by D. S. Black
He stepped over and around bodies carefully. The stench nearly gagging him. Had he had the time to analyze the enormity what was happening around him, he surely would have gone mad. The mind, however, compartmentalizes trauma in a way that allows humans to perform under extreme circumstances; the trauma only reemerging later in life in the form of post-traumatic stress.
Jack and Candy finally reached Jody and Papa. Across the street, Jack saw a fresh horde forming, making their way towards them. Yes, the day was developing into a serious shit free for all. What in Christ's name was happening?
His mind pushed it away, stowing it neatly somewhere down in the subconscious.
Papa saw them, “Carry me boy!”
Jody hoisted him over his shoulders, Jack carried his wheel chair, and Candy covered their movements as they made their way over the bodies, back to the Humvee.
4
Andrew shut the engine off and guided them to the embankment. Jack jumped out of the boat and carefully made his way through dense woodland, eventually reaching the dead end of an old dirt road. Camouflaged just off the road, the Humvee waited, gassed and ready.
Driving down that old dusty dirt road, he noticed something out in the woods. A dim shack, with soft gray smoke coming from a wood stove chimney pipe at the top.
“Stop.” Jack said.
The hummer slowed to a halt. An ominous and strange feeling spread over him like the coming of a storm. Had he seen this shack before? Surely not. How many times had he been down this road? This dark and lonely road. Yet, he'd never seen it. He was sure of it. He asked the others and they too agreed. It was as though some force had wanted to keep them from seeing it. At least that’s the thought that went through Jack's head while he stared out at the rising smoke. The thick trees simply kept him from seeing it, that was it. The occupant must use the fire only on rare occasions. Or maybe the occupant just now set up shop there. All he knew for sure was that something didn't feel right. A shadowy darkness existed in those trees, and something sinister festered, waiting (wanting?) to be found. The smoke was a signal. Come and see what evils await dear friends, here at the world's ending. Jack didn't like the idea of precognition. He didn't believe in all that superstitious stuff. Yet, the dead now walked. And, although he'd never seen a ghost, the stories flooded the air waves while the world still had air waves. A ghost didn't light the fire that made that smoke though. The dark and tepid evils of the world don't come from the spiritual realm; they exist right here in the physical world. He knew this from all the history courses he took. The Hitlers and Stalins of the world didn't need supernatural powers to commit mass murder. Neither did the Ted Bundys or the Zodiacs.
Jody and Andrew stayed back with the Humvee, just in case of a needed fast escape. Jack and Candy moved cautiously through the trees. The ground wasn’t quite as damp and mushy this far inland; but the trees still created a thick, shadowy darkness, even this close to ten in the morning. The shack sat in a round clearing; he still couldn’t believe he never noticed it before. But there it sat, raggedy and worn from time, like his grandfather’s ancient, flaky skin. He gave Candy a look, and she removed her revolver.
5
The door was peeled gray paint, with brown, rotted oak showing through. It was ajar; so Jack pushed it open with the barrel of his AR.
The door opened slowly with a long and drawn out CREEEAK. Jack nearly puked. The smell came out and gushed up his nostrils. There sat a man. Sitting there in a pile of bones, and old newspaper cut outs. Every inch of the wall was covered in newspaper headlines.
THE DEAD ARE RISING
BOARD UP YOUR HOMES STAY INSIDE
DON’T GET CLOSE TO BITE VICTIMS, EVEN IF IT’S YOUR FAMILY
The man sat cross legged on the floor, muttering to himself; then his head turned up and looked Jack dead in the eye. “Have you come to take me away?”
His eyes were black and void of anything other than pitch blackness.
“What’s the smell, fella?” Candy asked. She’d aimed her cross hairs right on his forehead.
“Jesus said to love all the children. But, you know… those preachers never could get inside my head. I never listened.” the man said.
A small black wood oven sat in a corner, the chimney pipe jutting out from the top. Beside it sat a red and white cooler with blood splattered on the white sections.
“What am I going to find inside the cooler?” Jack asked, already assuming the answer.
A wide smile crossed the man's face. “Jesus loves all the children… all the children of the world… red and yellow, black and white… Jesus loves all the fucking children!” He rolled onto his back screaming wildly.
“Jesus loves them! I sent them home!”
“Watch him.” Jack said.
Candy moved stealthily up to him, and gripped his collar, pressing her revolver firmly against his temple. “If what I thinks in that cooler, buddy, it aint god that’s gonna send your brains flying.” She said.
Jack moved over to the cooler, and with his rifle’s barrel, tipped the top open. “Jesus!” Jack put his hand against his mouth like he might vomit.
Inside were four little heads. Each one had a bloody engraving, from left to right, reading: Red, Yellow, Black, White.
Candy looked Jack in the eye. Then looked down at the man. “You sick son a bitch!” She kicked him over, and pummeled him with harsh rib kicks. He screamed in something that sounded like a preacher speaking tongues. Then her gun rose, and screamed a shot through his temple. The blood splattered over the newspapers, and splashed against the exposed wood.
Jack kicked over the wood stove. “Let it burn. Let it all burn. Only the ashes and our memories will ever know this existed.”
6
It was an eerie feeling sitting in that passenger seat, peering out, and seeing the smoke rise from the woods behind; and all around, the empty roads, buildings, and homes mocked Jack's humanity; and challenged his decency and sanity. This couldn’t be all that was left of the world he once loved. All that remained of humanity’s greatness. He refused to believe that.
There wasn’t a lot of zombies roaming, only a few here and there. Warm wind blew his black hair back through the lowered window; and Andrew played with the radio.
"You really expect to hear something other than static?” Jack asked.
“You never know. May be someone is broadcasting.” He said.
Then the crackle cut off, and in its place a voice came through the speakers.
“Shit! What’d I tell you?”
A man spoke in a deep and powerful voice. “My name is Duras—leader of the Godly Knights! If you here this message, know that God almighty has sent this judgment onto us. Know that the Godly Knights now patrol in His holy name. We will bring His justice to these streets. Anyone still breathing must join us. If you oppose, accept your demise!”
The voice continued over and over, in a prerecorded anthem.
“Godly Knights? Jesus fucking Christ. I wonder how many men they have recruited.” Jack said.
Candy spoke up from the back, “More than we have, that’s for sure.”
The smell of rotting plant life slowly faded into the distance as the Humvee rolled onto a stretch of road. Country homes, some with huge man made ponds existed on either side of the two lane path. Over grown grass in each yard reached towards the sky as if to beg for the former prestige each home once boasted. No doubt, only a short time ago, spoiled rich children ran and jumped into those pond size swimming pools.
As the homes disappeared into a blur of green; just ahead of them, they saw large wooden polls dug into the earth. Jody let out an astonished whistle; and Andrew slowed the vehicle enough so they could all get a good view. Dead bodies dangled from their necks; and signs hung from the sun cooked bodies.
“Things have gotten a lot worse since last time.” Jack said.
“We’ve been in the swamps for months now. Maybe we should've stayed." Andrew said.
Jody was craning h
is fat neck over Jack's seat to get a better view. His hot breath smelled like swamp water and rotten beef.
“We have toothpaste back at camp, you know?” Jack said.
He paid his comment zero attention. “Maybe we should have stayed. Taken our chances with eating gator meat.” Jody said, speaking a mouth full of fumes into the side if Jack's face.
“Its high time I bring back some law and order to this hell hole.” Candy said.
“Not sure that’s gonna happen babe. This shit looks crazy.” Jody replied.
“Jefferson once wrote ‘Our greatest happiness does not depend on the condition of life in which chance has placed us, but is always the result of a good conscience’” Jack said.
Andrew shot him a fast look, with a slight grin. “Don’t think Jefferson ever predicted humans would face this.”
“John Quincy Adams once wrote, ‘Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish’” Jack suggested. He was already feeling a little better. Or at least that's what he wanted to believe. The truth was that he was scared and confused. But he'd never let his family see that. He wanted to be the leader. He wanted to stay strong for them. Quoting the founding fathers had always been a coping technique he'd used in the past.
Jack jumped forward from a sudden jolt against the back of his seat. “Always the optimist cousin. Not even a string of noosed dead men can damper your hope.” Candy said from behind.
She was wrong.
7
The day was warming as overgrown grass reached high towards the sky in each yard they saw pass by. They'd gotten close to town, to what used to be civilization—suburbs filled with matching houses, now an ancient conformity, something that once repelled Jack, but now only lingered in a sad and nostalgic memory of what used to be. The sun was reaching high noon, and the smell of death lingered in the air. Thick humidity weighed heavy on the hot wind gushing on Jack's face; and dead people roamed sporadically through the country neighborhoods.
“We’ll reach the city limits soon.” Andrew said. His face seemed battered with the pain of humanity's death, yet a crooked smile emerged in spite of the pain boiling just underneath. That was, as they say, his way.
The outermost sections of the city were deserted; but the high walls of a compound cast dark shadows as the sun beamed down. “We should hide the Humvee somewhere around here, and make our way on foot towards the city walls. We need to observe, and not be seen.” Jack said.
The ground crunched underneath their boots while they darted from building to building, always staying in the shadows. It was midday, and the humidity was sickening, causing gobs of sweat to run down their legs, arms, chest, neck, and face. They maintained a steady, and close distance directly behind Jack, Andrew and Jody in the middle, and Candy taking the rear position. The old, boarded, and broken stores became numerous—skeletons of the old order of things, now only dusty remnants and shattered glass.
Jack motioned for them to enter a small building. He carefully stepped through the broken glass pane doors, glass crackling under his boots. He let out a whistle, just in case the zombies had chosen the store as a resting place.
No sounds, no movements.
Jack took a position near a shattered window, removed his binoculars, and aimed his view towards a twenty-foot-high metal link fence that stood about over five hundred yards away. It was built in the form of a large square, securing what used to be a sprawling downtown into a prison like environment. Razor wire round up on both top and bottom keeping any would be escapees from leaving, and kept any unwelcomed guest from entering—living or dead.
A cat walk surrounded the top of the fence line, connecting to guard towers on all four corners. Guards moved around leisurely, clearly not worried about trouble coming their way. Jack doubted they’d seen much resistance since their annexation of the old town.
In the middle, jutting high into the sky, was a Catholic cathedral. Its design was gothic, and it towered high, with windows that looked out in every direction. It had multiple towers with large domes, like an onion dome from Russia, with dark grays and black shadowy hues.
“I remember when they built that gaudy monstrosity.” Jack spoke softly.
“I read it cost em ninety million.” Candy said crouching beside him.
“Lets get out of here.” Jack signaled for their return to the Humvee. Following the same path they'd taken, he led them back towards the vehicle. He needed to discuss a plan of action, a way of helping anyone trapped inside that prison city escape. He had to believe that good still existed in the world. He not only had to believe it; he had to prove it to himself. His species simply could not just give itself up to such a dreadful existence.
Then he saw it. Surrounding the Humvee, sniffing and jerking about, was close to fifty zombies. Their clothing tattered, their skin dry and peeling, faces rotted, and eyes dark with a white glare in the pupils, like bright shining, lifeless bulbs.
Then the guns shots rang out from behind them. Patrol guards had spotted them.
He turned to see a gang of armed men moving towards his direction; and the gun fire earned the attention of the horde; they moved towards them in their slow steady fashion. Jack's heart beat sped up, and his mind searched for a solution. “I’ll draw their fire! Run and hide until it’s safe to come out!”
“Are you crazy?! No! We can’t leave you!” Candy said.
“No time!” He said, turning, pushing his glassed back against his face, and ran with passion under his feet. He didn’t look back. Bullets zipped past his head, and shattered glass windows, and peppered building walls. His breath rushed in and out in fast gasps. The thud of his pulse pounded in his temples. He turned a corner and fired shots to make sure they were coming for him, and not his cousins. He ran with long strides, unsure of where his feet would take him. The sky above shined blue and bright, the sun pouring down its merciless heat. His feet kicked up dust and dirt, filling his mouth with a nasty dryness.
The gun fire ceased. Where were they? They were surrounding him, no doubt. Attempting to snare him. He turned another corner, and saw a gunman. He fired, but missed. He ran in the opposite direction, hoping to reach the next building.
The moment he turned, the butt of a rifle turned his world black.
8
In the darkness of Jack's unconscious mind, he dreamt for a moment. He was back in college; and professor Bashir’s thin arms moved about; and his thin waist twisted as he passionately told the story of Operation Eiche. “Picture a team of German commandos storming Hotel Campo on twelve aerial gliders. Can you imagine! The king of Italy had Mussolini held; and they believed he was secure in that mountainous retreat. But they didn’t expect the daring and bold SS officer Otto Skorzeny and his band of commandos. Their historical and silent descent found the guards asleep on their feet and they easily over powered them—saving Mussolini.”
“But, they eventually killed Mussolini, right?” Jack blurted. He always sat upfront; a teacher’s pet through and through. His glasses slid down his face, and he pushed them back in place.
“Not for months later! After the rescue, Mussolini declared ‘I knew my friend Adolf Hitler would not leave me in the lurch!’”
Jack loved history. It was his life force. The study of civilizations gone and dead. The study of his own civilization's development. He loved it all. History allowed him to feel connected to the past. He didn't have many friends; the past helped to keep the loneliness at bay. Life could be worse he always thought; he could have been born in the bronze age.
Jack awoke with blurry vision, his back rigid in a chair. His glasses were missing. The vision of a smiling Mussolini gave way to the three men surrounding him. A tall man, with a tattered shirt, and jeans that were too tight for his fat legs. Another man, short and stubby, with a long beard, chattered nervously, “Back to the compound. That’s where we should take him. I can hear em outside.”
The third man, black and heavy set, wi
th a dark beard with gray accents mocked, “Always afraid of the dead! Why did we ever let you come with us? I’m not going back till I find all his friends. The boss wants information. And I’m gonna get it for him!”
Jack's hands were tied behind him, and his ankles were tied to chair legs. Around him he saw what appeared to be a rundown bar. His gun and his glasses were resting on it. Broken bottles everywhere, and wine cabinets leaning against an exit door, holding them shut. He heard growls and dead hands banging and scratching on the walls.
“All you care about is sucking up to Duras! You think he will ever make a big lipped nigger like you one of his right hand men?” The two men stared at each other. Their eyes burned with anger and wild ferocity.
Jack cleared his throat, “Ahem.”
They both turned in unison and their rage left their eyes and penetrated Jack's soul. Their teeth meshed together and spit dripped from their mouths like hungry Hyenas ready to pounce their pry. The gray bearded black man connected his thick fist with Jack's right temple. For a moment, his world blinked out of existence, only to return quickly and with blinding pain.
“Who are you? Where are your friends?” The gray bearded black man asked.
“Go to hell.” Jack said.
He punched Jack in the solorplex and again on his temple. A harsh cough exploded from Jack. He gasped for air, and saw speckles of white, black, and blue dots.
“Are you the swamp rats we’ve seen before? Or, are you with the tree folk? Answer me!” he said and slapped Jack hard across the face.
Sweat from Jack's brow dripped into his eye; and the vision of the man standing before him came and went like a fast cut on a movie reel.
Finally, Jack caught my breathe, steadied his head, and stared up at him, “Answer me this: Are you the Godly Knights? Are you the ones I watched massacre so many women and children in the early days of this new hell?” He asked