“Everyone. Everything.” She shakes her head. “The soldiers, the clown, the men that attacked us, the one that bit me…”
“Life has irrevocably been altered,” Gabe says. “There are no rules. Some, like the soldiers and Mr. Rottom, choose to be heroes. Others took a taste of the freedom that comes with a crumbling civilization, and they liked it. They let their ids take over. If it feels good, they do it. If they want something, they take it. I wish I knew what makes some choose to be sinners or saints.”
“Can you promise me that we’ll make it home?” she begs.
“No.” Being a man true to his words, Gabe refuses to sugarcoat them. “I can’t promise something that I can’t deliver. I am not going to lie to you. I have no idea what’s down this road or the next, but I can promise to do my best, to try like hell to keep you safe, as long as you do the same for me.”
“I promise.”
18
Fresh from another crushing defeat, Marko and his men loaded themselves into the small red truck. A tight fit, but they had no choice since the black full-ton was disabled.
The trio struck north to Fallen, for Marko has designs on his lost love. She’s the only thing on the planet that has ever made him feel adequate and worth a damn. He needs Carla more than ever, feeling emasculated and pathetic. He bets, at this point, she’ll be happy to see him as well. If she ain’t dead already.
Behind the wheel, Marko presses the accelerator down as hard as he can, driven by desire. The speed causes Jessie and Biff to whoop and laugh with excitement, but they struggle to watch the old couple from the camper dragging behind them, skipping along the rough surface likes stones on a calm pond.
Visions of his lovely ex-girlfriend, and thoughts of their reunion, make Marko shift in his seat from the growing bulge between his legs. He doesn’t notice when the snow begins to fall, nor does he notice when a man walks out onto the road, until it is too late.
“Marko, lookout!” Jessie screams to no avail.
The path Marko took leads them past a line of military vehicles parked just outside a vast estate’s high stone wall. One of the soldiers chose the wrong moment to step onto the pavement.
Marko, wide eyed and fully alert, ignores the thump and keeps going. He presses even harder on the gas, fearing retribution.
“They’re coming!” Biff says, upon noticing the troops mobilizing.
Marko slips off of the highway and onto one of the side routes he grew up on. He doesn’t stop, but weaves his way using the rural roads to get to Carla’s home.
Their knocks go unanswered and Marko grows impatient. Biff says she must be home since the porch light came on when they pulled in.
“It’s a sensor, jackass!” Marko snaps.
Rather than stand around in the falling snow, Marko orders Jessie and Biff to take the door off its hinges. They give him uncomfortable frowns, but know better than to question Marko, especially in the current mood he is in.
The men enter. Leaving his accomplices at the front door, Marko explores the trailer. For the first time in his life, he feels worried about someone other than himself.
Carla emerges from hiding when he calls her name, looking amazing as she stands in a slip of a nightgown. She also looks none too pleased to see him.
Rambling, Marko lays out his plan. They’ll be king and queen of the apocalypse. He fumbles his words, getting ahead of himself while his fingers fidget anxiously. The sour look she greeted him with never sweetens, and once he has concluded his grandiose scheme, she tells him to get out.
He attempts to convince her but she refuses to hear him. So he follows her around the cramped, dark home, still trying to persuade Carla. Finally he grabs her arm to get her to listen, explaining that she’s better off with him than facing this world alone. She remarks on how she once thought that way, even before all of this, but realized she is more than capable of handling herself.
Marko becomes insistent, telling her that she’s coming, willing or not, for her own good. Dragging her to the door, he tells her that in time she will see he is right. But she fights to get free, even after he slaps her hard across the face. Her younger brother, Sid, comes out of hiding to aid his sister, only to get punched in the nose.
Carla screams out as Jessie and Biff reluctantly pick her up and carry her out into the cold, dark world.
At the truck, the cousins put her down. She’s barefoot in the snow and struggling to get free. Marko comes a bit too close, giving her the opportunity to kick him in his groin.
The seconds it takes him to recover only fuels his rage. He slaps her once again and points to the ground. He wants his men to lay her out for him and hold her down. Marko aims to teach her respect and to know her place in his kingdom. A cold, hard lesson right here in the snow.
Carla is far too small to get free of the massive men that have her pinned by her wrists and ankles, though she squirms and writhes to get away from Marko as he unzips his pants. He stares down as she fights, and he is turned on by how she moves her body. It reminds him of happier times when she once moved the same way willingly.
As he’s about to reunite with Carla, a shot rings out in the night. The back of Jessie’s head explodes in a shower of gore just before he falls backwards. Marko and Biff search the darkness beyond the motion sensitive lights, but they are unable to see anything in the gloom. It’s like being in a snow globe.
Another shot rings out and Biff falls on top of Carla. She is free, but has to crawl out from under her deceased captor to get back into the safety of her modest home.
Marko has never felt more scared in all his life as he scans the edge of darkness, hoping to get the drop on whoever has robbed him of his loyal subjects and his queen.
“And the cheese stands alone,” the night visitor mocks him. Before he can track the voice to know where to shoot, another round is discharged.
Marko’s shoulder sears with blinding pain, and he has lost his pistol. Dropping to his knees, his good arm desperately clears the thick snow to find his weapon. He wishes he hadn’t asked Jessie to hold his assault rifle.
Headlights flare on and draw near. Marko must use his one good arm to shield his eyes form the glare. He thinks too late to go for the slung rifles of his fallen comrades.
A shadow passes in front of the high beams and he grows still. Blind to the identity of his tormentor, his ankle is seized and Marko is dragged away from any hope of saving himself.
The phantom just leaves him in the snow. He isn’t afraid of me, Marko thinks. He’s made his way through life by using intimidation, coasting on the fear he instilled in others. Now he’s on the receiving end, learning what it feels like to be truly terrified. Shots in the dark behind him make him cringe like a small dog during a storm.
The phantom isn’t shooting at him. Marko knows he’s putting down the two zombies he and the boys had fun with. The world was theirs for the taking, but now his dreams are shattered and he is powerless to stop it.
Just kill me already, he thinks, but he doesn’t get off that light. The phantom rebukes his mental plea for a quick death by revving Marko’s chainsaw to life. Ragged puffs of frigid air freeze Marko’s lungs just as he’s frozen in place. The whirling, devastating blade draws near, sounding even more frightening in the still of the night. A foot pushes him to the ground. Though he’s seen what the chainsaw can do to flesh firsthand, he uses his good arm to shield his face.
The phantom speaks nonsense about carving turkeys on Thanksgiving, but all Marko hears is the idling motor of his saw, and all he can do is relieve his bladder. He cries, curling into a fetal position as he waits for inescapable agony.
The saw shuts off, leaving an awkward emptiness in the air. Marko can’t help but open one of his tightly closed eyes. The mystery man tosses the power tool aside, then he speaks once more and kicks him in the face. The lesson concludes, and every tensed muscle in Marko’s body melts into the snow. The man simply wanted him to know the degree of fear that Carla felt, that a
ll of his victims had to endure, driving his point home by example.
“But I can’t let you live.”
These words snap Marko from his relaxed state. He stares into the barrel of a large caliber pistol, but at this range it may as well be a Howitzer. All of his life he has feared nothing except the law, and most recently the dead. This, his final night, he learns that no police officer, game warden, or zombie is as fearsome as the man that takes his life.
Section X. Brass
1
Gabe pushed as far as he could east before surrendering to fatigue. Afraid of losing control, he hardly used the gas once the storm worsened. Making matters worse, he struggled to keep his eyes open.
Under his instruction, Vida drowsily climbed into the backseat. She pulled open a panel in the backrest that leads into the trunk and felt around for a couple of blankets. They nestled in for the night, gladly giving themselves permission to sleep no matter what the next day held.
They awake at the break of day after a bone chilling slumber to find they haven’t been completely buried by the deep snow. In his blind parking job, Gabe placed them under an overpass that blocked a great deal of accumulation. The stroke of luck spares them from having to clean too much off the car, but their backend is thickly frosted with a layer of windblown snow. It also gives Gabe the ability to take a run at the snow covered road, since under the overpass is merely dusted. He plows through the drifts without the horsepower required for such work. But he manages to cut his way east.
Vida is amazed by the sight. She’s only seen this much snow on television, and it’s so beautiful she can’t believe it. The sun shines down upon the frozen world of white and hurts her eyes, but she just can’t look away.
Though they’ve grown close, they know little about how each other survived before their meeting. Vida tells Gabe of the Zombie House and of Brandon. She tells him about the long walk to the bridge and about Brad. Gabe’s own tale isn’t as tense. In fact it was quite tame in comparison. He tells her the story nonetheless.
###
Many people in Manitoba were lost. Gabe didn’t lose anyone personally, but it doesn’t diminish the tragedy in his eyes. He had travelled up there weeks before to visit his son and daughter-in-law, but had hoped to be back home before the real bad weather struck.
At the onset of the occurrence, he and his family ran to the town’s recreation center. The reporter on television said to stay indoors, but at the bottom of the screen a scrolling ticker displayed the names of places folks could go.
Gabe, Gloria, and Howard were the first to arrive, second only to Pastor Jim, who was running the place as a rescue station.
The sheriff arrived next and took over admitting folks after checking them for bites. Having already undergone their once over from the lawman, Gabe, Howard, and Gloria waited in the gymnasium with Pastor Jim. Gabe can’t say for certain if any infected individuals arrived at the door or not. He can’t recall hearing a telltale shot, signaling someone being put down. He assumes the officer separated anyone possibly bitten from the other survivors, or turned them away.
Men, women, and children waited together in huddled clusters of families and friends. Those let in all alone found a place among the groupings, for they were all in it together.
They needed to be doing something, even if that something boiled down to doing absolutely nothing.
Gabe brought the children over to the game equipment and told them all to play quietly. To alleviate parental concerns, he remained with the young ones, though they were never out of sight of their mothers and fathers.
The diversion of having things to play with didn’t last long, since the children couldn’t make the ruckus their heart’s yearned for. Glazed expressions of tedium set upon their faces as they silently rolled balls back and forth between them. Given too much time to dwell on the monsters they were hiding from, a few began to cry. The only joy they had was when the radio’s battery finally gave out in the dark and Gabriel joked to them in a whisper, “I think it died of boredom.”
For the first time since they had met, Howard and Gloria were not fighting. The fact didn’t escape Gabe’s notice as the couple tenderly held one another. Gabe also knew this to be a bad thing. Though there wasn’t much to fight about they seldom missed an opportunity to quarrel. To say they fought like cats and dogs would be putting it mildly. It was their brand of foreplay, which commenced at the dawning of everyday and concluded when they finally decide to just get down to it. Gabriel always brought plenty of earplugs to wear to bed when he visited. The sight of the two not at each other’s throats, or coyly fondling one another, should have been a relief, but Gabe knew it meant they were scared. Far too scared to even consider their routine, even if they had the privacy to carry it out after their prelude.
Looking back now, Gabe can only blame himself for igniting the passionate brawls on the road when he mentioned to them that they should perhaps head for his home. The idea of returning to their comforting, seemingly turbulent, marriage thrilled them.
One survivor overheard this and told another, and soon there was a group around Gabe, asking to join him. He couldn’t refuse them, but did warn that the road trip might be dangerous. Those willing to risk their lives and leave the cold gym for more comfortable accommodations gathered what little they had brought to the shelter with them. They raided the sporting goods closet for weapons, turning up field hockey sticks and baseball bats. The only ones to stay behind were the sheriff and a man with an infant.
The man had lost his wife and was too afraid to take his precious little girl out into the world. She’s all he had left in it. The sheriff refused to leave because he wanted to direct folks to Gabe’s place, should anyone venture to the shelter.
The rest Vida already knew. Gabe and his people left the town of Manitoba at first light the next day, just happening by at the right moment to save her.
The two find very little to talk about after Gabe’s story. The unchanging scene outside offers them no inspiration for dialogue. Just a blank canvas of white.
2
Farther southeast, and a day deeper into the apocalypse, the blanket of white thins until all they see is green. An illusion of spring that not only tells them they are getting closer to their goal, but also that they must take more precaution. They noticed the dead in the winter wonderland moved a lot slower, due to the cold climate. The warmer it gets the faster they’ll be.
Thanks to Howard’s forethought, taught to him by Gabriel, they can gas up using a siphon hose from the trunk. Now that they are clear of the snow and ice, the two fuel their ride together. Gabe gets the fluid moving from the donor vehicle, but he has Vida hold the tubing during the transfusion so he can keep watch. Though warmer temperatures mean the dead will be more active, it is the living that have the pair most concerned.
When Vida asked Gabe if he thought they’d encounter more men like Brad, or the three that attacked their convoy, he truthfully told her he had no idea, and he wouldn’t lie to her just to ease her mind. All he can assure her is he’ll do his best to get her home.
The absence of snow and ice allows them to drive faster. Their simple strategy is to keep pushing and rest only when absolutely necessary. They are on rural roads now in hopes of avoiding the threats plaguing their thoughts.
The tactic of utilizing the side roads was also to avoid congestion that may hinder their progress, but not all gambles pay off. They must weave around, and regrettably run over, strewn corpses that pollute their path. A battle between the living and the dead has obviously taken place on the route they have chosen, and shambling figures along the sides and in the surrounding woods make them question which side won.
Once clear of the decaying debris, a pop startles them. The sedan wobbles from a blowout and pulls to the left. Gabe ignores the rules of the road by not taking his ride to the right and instead lets it drift to a stop.
“Oh, no!” Vida says from the back, where she has been resting up to take ove
r for Gabe once he gets too tired to continue. “Of all the places to have a flat.”
“It’ll be all right,” he tells her. Though his words are calm, his face gives away his apprehension over leaving the safety of the car with all the walking dead around. “We just ran over something.”
“Do you have a spare?”
“I’m sure my son at least has a donut in the trunk. It’ll suit us just fine.” Gabe moves to get out, but Vida notices he doesn’t take the .22 pistol he has stored in the center console. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t you want help?”
“I have changed many a flat in my day. Some in far worse conditions than this.”
“Where the hell was this?” she asks. “Vietnam?”
“As a matter of fact…” He smiles before exiting.
Instead of taking the pistol, he takes the rifle. Vida notices Gabe has left the keys in the ignition, popped the trunk, and hit the automatic lock before getting out. At first she finds the action odd because he has removed his ability to enter in a hurry, but considering the man’s nature she knows he did it out of her best interest, wanting to take every possible precaution.
The trunk yields a spare as he had assumed, along with every tool required to do the job. Gabe quickly slides the jack in place under the frame and cranks the front end up. The lugs are a bit problematic, but he is able to bust them loose. He wants to get the job done as fast as possible, and he knows they didn’t run over anything that could do this. A quick inspection of the damaged wheel reveals a small puncture.
Once the spare is mounted, Gabe quickly tightens the lugs, going from one nut to its opposing mate. He wants the job done right, no matter what happens next. He prays that he is just being paranoid and this was not the work of foul play.
Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory Page 12