There's Blood on the Moon Tonight

by Bryn Roar

  It wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting.

  Josie stifled a sob and grudgingly nodded her head.

  “All right,” he said, pointing in the direction they needed to go. “Stay close behind me and watch our backs.”

  They hadn’t traveled ten paces, when somewhere behind them in the green depths the sound of a tree splintering broke apart the stagnant night.

  “Probably just a storm-ravaged tree finally falling down,” Bud theorized. There were certainly several like that, wind-blown timber, leaning against their more studier neighbors, waiting for gravity to bring them down.

  They listened for a few moments more. Josie was about to agree, when the blast of a shotgun made her jump. A scream followed the blast. They couldn’t tell who it was, but there was little doubt as to who’d pulled that trigger. The other barrel went off before Bud could roust himself into action. Any hopes that their friends might be able to ride out the night in the sinkhole had vanished with the telling reports of the shotgun.

  “Stay beside me!” he ordered Josie.

  Despite Bud’s furious pace, Josie had no trouble keeping up with him. Her legs were long and strong, her wind even stronger, never having taken up Bud’s smoking habit. Her coltish legs ate up the distance right alongside his, their feet pounding the pine needles in even strides, the harsh glow from their Maglites spearing through the dark void. Nor did they make any effort to mask their rough approach. By the thrashing and crashing, somewhere up ahead, it was apparent the Red Eyes were too intent on Rusty and Tubby to notice Bud and Josie’s valiant charge.

  Whipping by, her flashlight finally caught sight of one of her blazes…then another. They were close! Real close! By sheer happenstance, they had stumbled not a hundred yards from the sinkhole! The only things separating them from their friends were the broken sentinels of the forest and a few clusters of ground palmettos blocking the fastest route.

  Another desperate blast of the Remington, lighting the way. “Over there!” she cried. Unless he’d used them earlier, Rusty was down to his last two shells. And Josie didn’t think he would waste them on the Rabids…

  *******

  The tree trunk stabbed deep into the middle of the pit, three feet into the loamy underbelly. Its lowest branch being the culprit of Rusty’s side wound. He could feel the blood oozing down his cargo pants. Sticky and warm. Probably needed stitching, too. Between his and Tubby’s spilt blood, it had driven the Rabids above them into a frenzy.

  Like Great Whites homing in on a hemorrhaging seal, the Red Eyes crowded around the improvised ladder, fighting for a turn to descend it.

  The first Rabid, a female, attempted to slide down the tree as if it were a firehouse pole; the broken branches along the trunk shredding her all the way down. Eerily enough, she didn’t cry out in pain. In fact, she didn’t seem to feel any pain! The sharp and stubby branches only served to slow her descent—enough for Rusty to crawl around to the other side of the trunk, where his shotgun lay waiting. With tree litter raining down on him, Rusty grabbed the double barrel and pulled it to his lap, careful not to discharge the weapon. The hammers were still cocked and locked. The naked foot of the Rabid rested on the stump of a branch, inches above his head. She clenched her toes like a fist. He looked up to see the pink glitter polish adorning the finely manicured toenails.

  Such a dainty little foot seemed out of place, attached to a frothing, red-eyed beast.

  The young girl, unrecognizable in her lunacy, was on the other side of the tree, her rapacious focus on Tubby Tolson. Rusty felt his face burn, realizing the girl was masturbating. She landed nimbly on the floor of the sinkhole, like a cat on the midnight prowl. The blood from the countless scratches and cuts left red-running welts over every inch of her naked body. She looked like she’d been rolling around in a bed of barbwire.

  Rusty settled the walnut stock of the shotgun into his shoulder; felt the smooth, cool wood against his cheek, and took careful aim…

  She never saw the fiery blast that took out her neck. Nor heard Rusty’s battle cry that accompanied it. Her head seemed to jump right off her shoulders, rise two feet over her still-standing body, and then dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. The eyelids flickering like fried circuitry. Her body remained standing, for what seemed an impossible amount of time, while blood geysered up from the hole in her neck, soaking the ground beneath her feet.

  Then, as if a switch had been thrown somewhere in her nervous system, the blood stopped spurting. A second later, her body dropped bonelessly to the ground, right beside her upside-down head. Her bloodshot eyes stared accusingly at Rusty, the crimson light fading away like dying embers in a fire. Then she was still.

  Her messy death gave little pause to the Rabids above. Rusty looked up and his heart seized in his frail chest. The two remaining Rabids were now joined by several others—too numerous to count. Their Fate now sealed, Rusty hitched a sob and used the shell in the other barrel on a rapidly descending Rabid, this one an elderly gent. The owner of the Marine Hardware store. Old man Hinkle. The blast caught the old gent in his spine, in the small of his back. Hinkle fell the last ten feet like a boat anchor, landing with a wet thump in the now serum-soaked earth. Muddy blood spattered Rusty’s face.

  Despite his glasses saving his eyes from a direct hit, Rusty frantically swiped at the muck. It didn’t matter. Nothing could save him now. He just didn’t want to die with that shit polluting his bloodstream. Old man Hinkle was no longer a threat. The close range blast had disintegrated his lower spine and he could do little in his paralysis but stare helplessly at the heavens above. His toothless mouth worked in a soundless sneer. As if he was asking God an impertinent question.

  Rusty breached the shotgun, springing free both spent shells. They dropped smoking to the floor of the sinkhole. He slid in one fresh shell, leaving the last two in his pocket, patting them to make sure.

  Please, God. Please don’t let it hurt…

  He raised the 12 gauge and waited on the next victim to arrive. Two dead Rabids lay between him and Tubby Tolson. Rusty inched his way closer to his unconscious friend. The next Rabid came down the tree headfirst. Like a snake, it slunk sinuously along the broken branches. Josie had seen its like the night before, on the floor of the Sheriff’s Office.

  Dirty spittle preceded its arrival. Long gobbets of slimy suds, stretching all the way down to the ground.

  The Rabid muttered about the coarse things it was going to do to Rusty’s sweet, young asshole. Rusty had taken no pleasure in killing the previous infected individuals; it wasn’t their fault they’d caught the damn disease. This one was different, though.

  This one seemed to be enjoying its affliction.

  Rusty waited until it was close enough to see the contempt behind his Coke bottle lenses, then he jammed the smoking barrels between its red glowing eyes…

  Riding a wave of double-aught, the bloated contents of the Rabid’s skull jetted into the night sky.

  Smoke and cordite choked the air. Rusty took out the spent shell and replaced it with his last two rounds. He was surprised to see his hands were no longer shaking. Rock steady, they were. Just like Bud’s. Just like his daddy’s. He said a quick prayer that he be forgiven this mortal sin. Then after a quick glance upwards, to gauge how much time he had left before the next Rabid’s descent, he laid the barrel, just as he had with the last, on Tubby’s forehead. He could hear the hot metal sear his friend’s flesh. He pulled the gun away in horror. Twin red circles, branded into Tubby’s forehead, stared back at him. Tubby moaned and seemed on the verge of coming out of it. Rusty hurriedly re-aimed, making sure not to touch Tubby’s skin this time. He knew he couldn’t pull the trigger if Opie was looking back at him. Another Rabid had decided to try its luck, and was even now descending upon them. Rusty paid it no mind. They’d be gone by the time it got down here.

  Tears rolled down his face, blurring the image of his friend as Rusty Huggins pulled the trigger…

  Chapter Nine
teen:

  Back When the World Made Sense

  “Over there! Over There!” Josie pointed ahead at the gang of naked Rabids, huddled together around the sinkhole. “They found them! Oh, God, they found me boys!”

  Bud jacked a round in his .45 by way of reply. He wasted no time, either, letting the lead fly free.

  Josie followed suit, blasting away at the greedy eyes. Two Rabids crashed to the ground. Like startled deer, six others bounded off into the dark woods, their beshitted buttocks flashing filthy white.

  Bud skidded to a stop, halting Josie with his left hand, taking aim with his right. Three quick pops and the trio of Rabids who’d foolishly lingered fell dead before they could react to the threat. Neat round holes dribbled blood from the center of each forehead.

  Josie had pulled away and was stumbling over to the sinkhole when a molten blast of light and thunder erupted from within the earth. “NO!” she screamed, too late. “NOT NOW, RUSTY! NOT NOW!”

  She threw herself on the ground and stared down into the smoking pit. Bud ran over and added his flashlight beam to hers. All they could see through the floating haze of gunsmoke were tangled limbs, blood, and gore.

  Buckets and buckets of the shiny wet stuff.

  A nude body on top began to move. Despite the intestines hanging out of its asshole, it was attempting to stand up. It swayed back and forth like a drunk man.

  Bud raised his .45 and Josie stilled his hand.

  “You’re right,” he said. “No sense wasting a—”

  “RUSTY!” she bawled hysterically down the hole. “RUSTY HUGGINS, YOU ANSWER ME NOW!”

  Bud looked over at her sadly. “Josie, he’s…”

  His gravelly voice trailed off as the Rabid at last fell over, revealing Tubby and Rusty underneath—Rusty, who had moved the dead body, shoving it to one side.

  “Skeletor!” Bud laughed, almost hysterical himself.

  As thankful as Josie was to see her best friend again, she appeared to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Rusty…please…is he…is he…”

  She couldn’t complete the question. Like the ozone from an impending lightning strike, it laced the air with the burnt stench of doom. Bud’s stomach knotted and roiled. His eyes went past Rusty, to Ralph Tolson, lying stone still on the ground. His clothes streaked with mud and gore. Tubby’s eyes were closed, his face fish-belly pale. Yet despite the death mask, Tubby’s fleshy features remained unmarred by any close range entry wounds.

  If Rusty had shot him, Bud couldn’t see where.

  A lifetime later, they could all make out the rise and fall of his chest.

  Rusty blinked up at them through the blood-smeary lenses of his Buddy Holly glasses. He looked down in disbelief at his still unconscious friend. Tears washed clean tracks down his dirty face. “Hey, Miss Tits. Buddy boy. What took you guys so damn long?”

  *******

  Rusty climbed out on the tree/ladder and stood beside his friends. They took turns hugging each other before Bud took things in hand.

  “I’m gonna get Tubby. While I’m down there, keep a sharp eye out. Here, Gnat, take this,” he said, handing over the .45. “Remember how to shoot it? It bucks, man.”

  Nodding, Rusty removed his glasses and wiped them clean on the hem of his shirt. His hands didn’t tremble a bit. He took the .45 with a confidence that made Bud and Josie smile at each other. The same way a parent would smile, watching his son stand tall to the playground bully. “What?” he said, noticing their pleased looks.

  “Oh, nothing,” Josie said. “Only I can’t wait to hear how you happened to be covered with dead bodies just now. The Remington’s still down there, I suppose.”

  “Shit, I forgot! Do you have any more shells, Bud?”

  “Yeah, they’d be of better use in the Mossberg, though,” he said, patting the barrel of the shotgun strapped to Josie’s back. “How’s your ankle, Gnat?”

  Rusty looked down at his foot in surprise. He hadn’t thought of his sprained ankle all day, not since Josie had wrapped it in an Ace bandage that morning. “It’s fine,” he said, cockily. “ I can outrun you anyhow.”

  “With Hoss on my back? I should hope so.”

  “You gonna carry Ralphie the whole way?”

  “Did you see that bone sticking out of his leg, Joe? Hell, he ain’t going nowhere under his own steam.”

  “Besides,” Rusty said, “he’s been out cold since I had to yank him out of the way of that damn totem pole.” He looked up shamefaced at his friends. “I almost shot him, you know. I was down to two shells. One had his name on it, the other mine. Tubby’s was a dud. I saw it as a sign we weren’t supposed to go out that way. Then before I could change my mind again, that Rabid came down the tree and I shot it with my last shell. The one with my name on it. If you guys had been even one second later—”

  “Then you would’ve taken care of business with your own bare hands,” Bud said. He gave Rusty an icy look. This is not the time for what ifs, it declared.

  Rusty got the message. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and hawked a loogey. Shiiitt. Motherfucker didn’t even dribble off his chin this time.

  Bud pulled the rope out of Josie’s backpack. He tied off one end to a nearby tree and threw the rest of the coil down into the sinkhole. He gave Rusty and Josie a thumbs-up as he started down, bracing his feet against the denuded pine. He saw the smug looks on their faces. As if they thought it was all cake from here on out. That scared the hell out of him. Such complacency could get them killed.

  “I need you guys to stay frosty. This ain’t over by a long shot.” Rusty and Josie acknowledged this rebuke by taking up their posts on either side of the sinkhole, their backs to Bud as he descended, their guns held out in the firing position. Bud couldn’t help smiling himself as he dropped into the still smoking pit.

  Upon reaching the bottom, Bud took a moment to inspect Tubby’s broken leg. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. The break was god-awful, but Tubby was lucky the jagged bone hadn’t severed any major arteries. Just flesh and muscle. They would have to re-set the leg once they got safely underground. They didn’t have time for all that now.

  Bud cringed at the thought of that bone going back through the raggedy hole in Tub’s leg. For the first time he felt some satisfaction regarding his well stocked shelter: the quality first aid supplies he’d collected down there, the antibiotics, and the excellent Field book on Emergency First Aid. Tubby would need all that and a hatful of prayers if he hoped to keep his leg.

  Bud bent down and picked up the water bottle Rusty had left behind. He squirted some in his palm and gently patted Tubby’s face. When he didn’t wake up, Bud slapped his cheeks more firmly.

  “Tubby! Wake up, big man! Up and at ‘em!”

  Tubby blinked his eyes several times before Bud became more than a fuzzy blur. “Hey, Buddy boy! Gee whiz! Did you fall down here, too?”

  *******

  It didn’t take long for the Rabids to regroup and were once again moving on the last uninfected humans on Moon. From all over the island, the Rabid were converging on the Pines. As if by way of osmosis they’d gleaned the knowledge that this was where the last of their prey was.

  Flashlight in hand, Josie swept the woods from left to right, on one side of the sinkhole, while Rusty swept the other half from his side. Josie was the first to spot the red eyes, leering at her from the concealment of the palmettos.

  “Josie!” hissed Rusty from his side. His Maglite had uncovered a dozen or so Rabids, staring back at him from within the Pines. And from the sound of it, further back in the woods, more were on their way. His light caught flashes of pale dirty skin, darting behind the trees and bushes. The bright light hurt the Rabids’ eyes and made them wary, but it was the firearms really keeping them at bay. More and more, these four were finding out that madness seldom equated with stupidity.