Jack Zombie (Book 4): Dead Coast

by Flint Maxwell

  “When I get back, Herb, I’m never leaving again,” I say. “I promise.”

  10

  “I’ll come with you,” Norm says.

  “No, I got this,” I say. “Stick around and keep them safe.” I say this last part a lot quieter.

  “You know where the garage is?” he asks.

  I point behind me at another smoking building, this one much bigger than all the rest, almost like a barn. “That’s it, right?”

  Norm nods.

  I remember passing it on my way to the armory yesterday. It’s crazy how so much can change so quickly.

  “I won’t be long,” I say.

  “You better not be,” Darlene says.

  I lean down to kiss her, tasting blood on her lips. My skin prickles as it reminds me of the cannibals in D.C. But I’ll never have to worry about them again.

  I hope.

  Before I leave, I give Herb a reassuring nod. He nods back, and then I run for the garage.

  I’m rounding a corner when I see the first glint of yellow eyes in the tree line. The day is bright, but inside of the forest, shaded by the canopy of leaves that seem to have sprouted up overnight, it’s dark.

  I see one pair, two pair, three…and so on.

  I shake my head and head for the garage. I see Mother’s hut near the ruined bandstand. I’m standing on a small hill, slightly looking down onto the destruction and chaos. This village is nowhere near as bad as D.C., but like the city, it’s in ruins. Seeing Mother’s hut and the bandstand I stood on a mere day ago brings this sickening feeling into the pit of my stomach.

  I turn my head back to the forest. The yellow eyes are getting closer by the second and there seems like there’s more of them. I don’t have time to stand around and harp on my failures. I have to move on. The past is the past.

  I get to the garage. The door is open. I see rows of cars. It’s nothing compared to Eden’s store of vehicles, but these cars seem to be in better shape. There’s not one car as bad as the van we took from there to here. Thank God. I settle for a Ford Explorer. The rest of the cars are small. The keys are over the visor. They practically fall in my lap as I sit down in the driver’s seat. It’s not often things go my way, but when they do, I’m grateful.

  I pull out of the garage and as I’m turning right onto the dirt road, the first wave of zombies flood the town like a tsunami, more than I expected. My car is nothing but a Hey! Fresh Meat sign.

  I don’t try to get cute. I don’t try to hop out of the Ford and kill them all or mow them down with my shiny new set of wheels. No, there’s no time. I go the opposite direction. There are some stragglers this way, but I weave through them easily enough. I’m heading in the direction of Mother’s place and the ruined bandstand, my heart swelling and deflating, swelling and deflating.

  I start cutting the wheel to the right to go back to the group when I see something. Something I wish I hadn’t seen.

  It’s Mother’s wheelchair. It’s overturned, the wheel closest to the sky wobbling. I stop the car and get out.

  Two zombies come toward me. One is ancient, skin sagging, bone sticking out from their left arm. The other is freshly turned and someone I faintly recognize from my time standing on the bandstand and looking out toward the crowd. I think this man was a father and a husband. I remember him hugging his wife as Mother spoke of better times. Now look at this place. Now look at him.

  I have a gun, but choose not to use it. Instead, I pick up a burnt and jagged two-by-four. The first zombie, the older looking one, lurches and I lean out of the way. He goes falling forward, almost tripping over his own feet. I clobber him in the back of the head with the two-by-four. The skull cracks and the zombie’s knees give out. He lays in the dirt twitching…dead.

  The older ones are always the easiest to kill. They have the softest heads. That is, unless they have been sitting and baking in the sun all day like the zombie we had found in Doc Klein’s Honda on I-95.

  The other zombie wastes no time coming at me. He doesn’t worry about checking his friends or the fact my two-by-four is coated in fresh brains.

  His bloody shirt sways with his jerky movements. I raise the piece of wood above my head, seeing this zombie’s snarling mouth, the black spittle and blood dripping from his teeth, and I think to myself, Fuck this. Now I draw the gun. I just don’t have the energy to bash in another zombie’s head. I’m tired. I don’t have the time, either.

  I squeeze the trigger. The man’s face eviscerates. Blood sprays. Teeth fly from the mouth. There’s a bigger hole now where the bottom of his jaw once was. He drops and I step over him.

  The sounds of his blood trickling into the dirt is like a babbling brook. I try not to notice it. I try not to notice the sounds of the other zombies coming up behind me, either. They are far off, but it’s only a matter of time.

  Besides, I have to check. I have to look for her. I just have to.

  Mother is nowhere near the wheelchair and her hut is a pile of ash and rubble. I see the pictures of Christ that hung on the walls of her dining room, blackened. I even see the shiny, metal tray Grady had served us peanut butter crackers on.

  I go around the back of what’s left of the building. There are bushes back here and a small garden. They are untouched by the flames. Smoke hangs heavy in the air. I see nothing as I scan the small patch of grass and vegetation.

  As I turn away to head back to the car, feeling the weight of the world still on my shoulders and the first wave of blackness that is guilt and depression starting to drown me, I hear something.

  I stop, turn around.

  Now, I’m seeing something. Something moving.

  Coughing followed by soft laughter.

  Beneath the bushes, clutching what looks like a small pot, is Mother. She is bloody around the stomach, gut-shot.

  I rush over to her, feeling the tears bursting from the corners of my eyes. Who could do such a thing? Who could gun down an ancient woman, one as majestic as Mother?

  “Mother!” I say.

  All she does is cough in return.

  11

  I can’t hear what she’s saying so I have to lean down closer to her. She smells like death, like premature rot. I hate it. God, I hate it so much.

  “Jack Jupiter,” she’s saying.

  “Mother,” I reply.

  “Can you move m-me, Jack? Can you move me to my garden?”

  All sounds seem to mute. No longer do I hear the soft crackling of the low flames a few buildings down, or the groans of the zombies farther up the hill near the tree lines. I don’t even hear my own breathing or my heartbeat.

  “What happened?” I say, and I barely hear my voice, too.

  “Life happened, child,” she says. She tries to smile, her lips quivering. It’s a sad sight. There’s blood on her teeth. She has a smile of a woman half her age. Shaking, her hand reaches up toward me. “My g-garden, Jack,” she says. “Take Eugene and I to my garden.”

  Eugene? I think.

  She clutches the little pot closer to her chest. It takes me a moment, but I realize it’s not a pot at all. It’s an urn. The color is white and blue. I’m reminded of these special plates my grandma only got out for holidays. They were very elegant. But Mother’s urn is blue, white, and a little red from her blood.

  “He was my husband,” she says.

  I reach out to touch her. She is very cold. Chills go up and down my spine at the speed of light.

  “The garden, Jack,” she says. “Please.”

  “I can help you,” I’m saying, still not really hearing my voice. “I found the doctor in D.C., and he’s helping Abby. He can help you, too.”

  Mother blinks slowly. A fat tear drops from her eyes, runs the length of her wrinkled cheek then down her neck. “No, Jack, he can’t. I’m afraid my time has c-come. It’s been a very good time indeed.”

  I shake my head. “No,” I say.

  Part of me realizes this is ridiculous. I barely knew this woman. I’ve maybe spoken a hu
ndred words to her. It’s just…she gave me hope. She seemed invincible and if she can die…

  No. No, Jack.

  “I look forward to the journey that awaits,” she says. Then she starts coughing, really hacking. Blood flies from her mouth, dribbling on the urn. She clutches it tighter to her chest. “Y-You should…too.”

  “What?” I say.

  “The journey ahead,” she says. “Don’t take it for granted.”

  Her eyes glaze over. I’m sobbing now. My hand, which is cupped under her, shakes. Does she mean I’m going to die?

  She stiffens in my arms. Her milky eyes go blank. Then she starts shaking and as she’s shaking the blankness crackles with life. She’s smiling, grimacing, laughing, cackling and it happens all in a span of two seconds.

  “No! NO!” she screams, and she screams so loud her dying seems far away. “Jack,” she says. I’m aware her eyes are focusing on me again. She’s here and somewhere else. “Jack, you will have to stop them…Jack, Jack.”

  I hold her closer. Her voice drifts away, going raspy. “Stop who?” I ask. “What? Hold on, Mother. Hold on!”

  “They will ruin it all. They will destroy…they will destroy it…all!”

  I feel the life force leave her body. She jolts once, stiffens, then softens. Her eyes remain open. It’s now I realize how bloody I am. My hands are coated in it. My shirt is drenched, too. Mother has bled out, but I don’t think it happened slowly or anything like that. I think she held on just long enough to tell me to stop them. But who? Or what? The zombies?

  I realize I’m crying again. I feel the warm tears rolling down my face. She is dead and I feel empty. Very empty.

  I stand up, her limp body still in my arms. I take my shirt off, too, feeling the slow coldness of the Spring morning, and I wrap Mother’s frail, lifeless corpse up in it. It fits her almost perfectly.

  I set her gently into the trunk and close the hatch.

  12

  I drive the Ford to the med center. My head has cleared since I saw my reflection in the car’s windows. I looked like one of the zombies, all covered in blood and guts, emaciated, haggard. That’s not me. I’m not one of those bastards and I never want to be, either. I’m alive. My blood pumps and my lungs take in oxygen.

  I choose not to tell them about Mother at first because I don’t think I can. She remains in the back.

  As the Ford pulls up to the smoking building and I see Darlene, Herb, Norm, and Klein all huddled around Abby, the fog of the past clears.

  Darlene stands up, her hair blowing in the breeze. She puts her blood-stained hands in her back pockets. Her eyes squint at the sun glaring down at her.

  “Jack,” she says as I get out of the car. Her voice is awfully quiet until I think she really gets a good look at me. “What happened to your shirt?”

  “Oh, I was just hot.” I walk over and hug her tight then start kissing her. She doesn’t kiss back, but her lips are moving. Soon, she gives in.

  “How is she?” I ask, looking down at Abby.

  “She’ll be better once we can get her in a bed,” Klein answers.

  Abby’s stump is freshly wrapped. There’s also a bandage in the middle of her arm and the tube Norm had brought out from the med center is now red.

  “Is she going to make it?” I ask, feeling my throat starting to close up again. Seeing Abby like this and narrowly escaping death gets me, I’ll tell ya.

  “Yes, she will,” Klein answers. “Blood loss, but I see no signs of infection, zombie virus or otherwise.”

  “You know all about that, huh?” Norm asks, eyeing the Doc suspiciously.

  “Oh yes, quite a lot, actually,” Klein answers.

  “Doc Klein is a very, very smart fella,” Herb says, smiling. “If anyone can fix our Abby, it’s him.” He goes to hug Klein, but Klein raises a bloody hand to stop him.

  “Now, Herb, what did I say about personal space whilst I’m working?”

  Herb looks down at the ground, the smile disappearing. “I’m sorry, Doc,” he says.

  Klein looks at me. “I would like it if you took me to the garage, please,” he says.

  “We got wheels,” Norm says. He gathers up the med supplies and starts to head toward the trunk. I stop him and take him off to the side, out of Herb’s earshot.

  “Mother is in the back,” I say.

  Norm drops the stuff.

  Now all eyes are on us.

  “What is it?” Darlene says and she says it loud. So much for going incognito.

  “You mean…” Norm says.

  I nod.

  He looks at the Ford behind me. “Well, that explains how you’re acting. Did you see her — ”

  “No,” I say, thank God. If I saw Mother get attacked, saw the blow that eventually killed her, I really would have gone crazy. “I got there as she passed,” I say. “I held her — ” My voice breaks. I have to look away from my older brother, from the kid who told me to sink or swim all those years ago. I have to look away because right now I’m sinking and I’m sinking fast.

  “Mother?” Darlene says. She tears up, too.

  I nod.

  Darlene clutches her chest.

  “Why’s everyone cryin?” Herb says. “I don’t like it when you guys cry. You hear me? I don’t like it, I don’t like it!”

  Klein, still kneeling on the ground next to Abby, says, “I think, Herb, your friends have suffered a loss.”

  Herb turns to him lightning fast. “But Abby’s okay. You said she was going to be okay!”

  Klein nods. “And she will be, Herb. Come on over here and sit with her a minute. Keep her company.”

  I’m shocked at how easily Herb obeys the Doc. Usually Herb protests. Sometimes, even, we have to persuade him with cookies and candy. Klein gets up, but he doesn’t walk over to us initially. Instead, he sticks his arms out, ready to embrace Herb. It’s funny, really. Seeing this. Herb, who stands almost a full foot and half taller than the doctor, and him hugging. They part and now Klein walks over to us. His face is solemn.

  “I know tragedy has struck, Jack, but we better get a move on. As far away from this village as possible. It’s only a matter of time until more zombies — or worse — see the smoke,” Klein says.

  I agree with him. How can’t I? He’s right. We need to move and we need to move fast. I just can’t. Each step, each movement is a slog. The fuzz is back in my head. I feel like I’m hungover and I’ve not been hungover in a long time.

  “Let’s move out, then,” Norm says. He speaks with the clarity and cadence of a man who has seen many battles because he has.

  “Right,” Klein replies. “To the garage.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask him.

  “The garage. I need a car,” he answers.

  “You’re not going without us,” I say.

  Klein takes a step back. “I wouldn’t drag you into this,” he says.

  “Either you’re coming with us, or we’re following you,” I say. “So why not save the environment by carpooling?” I smile.

  Klein looks away from me. “You don’t know where I’m going,” he says. “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “The Mojave Desert,” I say, “and it’s never easy.”

  Klein narrows his eyes at me.

  I shrug and say, “I saw the Mojave on a paper hanging from your bag before the smoke — ”

  He jitters. “What else did you see?”

  “Nothing?” Now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes at him. “Why?”

  “It’s top secret data,” he says and he speaks like a robot. I’m bored already.

  “Okay…point is,” I say, “you’re not going alone.”

  “Very well,” Klein says.

  “We’re a family,” Darlene says. She steps up next to me and wraps her arms around my waist. I melt. All the suspicion goes away. “You can never have too much family.”

  “You’re right,” Klein says. “How rude of me. However, I’m warning you, it will not be an easy task.” He cl
oses his eyes and looks up, inhaling deeply.

  I offer him my hand.

  “Then we’ll struggle together,” I say. “Besides, I want to get the hell outta here.

  Norm fakes a shiver. “Yeah, it’s too cold. I’ve been in the Midwest too long. Not enough sun around here.”

  Klein cracks a smile. It’s subtle but there. “I think you’ll regret saying that once we get there.” Then he grabs my hand and we shake.

  “If that’s the case, we can regret it together,” I say.

  13

  Everyone is loaded in the car except for Darlene and I. She is holding her elbows, her arms crossed. She wants to say something, but I think she’s too afraid.

  I lean in and give her a kiss on the forehead. Then I lick my lips. They are salty.

  “You made it,” she says. “I can’t believe you made it.”

  I’ve been back for nearly two hours now. I arch my eyebrow at her. “Did you think I wasn’t going to?”

  “No — I don’t know. I barely slept last night, Jack. You were supposed to be back yesterday.”

  I reach out and grab her hand. “I’m back now.”

  “I had a bad dream last night. A really bad dream.”

  “What was it?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I went outside and looked at the stars like Mother told me to.” She looks over her shoulder at the tail end of the Ford, where beyond just a thin layer of glass and metal, Mother rests eternally. “And it didn’t help, Jack. If you died, I’d die.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” I say, but how do I know? If Darlene died, I’d die, wouldn’t I? I wouldn’t be able to keep going without her. She’s my other half. She’s the reason I get up in the morning. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve been gone a long time ago. She gives me strength when I’m not strong enough to give it to myself.

  “I would,” she says and she squeezes my hand tighter.

  I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say. Sometimes, there’s no convincing her. It doesn’t matter if either of us would die without one another. We are here right now. Together. And together we will remain.