing on the glass with its other hand, as though it did not quite remember how to open the door. Enraged, it slapped at the window with both hands, then tried to open the door again, then slapped the window, then tried the door ... it could see her through the glass, but could not understand why it couldn’t reach her.

  Flailing and bumbling, it ran behind the car around to the passenger door and repeated its pulling and slapping, pulling and slapping, its mouth open and chewing the air, chewing, oh, why wouldn’t it stop, why wouldn’t it go away?!

  Suddenly, the creature’s wild motion prompted it to catch sight of something behind it, something on the ground, too small or low for Barbra to see. It pushed away from the car, and for the briefest moment, Barbra thought that maybe, just maybe, it was leaving.

  But then her blood ran cold as it stooped, twisted around (nearly stumbling from its lack of coordination), and returned to the car with a rock bigger than its own fist. Showing more cleverness than when it had tugged in futility at the door handle, it smashed the rock against the window once, twice ...

  Barbra screamed as the rock crashed through the glass on the third impact. The creature lost its grip, and the stone missed Barbra’s thigh by only the narrowest of margins.

  The creature paused for a moment, requiring a second to absorb that it had, in fact, achieved its goal. Then it reawakened, dribble running from its lips as it threw itself into the open window, reaching for Barbra, reaching, dirty fingernails clawing toward her face ...

  Lightheaded and desperate, Barbra looked around. If she fled the car, the creature would just clamber back out of the window and come after her on foot. It was slow and clumsy, but all it would take was another fall on her part to bring the thing down upon her like death itself.

  What could she do? If only she had the keys!

  Her hands were acting almost before her mind understood what she intended to do. Johnny had parked near the top of the hill, far enough over the summit that the car was angled forward. Barbra released the parking brake and pulled the gear into Neutral, then seized the steering wheel as the car began to roll.

  The creature, whose long legs were still outside the vehicle, was caught off-guard. As the car rolled and picked up speed, it was dragged back out of the window. Barbra glanced over to see that it was trying to hold on, but it again seemed confused by the entire situation. It could not understand how or why its prey was getting away, and a last-ditch leap through the open window or climbing on top of the car were apparently beyond its comprehension.

  Soon enough, the car was rolling faster than the creature could stumble to keep up, and it lost its grip. It did not give up, but continued to shamble along after her.

  Barbra guided the car along the gentle curves of the cemetery road, and the creature fell further and further behind. Perhaps she would be all right after all, get away from the thing, so that she could get help and come back for Johnny.

  For Johnny ...

  With her immediate danger past, thoughts of her brother brought Barbra to tears.

  No! She had to keep control of herself! She had to! Only she could save Johnny!

  She turned to look back through the rear window, but this time she was hoping that the creature was still in sight, because if it gave up too soon it might remember that Johnny was still back there, unconscious and helpless. She had to make sure she lured it as far away from Johnny as possible—!

  With her eyes off the road, Barbra did not see the next curve ahead. In those few seconds, the car lurched off the dirt road and ground its driver’s side up against a large tree, coming to a rough halt.

  If the motor had been running, it would not have mattered — the damage to the car was superficial. But since she had been coasting, the car had lost all momentum.

  She was stranded, and the creature was getting closer every second.

  The driver’s side was pinned, so Barbra crawled across the front seat to exit out the passenger door — some of the loose, broken glass cut into her knees, but she didn’t even notice. Stockinged feet crunching on gravel and dead leaves, she bolted away from the creature.

  Cutting across the cemetery in the general direction of the main road, Barbra crashed through branches and twigs and underbrush, and soon her feet were just as torn up as her knees. She hoped to lose the creature this way, but she wasn’t sure how much longer her exposed hands, feet, and legs could take the punishment.

  Finally, after a short time that stretched an eternity for Barbra, she broke through onto the smooth dirt she had sought. Risking one glance over her shoulder, she really put on the speed now, intending to race down the road until she was safe.

  Thunder rolled across the land once again, and as if on cue, the creature appeared. As feebleminded as it seemed, it had managed to cut straight across a less-wooded area, reducing the ground it had to cover by almost half. Barbra whimpered and again angled away from the road to avoid it.

  In the fading light of dusk, she spotted a rundown, white farmhouse standing across an empty and overgrown field. Should she seek shelter and help there, or continue on to the main town? How far away had it been? Johnny had been driving (and bickering about the broken radio), so she hadn’t been paying close attention. They’d been through here many times before, but she was so rattled!

  With a glance back at the approaching creature, Barbra hurried toward the farmhouse.

  She was gasping by the time she stumbled against an old gas pump near the barn. On closer inspection, she felt l
ess hopeful that the farmhouse would be occupied — it had a feeling of desertion to it. Still, what choice did she have? Slow as the creature was, it never seemed to tire — she needed to get out of sight, and quickly.

  Circling wide around to the front of the house (perhaps the creature would think she had run straight past it without stopping?), she climbed the stairs onto the porch before collapsing against a post in exhaustion. She wanted to call out for help, but she couldn’t risk the creature overhearing her.

  After giving her burning legs an all-too-brief respite, she tried the front door — Locked!

  Nearing tears once more, she leaped from the porch to swing around toward the back of the house. The lawn was at an incline here, and she slid and fell, but was again on her feet and running in a heartbeat.

  An instant before she reached the edge of the house, she caught herself — depending upon where the creature was, she might be exposing herself if she continued on! Forcing herself to move with extreme caution, she inched her way forward and peered around the corner.

  No, oh no, no!

  The creature was still in pursuit. It moved with less zeal now, but it was halfway across the open field, still shambling straight for her.

  In renewed terror, she abandoned stealth and continued to circle the house. If the back door was also locked, she would have no choice but to press on, and she did not know how much longer her legs could ...

  There! Oh, thank you, God!

  A small back porch with a narrow doorway — and the door was standing open! Within the shadows, she could see a counter top, a kitchen table, and on the table, a plateful of fruit ... all so safe and reassuring in their blessed normalcy!

  Mewling as much with relief as with fear, Barbra rushed toward the open door ...

  BEN

  Ben stepped off the bus and stretched the kinks out of his back. According to the schedule, he would have to wait two hours for the transfer bus to come through — at least two hours, as he could not count on the buses running on time out here in the middle of nowhere. Taking his jacket off, he looked around, but all he found was an old gas station, which was closed, and an eatery called Beekman’s Diner. He realized that it had been a while since he had eaten, so he picked up his modest suitcase and headed into the diner.

  Business was slow in Beekman’s. Aside from himself, only four other people had gotten off the bus, and two of them had started walking up the road. There were a pair of old men sitting at the counter, sipping at cups of coffee and bickering over the best way to prepare catfish, and an overweight janitor sat slumped in the farthest booth with a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

  "Wherever you want," said a tired-looking waitress, indicating the open booths. The two other travelers walked ahead of him and sat together at a booth near the middle of the small, narrow diner. Ben took the nearest booth, tossing his suitcase and jacket in beside him. It was a lot cooler in here, so he kept his sweater on as he sat down.

  The waitress came to him first. "Passin’ through?" she asked the obvious with no real interest in her voice.

  "Yes, ma’am."

  "Just coffee, or should I bring you a menu?"

  "I’d like some water, and please bring me a menu."

  The waitress exhaled and nodded, almost concealing her annoyance at the extra effort required on her part.

  It did not faze Ben in the least. As a high school teacher, he had been subjected to every variety of passive-aggression under the sun — from simple eye-rolls to soul-deep sighs, Ben had seen and heard it all.

  The woman brought him his menu a minute later, then perked up a bit when he ordered a very simple burger and fries. When he asked for her opinion on the best pie for dessert, she returned his warm smile with one of her own. By the time she brought his food, she was exchanging small pleasantries, albeit one sentence at a time.

  Just like with so many of his students, Ben had won her over.

  It didn’t always work out this way, of course. Some people wore shells too tough to crack with entreaty. Ben had learned long ago that there were times for charm, and there were times to put his foot down, hard. He was glad that charm had worked here.

  Ben had finished his entree and was waiting for his slice of peach cobbler when he saw the woman standing in the road.

  Even after he set eyes upon her, it took him a moment to absorb the oddity of it. By now, the sun was low in the sky and the shadows were long, and the diner’s tinted windows didn’t help. Ben almost looked away before it struck him how ... well, how she was just standing smack in the middle of the road. She was dressed in what appeared to be a nurse’s uniform, but even in the poor light, he could see that it was very dirty — a particularly nasty stain ran from the left side of her neck down onto her breast. Her hair was a mess, too, hanging wild and hiding much of her face.

  And there she was, just standing in the middle of the road.

  "Here you go," the waitress said as she set his cobbler onto the table.

  "Mmm ...? Oh, thank you, ma’am ..."

  "You all right?" she asked, but then answered her own question when she followed his gaze. "Oh, my Lord!"

  One of the old men turned on his stool. "What’s that, Clara?"

  "Look there!" the waitress exclaimed. What Ben had considered merely strange had struck a stronger chord with his server, and her voice trembled as much as her pointing finger.

  Now both old men were looking out the big front windows, as were Ben’s fellow bus travelers. Only the janitor remained oblivious, still snoozing away in the back booth.

  "Is that Liza Connelly?" one of the men asked as he rose from his stool for a closer look.

  "I, I think so, yeah," the waitress answered. To Ben, she explained, "She’s my neighbor." Her fingertips were touching her quivering lower lips now. "She works as a nurse over at the county hospital. That’s a ways from here."

  The woman in the road, Liza, was moving now. A very slow pace, and with an awkward gait, but she was moving. Straight for the diner.

  Ben did not know why this disturbed him — if anything, Ms. Connelly looked as though she might need help — but it did.

  Perhaps this was why he was hesitant to stand, slow to move. He found himself reluctant to take action, which was very out of character for him. As such, it was one of the older patrons who announced, "I’ll go see if she’s okay." And it was the two old men together who hurried to the front door.

  And so Ben watched it all happen:

  The two old-timers hustled until they were about ten feet away from Liza, then they slowed down. Ben could see one of them talking to her, probably asking if she were all right.

  Liza turned in their direction, but she did not look up right away; her hair was still hanging in her face.

  The speaker reached out to Liza now, taking her by the arm, guiding her toward the diner.

  Liza leaned toward his hand, stooped her neck ... and bit at him. Ben blinked in amazement, but the waitress’ gasp told him that he had not imagined it — Liza had tried to bite the old man.

  The speaker jerked back, turning into profile as he addressed his partner from the counter. Ben saw his mouth form the words, Did you see that? His expression was both mystified and offended.

  Whatever the men might have tried next was irrelevant. Liza threw herself at the speaker, her temperament suddenly that of a wild animal.

  The speaker, now the victim, tried to push her away, but as he shuffled backward he lost his footing. He stumbled and fell.

  Liza landed atop him and bit him, bit him right on the face. Her teeth sank into his cheek and ripped the flesh away in horrifying strings of gore, exposing his gums and molars to the air.

  Ben could hear the victim’s screams through the glass. The man’s partner stared down at his friend, who was by now crying out for help as the crazed nurse continued her assault. The partner took a single step backward ... and then he turned and ran as fast as his old legs would carry him — up the road, away from the diner
.

  Ben slowly became aware that the waitress was screaming as well. Her hands were pawing at her face as though she wanted to cover her eyes, yet could not. She hopped up and down in place, but seemed unable to look away from the carnage.

  One of Ben’s fellow travelers whimpered and hid her eyes; her male companion hunched deeper into the booth, vomiting onto the seat.

  In all the chaos, only two people maintained even a semblance of calm: Ben and the janitor, who was just now waking up, looking confused and irritated.