Neighbors

by Paul Z. Ford

  He gagged and coughed again as billowing black smoke concealed and weakened him. The hands were too tenacious. Kahn’s strength faded as the creature pulled him toward its mouth.

  Chapter 25

  Neighbors

  Llewelyn snapped his fingers and held his hand out as one of his men pounded the garage door frame out of shape, so their soon-to-be-dead Muslim wouldn’t be able to open the door. Someone handed him the wooden broom handle they had prepared earlier. The end was wrapped with gas-soaked, torn clothing they had taken from the bedroom inside. He held it under his armpit, like the saluting guidon of a military unit, and fumbled for his lighter. He waited as the subordinate jiggled the last fuel out of a red container onto the garage door.

  Two of his men walked out the front door of the house. The Neighbors moved in pre-planned motions without speaking. The front door was closed and another can of gasoline was produced. The door and front windows of the house were soaked with the fuel as Llewelyn waited and watched impatiently.

  “C’mon, hurry up! We ain’t got all night,” he exclaimed, voice muffled by the cigar held by his lips. A gentle and cold misting rain started whirling around the air.

  “Mr. Wither,” one of the nearby soldiers piped up. Llewelyn pivoted to look at the bold young man. “You sure we need to do this? I mean to the kid and woman. I’m cool with the guy ‘cause he, like, killed our guys. But couldn’t we just let the mom go with the kid?” His voice cracked and faded as he finished his question. Llewelyn strode confidently toward the man, pointing the unlit torch toward him.

  “You forget so quickly, please let me assure you that these are the bad guys. They did this to us. We have to defend ourselves. You’ll never gonna have to worry about what they’ll do now if we take care of them now. We’re just making your wife and kid more safe. Ain’t that what you’re really worried about?” The young man nodded firmly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. These people ain’t like you and your family, that little boy is a future terrorist. You think if we take care of his dad, even if we taught him that his dad was a killer, a terrorist, he’d ever change? He wouldn’t. It might take a few years, but the evil in his blood will boil and burn him up from the inside out. The woman is the same, she’s as complicit as the man.” He turned away and struck his lighter. He held the tiny flame to the end of the wooden pole. The fuel ignited the clothing with a whoosh, spitting black smoke into the cold air. “We’re keeping our people safe. This is how we defend us.”

  “Good luck, son!” Llewelyn’s called loudly toward the side of the house. “Sending you back to hell from where you came!”

  He only had to touch the end of the flaming pole to the wet concrete of the driveway for it to burst into flames. The flickering fire followed the fumes up against the door of the garage and burst upwards, consuming the fuel and licking the top and sides of the damaged frame. Llewelyn walked through the wet grass and touched his torch to the front door and window before handing it off to one of the men who exited the house.

  “You locked them in the back room?” Llewelyn asked.

  “Yessir, we barricaded them in the closet in the master bedroom and doused the room with gas.”

  “Go toss that torch through that master bedroom window,” he pointed. “Hurry up, let’s get out of here!” He raised his voice and turned to the idling trucks. Taking down the back fence turned out to be overkill, the cowardly terrorist had proven easy to ambush. Llewelyn tossed the remaining stub of his cigar into the hot flames now growing as high as the house and walked at an angle through the yard toward his vehicle. The trucks were silhouetted from the bright headlights, illuminating the light misting rain. He looked up and spoke to the shadows of his men near the trucks, telling them to mount up and get going. His soldiers followed him.

  He smiled, victorious, and looked ahead as they closed the distance to the trucks. One of the shadowy figures was walking steadily toward him.

  “What is it, son? I said get in the truck,” he approached the man as he stepped from the shadow a few feet from Llewelyn.

  Llewelyn stopped, wide-eyed and staring in shock. The creature in front of him was covered in crimson blood. Its mouth gaped and it moaned dead breath into the night sky as a low, hissing growl. It had long, stringy hair draped over its face, but Llewelyn could tell it used to be a woman. Its torso was a gaping hole of torn flesh and damaged organs that draped down over the belly and legs like the stringy hair. Wet blood dripped from its jaws as it raised its arms to grasp at the boss. He had never seen one this horrifying, or this close, and he froze in fear.

  A gunshot popped behind him and the creature’s head snapped back before the body dropped limply to the grass. The man who asked Llewelyn the question earlier jogged to his side and grabbed his arm. Llewelyn couldn’t remember his name.

  “You okay, sir?”

  Llewelyn nodded, speechless, not prepared for this. He had already lost too many, despite doing the right thing and taking the risk to bring the terrorist to justice. Everything he had done had been spectacular. His group was the strongest, the best, and the most right. Anger welled up inside him and he shook the young man off his arm before drawing his pistol. He aimed it into the dark and fired several shots at the outlines of figures in the woods.

  “Let’s go, get in the trucks!” he yelled, running now, as several more of the Neighbors opened fire into the night. He ran with the young man into the shadow between the two vehicles parked along the broken fence. A growling figure grabbed him before he could reach the passenger door of the nearest one. He wrestled against the dead thing’s strong grip and tried to bring his pistol around, using his elbow to keep the corpse’s chest away. It pushed against him and clacked its teeth together, too close and too strong. He dropped the big gun to the ground and used the additional grip of his other arm to push the dead creature to the side. His strength was failing as he tried to escape from the abomination.

  His young soldier pushed his own body in between Llewelyn and the creature as it lunged, mouth open, toward the live flesh of its victim. He yelled for Llewelyn to go and pushed the animated corpse to the ground. Llewelyn knelt and felt around for his pistol in the long, wet grass. A piercing scream from the far side of the truck got his attention. The young man was struggling to bring his weapon to the creature’s head when the scream distracted him. He snapped his head to the right and the sharp teeth bit into the flesh of the soldier’s wrist. Blood sprayed as the young man tried to pull away, crying out in pain and panic.

  Llewelyn, giving up finding his pistol, stood and slowly backed toward the truck. He watched the temporarily satiated creature chewed the chunk of the man’s arm. The injury steamed as blood pulsed from the soldier’s artery through his attempts to stop the bleeding. He fell against the truck, sliding to the ground in a sitting position, as the dead thing growled. Blood glistened black in the moonlight as it thrust its face into soldier’s neck and bit hungrily. Loud, satisfied grunts escaped its lips as it bit again and again into the soft muscle of the man’s neck. Llewelyn marched backwards in half-steps, eyes wide, watching the gory scene. He bumped the passenger side of the truck and snapped out of his trance. He flung the door open and climbed into the vehicle, slamming it quickly behind him.

  The driver’s seat was empty and the door on the far side was open. He threw up the console that sat across the bench seat and slid over in front of the steering wheel, feeling the rumble of the engine through his body. He yanked the shifter down and reached his arm out to shut the door. Something gripped his arm as he reached, so he looked back and pulled as hard as he could to escape the deadly grip. He pushed the figure and it fell onto its backside. He looked at his attacker and saw the young soldier, alive but pale with blood running down his arms and chest. Llewelyn pulled the door handle and slammed the truck door closed, locking it with the palm of his hand.

  Another truck suddenly revved and sped past Llewelyn, escaping down the driveway and abandoning their leader. He suddenly felt betrayed
and angry. These men were weak! These men who he fed and protected, only asking for loyalty as payment. It would take a lot to replace them, but he would find stronger soldiers. Strong leaders. People who wouldn’t run at the first sign of danger. Men who appreciated the safety and comfort he provided them and their families. These men abandoned him, and their Neighbors, to save themselves at the first sign of danger.

  “Help me!” The man pounded his open palms against the driver’s side window. Each slapping strike splattered his blood onto the glass. Llewelyn looked beyond the injured man and saw dozens of walking figures silhouetted against the night sky. He didn’t hesitate as he looked away from the pleading Neighbor and crushed the accelerator to the floor. The truck roared away and the bloody man fell to the ground, screaming. Llewelyn bounced the truck down the rocky driveway, alone. He sped as quickly as he could, away from the flickering flames rising and lighting the night sky. He bounced through the gate onto the gravel road, not hearing the screams and shouts of his people fading behind him. Soon their shouts were gone, and the night only heard the quiet roar of the cleansing fire.

  Chapter 26

  Escape

  The rattle of rapid semi-automatic gunfire suddenly rang in his ears. He could hear multiple shooters on the far side of the yard and thought he understood what had happened to the Neighbors, and was about to happen to him. Kahn felt weakness from the smoke and heat that continued to tear at him and suck away his will to fight.

  A singular shot rang incredibly close, making him flinch and duck away from the ringing noise. He fell back, suddenly free, scraping his chest on the broken edge of the window frame as he slid back into the house.

  He sucked in a big breath of smoke and immediately started choking on the heavy air. Flames shot under the bathroom door and scorched the air around him. He instinctively cowered away from the flames and heat, dragging himself on his hip and pressing against the outer wall. He reached blindly up to the window, trying to find the opening while covering his mouth with his other arm. He felt the searing heat and heard the rushing noise of the fire. His consciousness started to get fuzzy, and he struggled to move. He pushed himself onto his knees into the thick smoke and fought against the buzzing sound inside his head, like a swarm of bees threatening to drive him into unconsciousness.

  He found the windowsill with his free hand and grasped at it, chest pressed up against the wall. He oriented his body so it was aligned with the window and tried to pull himself up. He gripped soft flesh, a thick arm reaching into the window. He jumped in shock and tried to pull his hand away, but strong hands grasped him and pulled. Just like that, he was back in a fight for his life. He uncovered his face and tried to strike upward into the smoke with the water key still in his free hand. The intruder grabbed the key out of Kahn’s weak grip and tossed it back into the burning home. The arms reached far into the building to grip both of Kahn’s wrists. He fell limp, unable to fight anymore. He coughed and gagged, bracing for dead teeth to find his flesh. His assailant heaved Kahn’s limp body upward into the smoke. Kahn’s legs rose, straightening at the knees, and held him against the pain of the vice-like grasp.

  His head broke the threshold of the window into a fast-moving cloud of black soot and ash. He gagged, lightheaded, and tried to find a pocket of fresh air to refill his damaged lungs. He slumped over with his upper body hanging over the window. He felt pulling as the stranger grabbed the back of his belt and yanked him out of the burning building. They fell together in a heap on the ground, Kahn gasping and struggling to gulp clean air. The large body stood up over him and fired a pistol several times into the dark. Then he grabbed Kahn’s wrists and began to drag him away from the heat and smoke of the house fire.

  After a moment, Kahn returned to awareness. His sensations started to return as well. His skin felt thin and hot, and the wet grass and air both cooled him and highlighted the injury.

  He started to kick his feet as he was dragged, whispering Aisha in a damaged, raspy voice. He struggled to speak with his raw throat and lungs until the coughing and gagging forced him to stop trying. He continued squirming and pulling, his only thoughts focused on his lost wife and child.

  I have to get back inside! His thoughts raced. He saw their faces, smiling in his memory, and knew he had to get back to the house and into the fire. He couldn’t let them disappear like this. Even if it meant they burned together, he had to get back into the house and find them. His memory of them began to melt and twist. Their smiles turned to frowns, and then silent screams, as flames licked on the edges of his thoughts and charred their skin and hair. They howled silently in his mind, raising their faces to the dark sky, as the fire blackened their flesh and exposed the charred bones underneath.

  He kicked and dug at the earth with his boots until his savior lost his grip and dropped him to the ground a few dozen feet from the crackling house fire. Kahn lay on the grass focusing on the starry sky and tried to suck clean air into his damaged lungs, faces of his loved ones gone from his mind’s eye. Billowing black clouds danced and interrupted his view, blocking the starlight and turning the sky as black as it was in his fiery vision. He hacked and spit, trying to clear ash out of his chest while catching his breath. He rubbed his eyes and the tears marginally streaked away the black soot covering his face and hands. His eyes throbbed in pain. Every inch of exposed flesh felt sunburned and tender. The misting, cold rain stung the sensitive surface.

  He twisted to get a look at whoever grabbed him and saved him from certain death. He flipped and crawled on raw arms toward the large shadow also lying on the cold ground. The bulky gut was heaving with each breath, casting white steam in great puffs into the cold air. As he got close he realized his rescuer was his neighbor, Sergeant Sole Kimble, not executed by the Neighbors like he assumed. He tried to call out to Kimble, but his body wracked with uncontrollable spasms and coughing and he couldn’t speak. He lay prone in the wet yard, settling his raw face into the long grass as he tried to recover.

  Kimble, not as drastically affected by the smoke, recuperated more quickly from the rescue. He stood and surveyed their surroundings. The path he had made dragging his neighbor through the uncut lawn was well-lit by the now raging fire. Flames roared up from gaps burned in the roof, and surrounded the house on all four sides. There were no more Neighbors firing from where the trucks had appeared near the back fence. Kimble unholstered and reloaded the pistol and began firing at the closest of the approaching undead. Kahn rose up on his elbows, craning around to look at the house while instinctively cringing away from the heat radiating from his home.

  Walking corpses staggered from the woods, dozens of them illuminated by the light of the fire, and seemed to be spread across the entire back fence line. As he watched with recovering eyes, a group of the creatures slowly walked into the flames behind his home. Kahn heard wet sizzling and smelled burning hair and meat as the dead creatures nearest to the home caught on fire. Some seemed to walk directly into the flames, staggering around until the heat destroyed their muscles and they dropped to the burnt ground. Some seemed to wander aimlessly, following the group but not directing themselves into the fire. Clothing caught fire and many of the dead burned as they walked around the yard.

  Kahn tried to stand. Aisha and Daniel were taken into that house by the Neighbors and Kahn had the sudden urge to join them. He knew it was impossible to hope that they could have survived the inferno. Fire raged out of every window and through the roof throughout the house. Tears of loss and grief ran channels into the soot on his cheeks, rinsing away the tension of the escape and giving him the emotion to let himself go. He struggled and fought his way to his feet, still unable to speak or catch a full breath, and took a few shaky steps toward the fire. He could feel the intensity of the flames burning his raw skin even from this distance. He welcomed the physical pain and saw himself walking into the fire, joining his family and ending the guilt and horror he felt.

  Kimble grabbed him after only a couple staggering
steps. He struggled and twisted to fight free of his grip, but Kimble’s strength was greater. He turned Kahn away from the house and held him up as they walked together away from the flames. Kahn rasped and choked, trying to break free and get himself closer to the fire, closer to death.

  “C’mon man, c’mon. We need to get away. They didn’t make it. C’mon. We have to get out of here,” the big man kept repeating phrases as he gently pulled Kahn. Kimble saw the man deliriously try to walk into the flames and knew he was broken with grief and guilt. But nobody could have survived that inferno. At his urging, Kahn reluctantly turned his face away from the flames just as the back section of the house collapsed and threw sparks and flames high into the air.

  Kahn half-collapsed with exhaustion into Kimble’s arms as the big man saved him from himself. They staggered together down the hill of the driveway, Kahn craning his neck over and over to watch his home disappear behind them. Kimble dragged him out of the open gate and onto their gravelly street. He dropped Kahn unceremoniously onto the gravel road in front of the Boomstick vehicle still parked beyond the gate. Kimble coughed and spoke encouraging words as he patted down Kahn’s pockets. Kimble found and worked the keys away from the front pocket of Kahn’s pants before picking the man up again and walking him around to the passenger side of the Escape. The door beeped and Kimble dumped Kahn’s limp body into the passenger side, throwing his legs in and shutting the door. Kahn wheezed and watched Kimble walk around and sink into the driver’s seat.

  Kahn sobbed and turned his face toward his property as Kimble spun the tires on the gravel and began to drive away from the terrible scene. They both hacked and coughed, but did not speak to each other. The tragedy of Kahn losing his family was too raw and fresh for either man to bear. Kahn watched the glow of the fire on the horizon as they sped down the road and turned onto the highway. The red light of dawn began to color the dark sky.