“We already know what his super power is,” Tom said, coming down the porch steps toward them. “Billy John has super human strength and that’s why he comes and helps daddy with the farm work.”
Grace giggled. “Do you like your present?” She blinked up at Billy John.
“I l . . . l . . . love it,” he stammered. “I’m gonna keep it f . . . f . . . forever and ever.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed as tightly as her little arms could. “I love you, Billy John! You’re my bestest friend in the whole world!”
“I love y . . . y . . . you, too,” he said, hugging her back gently. “You’re my bestest friend, too!”
“Grace,” Tom said, waiting for the two friends to finish talking. “It’s time for you to go in and get ready for Bible School. I think your mom wants you to change clothes.”
“Okay,” she said, hopping up off Billy John’s lap. “Bye, Billy John! I’ll see you when I get home.” She turned and ran toward the house.
“Bye, Grace,” he called after her, folding the paper she’d given him and tucking it into the front pocket of his bibs for safekeeping. He stood and brushed the dirt off the butt of his pants. “What are we w . . . w . . . working on today, Tom?”
Tom squinted up at the sun. “I was thinking we could cut down a tree and start a new fence line.”
“Sounds g . . . g . . . good to me,” Billy John said. “What do you w . . . w . . . want me to do?”
Tom looked at Billy John and grinned, noting the anxious expression on his face and the way he was shifting his weight back and forth on each foot. “I was hoping you would drive the tractor for me so I could sit on the hay wagon and keep an eye on the chainsaw.”
“Yippee!” Billy John exclaimed and started jumping up and down. “I was hoping I would g . . . g . . . get to drive the t…t…tractor!” He took off for the barn at a full run, looking like a giant kid eager to play.
Tom followed slowly, grinning.
***
Tom and Billy John worked hard, cutting down the tree with the chainsaw. First Tom cut the limbs he could reach and then cut a notch in the thick trunk.
“You want to try the chainsaw, Billy John?” Tom asked, holding out the tool that was purring roughly on idle. “It’s easy.”
Billy John shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. “I don’t know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kinda s . . . s . . . scary.”
“I’ll show you how to do it and you can make this tree fall down,” Tom encouraged. “That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”
Billy John half-smiled and took an uneven step forward. “Okay, I’ll t . . . t . . . try. It would be f . . . f . . . fun to make the tree go boom!” He giggled and reached for the rumbling saw.
Tom explained what part of the chainsaw did what and instructed Billy John to cut the trunk directly across from where he’d made the notch, and told him the tree would fall away from him. Most of his apprehension melted away during the lesson and by the time Tom was done talking, Billy John was ready to make the tree go “boom.”
He revved up the chainsaw and touched the spinning, cutting chain against the tree, crying out and jumping back a little at the strength of the pull. His eyes grew wide with fear.
“It’s okay!” Tom yelled. “Just hold it firm.” He made a fist in the air and wore a stern expression, using his actions to explain more than his words.
Billy John nodded and stepped forward again. This time when he touched the saw to the tree, he held firm. Biting his bottom lip in concentration, he moved the chainsaw the way he’d been instructed and soon the tree fell with a loud, cracking snap. He started jumping up and down, cheering as it hit the ground.
“Boom!” he yelled.
Tom quickly stepped forward and relieved Billy John of the chainsaw before he hurt himself, smiling at his excitement; it was like working with his daughter in the body of a grown man. Billy John’s innocence was pure and infectious. Tom enjoyed every minute he spent working with him.
“How about we head back for lunch before we cut this monster up?” Tom asked, setting the now quiet saw on the flat, wooden floor of the unhooked wagon. “You want to drive the tractor again? I’ll stand on the back.”
Billy John nodded eagerly, his eyes still bright from the excitement of felling the tree. “I’ll be r . . . r . . . real careful, so you don’t fall off!” He ran over to the tractor and was in the seat in moments, bouncing and making the heavy, metal spring under the seat squeak. “All aboard!” he giggled.
Tom climbed on, standing on the hitch bar and holding onto Billy John’s shoulders. “To the house!” he said, laughing.
Putting along the dirt lane that ran along one length of Tom’s cow pasture, they laughed, joked, and enjoyed the sunshine and fresh air. It wasn’t until they reached the barnyard and switched off the tractor that either of them realized something was wrong. But the moment they saw the broken back door of the house and heard the distant lowing and squawks of the animals, they knew something most definitely wasn’t right.
Before either of them could do anything a scream ripped through the air. Tom recognizing the voice immediately and fear gripped his heart.
“That’s Teresa!” Tom yelled. He knew that if his wife screamed like that something had to be terribly wrong – she wasn’t the screaming, come to my rescue type. Jumping off the tractor, he bolted for the house yelling back over his shoulder. “Stay here, Billy John!”
He dashed inside the house to see his wife in the corner of the kitchen, holding a large steak knife. She had the table between her and a strange man– someone who at first Tom didn’t recognize.
“Teresa! What’s going on?” he yelled.
At the sound of his voice, the man in the kitchen turned his head and Tom was shocked to see it was Mr. Johnson, from the next farm over. What was more shocking was that Mr. Johnson looked terrible; he was covered in blood and there was a large wound on his left cheek.
“Tom!” Teresa yelled. “He came in through the back door and started growling at me, then tried to bite me!”
“Get away from her,” Tom ordered the man, his tone filled with anger.
Mr. Johnson did what Tom wanted, but only because Tom was closer. Spinning on his mud-crusted heels, he lunged for Tom.
Out of instinct Tom put his arm up to protect himself. He was wearing a T-shirt, which was perfect for Mr. Johnson, who sank his teeth into Tom’s forearm.
Tom screamed in pain and pushed the man away, cradling his bleeding arm in his free hand.
Mr. Johnson fell across the table and landed heavily on the floor. He had a two-inch chunk of Tom’s arm in his mouth and was chewing happily.
In less than a second, Mr. Johnson was up and coming for Tom again, who was so startled he put up no defense.
A shadow fell over the kitchen and all three people looked up to see Billy John standing in the doorway. He’d seen what had happened; not listening to Tom, he'd come into the house to use the bathroom.
Though normally timid, Billy John was incredibly protective of the people he loved and he saw that Tom was in danger. Before he thought about his actions, he let instinct take over.
“Get away from Tom!” Billy John yelled. “He’s my f . . . f . . . friend!”
Mr. Johnson wasn’t intimidated by Billy John’s size and he charged him.
Billy John reached out with both hands and grabbed Mr. Johnson around his wrinkled neck, picking him up so that the man’s feet were dangling six inches off the floor. With a throaty yell, Billy John threw the man across the kitchen, where he landed upside down. The audible crack of his neck snapping filled the kitchen.
Teresa immediately ran to Tom who was sitting on the floor, wincing in pain, his arm a bloody mess.
“Thank you, Billy John,” she said as she knelt down beside Tom. She grabbed a towel from the counter and pressed it on the wound – blood soaked the cloth in seconds. “I don’t know what came over him . . . Mr. J
ohnson has always been so nice. He was like an animal!”
Another low moan came from the back door and they looked up to see Mrs. Johnson standing there with her plaid dress covered in blood and a large gash in her throat. The muscle and tendons glistened in the sunlight streaming in through the windows and Teresa could see there was no blood flowing from the wound.
She stepped into the kitchen and made a beeline for Teresa, who stood up and pushed her way; Mrs. Johnson was in her late seventies and Teresa wasn’t the least bit intimidated.
“W . . . w . . . what’s wrong with her?” Billy John asked. “She looks sick.”
“I don't know, just stay there and watch Tom," she said as she began waving the steak knife in front of her. “Stay back, Mrs. Johnson, I’ll use this if I have to."
Mrs. Johnson let out a hoarse wail and charged at Teresa.
The knife was level and before Teresa could prevent it, Mrs. Johnson impaled herself on the blade. She acted as if a six-inch knife wasn’t embedded in her chest and tried to bite Teresa’s face, her dentures clacking again and again.
Teresa shoved her away and Mrs. Johnson fell back, the knife sliding free. Teresa stood shocked. With the exception of a thin slit in Mrs. Johnson’s dress, there were no signs of the stab wound causing her harm; no blood leaked from the hole, only a thin trickle of brown ooze.
“My God, it’s like she’s dead and still walking around,” Teresa gasped as she stared in shock at the zombie before her. There’s no reason for me to hold back, she thought as she dropped the knife, sidestepped a few feet to the stove, and picked up the cast iron skillet on the front burner. When Mrs. Johnson came at her again, she swung the skillet like a baseball bat. There was a loud clang and Mrs. Johnson got a facelift, only this one didn’t improve her features. Her nose went up where her eyes were, and her eyes and sockets were pushed up to the top of her head as the skillet collapsed her skull into mush, leaving nothing but her scalp.
The old woman dropped to the floor, twitched, and went still.
While Teresa and Billy John were watching the woman to make sure she wasn’t going to get back up, Tom’s eyes drifted closed in death; his last breath escaped from his body in a sigh.
“Teresa,” Billy John cried out in alarm, noticing Tom’s passing first. “What’s w . . . w . . . wrong with Tom? He’s not b . . . b . . . breathing anymore!”
“Oh, God, no!” Teresa screamed, and fell to her knees beside Tom’s prone, lifeless body, tossing the skillet aside.
“What’s w . . . w . . . wrong?” Billy John asked again, rubbing the top of his head with both hands and shifting his weight nervously, rocking back and forth. “Make him g . . . g . . . get up.”
“I can’t,” she whispered with tears streaming down her face. She pressed her cheek to Tom’s forehead and jumped back when his eyes popped open and he groaned.
“He’s moving,” Billy John yelled, and pointed down at Tom. “He’s o . . . o . . . okay!”
Teresa didn’t say anything, but watched Tom cautiously and scooted backwards on the floor. Her hand came into contact with the handle of the knife she’d dropped moments before and her fingers curled around it, gripping it tightly in preparation. Tom had loved zombie movies, and as much as her mind was trying to fight it, she knew she was now battling the undead and that her husband had joined their ranks.
Billy John bent forward and reached out to help Tom get up.
“No, Billy John!” Teresa screamed, and he stood erect and backed away in confusion when Tom snapped at him. “He’s a zombie now. He’s not Tom anymore.”
“Not T . . . T . . . Tom?” he frowned, and looked down at his once friend.
While Tom was still focused on Billy John, Teresa slowly rose up on her knees and lunged at her undead husband, stabbing the blade of the steak knife roughly into his ear. He screeched for a moment, his hands rose halfway up to his head, and then he fell to the floor again.
“Why did you d . . . d . . . do that?” Billy John asked accusingly. “You h . . . h . . . hurt Tom!”
Teresa stood on unsteady legs and stumbled over to Billy John, swiping at the tears that were still sliding down her face. “He was a zombie, Billy John. He was going to hurt us both. He wasn’t Tom anymore. Do you understand?”
Billy John, who was also crying, blinked at Teresa, sniffed loudly, and shook his head while wiping away his tears.
Teresa took a deep breath, trying to think of how to explain zombies to Billy John, and then she spotted the comic book sticking out of his bibs. She grabbed it and pulled it out, flipping through the pages quickly; she stopped when she found what she was looking for.
“See this guy?” she asked Billy John, showing him the book.
He nodded, sniffing again.
“This is a bad, bad man,” she said. “See these guys all around him? The ones that look sick?”
He nodded again. “Y . . . y . . . yes.”
“Those are the zombies,” she said, smiling a little because she saw that she was getting through to him. “We have to be the good guys and kill the zombies to save the innocent people!”
Billy John grinned. “I get t . . . t . . . to be a superhero and save the world?”
Teresa nodded, grinning back. “Yes, you get to be a superhero. You have to destroy the forces of evil and save the day.”
Billy John’s excitement drained from his face. “What about Grace? S . . . s . . . she was supposed to be my s . . . s . . . sidekick!”
Teresa’s lips tightened as he mentioned her daughter, and she had to blink rapidly to hold back the fear that wanted to smother her into silence. “Your . . . ” She paused and cleared her throat. “Your sidekick is in danger. You have to rescue her so that you can work together to save the day!”
Billy John frowned and then nodded solemnly. “I’ll r . . . r . . . rescue her and save the world.” He thought for a moment. “Can I take the t . . . t . . . tractor?”
Teresa almost laughed, but stopped herself just in time. “Yes, you may. Now go, save Grace and bring her back here!”
“Okay,” Billy John said, and walked toward the door, pausing and turning back briefly. “Don’t you w . . . w . . . worry. Super Billy John will s . . . s . . . save the day!” He grinned and left.
***
Billy John climbed onto and started up the tractor, happy to finally be a superhero. He took out and unfolded the emblem Grace had made for him. He ripped little holes in the paper at the top corners and slipped his bib overall buttons through them so the diamond covered his chest; he was ready to do his duty and save the world.
Chugging out of the barnyard and down the road toward where they’d been working earlier, he kept an eye out for the minions of evil. Zombies, as Teresa had called them. He didn’t spy any. When he came to the tree he and Tom had felled earlier, he noticed one of the larger branches, still attached to the trunk, was blocking his path. He knew he didn’t have much time – Grace was in trouble. He idled the tractor down, made sure it wasn’t going to roll away, and jumped off. He ran over to where Tom had left the chainsaw. It took him a couple of tries to get it running and then he quickly cut off the limb and dragged it aside. Without thinking about it, he climbed back onto the tractor and took off again at road speed, still holding the chainsaw that was humming at idle.
The church where Grace was having Vacation Bible School was almost exactly in the center of the small rural town the farms surrounded. But even there, there was a population of fifteen hundred people. As Billy John advanced toward of the main streets – which would take him to the square – his superhero emblem waved in the breeze from the forward motion of the tractor. When he reached the town limits and finally started down a section of road with houses on either side, he shook with fear as zombie after zombie came shambling toward him.
Billy John whimpered, terrified, looking at the overwhelming amount of evil minions coming toward him. He almost turned around and left, but he remembered his friend. Grace needs me, he thought, a
nd pressed forward, raising the chainsaw. He gripped it tightly and its small engine revved. The loud sound it made caused him to jump; he’d forgotten it was still running. An idea formed in his head and he grinned. Slowing the tractor slightly, he grinned and revved the saw again; undead moans answered its loud cry.
“C . . . c . . . come and get me,” Billy John said merrily, and they complied.
One by one they advanced and reached out for Billy John. He looped off their arms, legs, and heads. Blood flew from the carnage in a fine mist to paint Billy John and the tractor bright red. He didn’t notice though. He was focused on making it to Grace and rescuing her. In no time at all he’d killed more than two hundred zombies who’d advanced on the tractor from all sides. At one point he’d killed fifty in quick succession, just by half spinning back and forth in the tractor seat, swinging the saw while it trudged onward; it helped, taking down some of the zombies with its large, heavy tires.
By the time he made it to the church he was convinced that he really was super and nothing could hurt him, after all, he’d wiped out a large group of the evil villain’s minions and had come away unscathed.
Another large group of zombies surrounded the church; the ones closest to the building beat on the walls, doors, and narrow windows, seeking entrance.
Billy John shut off the tractor and climbed down. He walked halfway to the group of undead shamblers who were assaulting the church, raised the chainsaw in the air, and revved it loudly, throwing pieces of skin and drops of blood into the air as the bits and liquid flew from the rapidly spinning chain.
“I’m Super Billy John,” he yelled loudly, “and y . . . y . . . you zombies of evil intent will n . . . n . . . not harm my sidekick! I’ve come to r . . . r . . . rescue her. Leave now or d . . . d . . . die!”
The zombies took no notice of Billy John’s speech, but they did notice his presence and attacked. He held the chainsaw in front of him, with the bar flat and the chain spinning at the sides. He spun in a circle, in his mind singing “Ring Around the Rosie,” giggling at the “all fall down” part, because the evil zombies were all falling down.
Zombies Inside Page 11