Eric vigilantly glanced around as he sprinted toward his goal. Two creatures converged on his left and one on his right. The vacant eyes and silently masticating mouth made them appear as inhuman as any wild creature. The waxy, pale complexion and bloodstains around the jaws canceled any doubt in Eric’s mind that a trace of humanity was left within them.
His pounding feet tossed about damp grass. Realizing that he could not stop due to the combination of the panicked sprint and moisture on the ground, the luckless hero slammed into the thin, metal doors of the shed causing a loud pop as the metal flexed outward and sprang back into shape. For a brief moment, he had to shake the fuzziness out of his head. When clarity returned, he could sense the impending attack. The bastards were closing in on him.
Eric grabbed the sliding doors and tried to throw them open but a padlock held both doors sealed. “Damn it” he shouted. It was not fair. His head snapped to the left, then to the right. Three approaching zombies added a fourth to their ranks as another edged around the cinder-block corner of the building.
Different alternatives crowded his mind. Run back and regroup? No, they would congregate around the exit that he used. The idea of using the front door to distract them from the back one occurred to him but there was no guarantee he could make it. Plus that one was barricaded. The logical choice involved shooting the lock off and using the remaining bullets to reach the guarded open door.
Eric pointed the barrel using a nervous, shaking hand. “Oh God, just let me make it inside.” He muttered his prayer just before pulling the trigger. The pistol roared in the eerie silence of the dying town. The pad lock fell to the ground, shattered. A low moan emanated from behind him and Eric dove inside. His hands scrambled over the objects in the low light of the shed, seeking out a red plastic container. He glanced through the open passage to see three of them blocking the path back to the station.
Eric found the gas can with his left hand. With his right he aimed the pistol and charged. The first shot entered squarely into the leading attacker’s forehead. Chunks of brain and skull splattered the two creatures behind it. The doctor, fueled with scenes from old Charles Bronson movies, hastily adjusted his aim and fired again. The shot clipped a zombie in the neck, sending it into an awkward spin.
Knowing he was out of bullets, Eric grabbed the barrel and tackled the third. He brought the handle down on the beast’s skull again and again. Each time he heard the sick cracking sound as bone gave way to the pistol grip. Eric felt a mixture of revulsion and freedom as he brutally beat the creature to death. He finally had a single entity that he could focus his pent up stress and aggression against.
The zombie with a neck wound had recovered and found its victim crouching with his back turned. Unnoticed, it came toward him. The fourth ghoul approached in Eric’s line of sight but the doctor was too enthralled with destroying the menace underneath him.
A human voice yelled with throat-tearing force, “Get inside! There are more coming!”
Eric snapped out of his homicidal, hypnotic state and scanned the environment around him. More had slipped through the trees lining the back yard of the station. He grabbed the can and heaved himself upward, causing a burning in his thighs. They were right behind him, swiping with gore-covered hands as he dived into the doorway. Jeremy swung the door shut as Eric leaped through the threshold.
Both men immediately went to work. The DJ locked the door with a deadbolt and Eric dropped the can and picked up several boards. Together they nailed them up, reinforcing the door. As luck would have it, both men hit a stride working together. The first dead fist to hit the barred entrance found it secured with standard locks and the door only became more secure as the two men continued.
Inside the hall, a young man and a slightly older young man slumped to the floor, breathing heavily. Eric leaned his back against the wall and stretched his legs across the floor. The hallway was so narrow that his feet almost reached the other side.
The DJ spoke first. “Let’s rest before running for the car.”
“Thank the Lord.” Eric wished that someone had a cigarette that he could light up. Despite knowing what tobacco could do to a person’s health, Eric felt justified in smoking after a trying day in the emergency room. Now, he practically foamed at the mouth for a steadying dose of nicotine.
“That was one hellacious pistol whip.” The boy continued the conversation after a lull in which the doctor caught his breath. “Do you have a family?”
Eric paused. “I used to. We married before I graduated med school. We were divorced just six months later.”
“Why?” The boy’s brown eyes showed little real interest, but Eric continued.
“I thought that I was hot shit, going to be a big time doctor. She was always second to my ego. I took her for granted, never shared secrets about myself with her. You hide something for so long and learn to live with it; you develop a selfish attachment. I kept so much from her that she wouldn’t trust me with anything. I took her for granted so long and one day she just left.” Normally, he could have told the same story with no emotion, but the chaos of the day had weakened his resolve. He could not make anything up. His ex-wife did not even know why he drove her away and he had refused to grant explanations. He covered his face with his crossed arms and pulled his knees up to his chest.
“Hey, as long as you’re alive, you have a chance to make it up to her.” The DJ hopefully added.
“No, that was over a long time ago.” He said with a stern finality. Trying to keep the repertoire going, he asked, “How about your family?”
“I have a mother, father, younger brother, and sister. They all live here, out in the country actually.” His voice wavered. “I haven’t been able to get through but I think they’re okay. Most of those things are in town right? So a trailer out in the country should be safe.” Of course, Jeremy only tried to convince himself with his words.
Eric nodded, seeing that the boy was in pain. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
***
After wandering away from the shameless cowards, Rick pushed open the door to the school library, searching for anyplace away from Martin and the preacher. Immediately, his ears caught a soft whimpering sound. The lights stayed strangely quiet, not shouting with bright fluorescent voices. His eyes had not adjusted yet. He knew that the walls were sheathed in filled bookcases, but the center of the floor was littered with variously shaped tables and scattered chairs. Just enough light filtered through the windows at the far end of the room to outline the many obstacles.
He stepped slowly, lightly dragging his feet to avoid the hard clacking of soles against the hard floor. The progress eventually brought him to the end of the bottlenecked entrance. The room opened up and Rick was unsure whether to traverse the center, where he might be forced to defend in several different directions at once, or slink along the wall where he could easily become cornered. He decided to move, hugging the wall, pointing the shotgun into the center of the room. The small sound continued, making him want to call out and see if it were indeed human. His mind overrode that desire, though. The human voice might attract them.
As he reflected, the truth came bubbling up. The battle that he had just fought scared him. His physical prowess barely saved him against two of those monstrosities. While driving through the town, he saw hundreds of them aimlessly walking. In less than twelve hours, the streets were piled high with the dead (at least the ones that hadn’t gotten back up).
The town was gone. The people who once knew him were gone. Rick became a little boy, a lonely little boy. Specifically, he remembered a camping trip at the age of six. He had walked away from the campfire into the surrounding woods only to realize that he was by himself. The dim glow of fire had disappeared from view and the only life around him rustled in the underbrush. His wide, frightened eyes could only make out the silhouette of treetops and the tiny points of twinkling light hanging thousands of light years above him. That was when the immensity of the world cr
ushed his egocentric mind. Eventually, the swinging beams of flashlights found their way to him and he was safe once more. Ever since that moment, the world outside his predictable hometown secretly frightened him. In Fayette, he was important, a big fish in a small pond. In the surrounding world, what was he?
In a high school hallway fighting for his very existence, the fear returned. He was not the main character in the play; he was not the action hero on the screen. If he died along with everyone else, no one would single him out as a tragedy. He would be added to a list and forgotten about, another nobody in a catastrophe.
“Fuck it.” He breathed. He was dead regardless of his actions. From that point on, no inhibitions would constrain him. If he was going to be toe-tagged along with everyone else, he was going to spend his last hours his way, shooting anything that moved and being a general bad ass. He slid his feet forward and noticed that the whimper had stopped. Suddenly, he had no idea which direction to move. Whatever made that sound could be anywhere in the darkness. An eruption of sound struck his left ear as a chair scooted across the floor, like someone had collided with it. His eyes strained to pick up on the slightest movement but everything had quieted. Nothing stirred.
He heard a grunt and something hard collided with his nose, sending him falling back into a bookcase. “Shit!” He felt the bruised cartilage structure with one hand while keeping the gun pointed in the supposed direction of his attacker.
A feminine voice spoke up. “Don’t shoot. I thought you were one of them.”
“Who are you?” Rick growled, still touching his tender nose.
“Stephanie Mills. I go to school with you. I dated Derrick Shaun.” Recognition flashed through his mind. She was a sophomore white girl who only dated black guys.
“Dated? You guys broke up?” He lowered his weapon.
“He died. Just about everyone is dead.” She stepped into view, shafts of light coming through the few windows on the back wall. Rick surmised that she had been crying, due to the puffy eyes. They were probably red too, but the low light robbed everything of its color.
A sinister urge began to take control as he asked, “Do you have a weapon?”
“No, why do you think I threw a book at you?” She stepped closer.
“I have a shotgun and a few other guys with guns. You’ll be safe with us.” He reached out and offered his hand as she stepped around the furniture. He smiled a big, false grin when she accepted his offer of help. He felt her fingers close around his and he jerked her forward.
“You listen to me, you stupid bitch. We are going to fuck, so I can get that nigger loving shit out of you!” When she tried to struggle, he tapped the barrel of the twelve gauge against her. “You dumb, dirty bitch. You have no idea what’s going on, do you? The world is ending. If we can survive this, it’ll be up to us to repopulate. So you better get used to it.” He really had not thought about the world completely ending, but when he said it, it felt true. However, some part of his mind knew that his excuse was just that, an excuse. His petty rationalizations meant nothing to him really. He was going to do it because the act represented control in a world that no longer had it. He couldn’t control the walking dead; he couldn’t control losing his truck or anything else. But by God, he could control her. He could force his will upon her and pretend he still had some say in what happened.
She cried out before he could cover her mouth. When his free hand sealed her scream, she bit down hard enough to draw blood. She felt droplets spill into her mouth making her want to retch. Dropping the heavy weapon, he swung hard landing a punch in her eye. Her teeth lost their grip and he began raining blows about her face. Consciousness slipped away from her with every forceful blow until her eyes closed and she collapsed to the floor.
***
Stephanie thought about Derrick. He could be so tender when no one else was around. Alone in his room, they just stayed under the covers, her body always snuggled closely to his. Her pale, naked skin contrasted his dark pigment. Outside that room, the world spun out of control, grades were falling, jobs were scarce, and the president was an idiot. However, in their sanctuary, nothing could hurt them. This one little room in the poor side of town somehow held the magic of an enchanted world. Within its dingy, squat walls, she was a princess and he was a knight in shining armor ready to protect her or rescue her if it came to that.
Reality of course found a way to destroy the illusion of safety. The door to Derrick’s room swung open and some filthy abomination lumbered toward them. Derrick sprang up and reached under the bed. When his large hands reappeared, he held a chrome-plated savior. To Stephanie there was no sound, only a flash and the acrid smell of smoke. The twisted creature jerked, taking the shot in the chest but continued coming forward. After another flash, the creature fell forward, arms outstretched.
Derrick turned and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her violently. His mouth moved but still, she could not hear. Her mind still processed visual input and she watched ashy hands reach around his throat from behind. The yellowed nails pierced his dark skin and an even darker color leaked out. Then the face appeared over his right shoulder. Stephanie stared into the vacant eyes and saw only hunger.
The poor girl awoke with a start and realized that Rick was thrusting into her. Her stomach turned as she tried to lift her arms and found that he easily held each one down. She tried to scream but her mouth was stuffed with the torn, ripped pages of library book. She thrashed her head from side to side only succeeding in banging the back of her skull against the table she had been splayed on top of. Her orifice was dry and the penetration felt as if it had torn something. Unable to free herself, frustrated tears spilled down her cheeks. No savior reached down and pulled the boy from atop her violated body. No God smote him down for his transgression. Alone on the dark with only the bigotry and hatred of another human, she prayed for death.
***
Bryant and Cara had no idea where to go. Sitting in his truck parked on a deserted street, they would only remain safe until something realized fresh meat waited nearby. They both sat thinking of locations and plans of action. The radio kept spewing out the same repetitious message. Go to the First Baptist Church.
Bryant looked at Cara and actually laughed. “Still trying to convert everyone.”
Cara squinted through the window. A shape slowly emerged from the shadows. The solitary specimen stumbled around the street, aimlessly swaying. “I think they’ve found us.”
Bryant did not look up. He stared at the rifle across his lap and asked, “How many?”
“Just one.” She worriedly looked at him.
“Hold on.” He pulled the latch sending the door bounding open. “Cover me but only shoot if it grabs me.” Cara wanted to protest but did not. Torn by a lack of ideas and fear of running into more of them, she let him go.
The first thing Bryant did was walk into a neighbor’s yard. Creeping slowly around the large house, the darkness hid him from Cara’s sight. She waited for him to reappear, cutting disturbed glances at the creature that now made a direct but slow line for the truck. Seconds ticked by as her eyes danced around the landscape finding motion in the places she did not want and a curious stillness where she wanted to see Bryant.
Without warning, Bryant ran from the shadows holding an ax with both hands and headed for the ghoul. Letting loose animalistic yells, he swung the blade side armed. The metal edge sunk into the demon’s collarbone, knocking it to the ground. Bryant swung again, bringing the weapon above his head and down into the tangled, groping arms. The monstrosity’s left arm snapped at the elbow as the wedge cleft the bone. The right arm continued gripping at the empty air while only a nub flailed on the other side of the torso. Bryant slammed the ax down again cracking the shoulder joint on the right arm. Another swing separated that arm from the body.
The humid Southern night left a thin sheen of sweat on Bryant. Perspiration dripped off his chin as he stepped back to survey his work. The torso writhed and the legs kick
ed but the imbecilic carnivore could not stand.
Bryant waved to Cara trying to instruct her to come forward. She opened the door to step out but Bryant called out. “No, bring the truck.” Cara complied, slipping the vehicle into drive and letting it roll at less than ten miles per hour toward the grisly scene. Through the windshield, Bryant smiled in a self-satisfied way. She moved the gearshift and put on the parking brake. Her fingers touched the surface of the ignition key and she questioningly looked at her boyfriend. He nodded to her and she killed the engine.
When she reached the body, it was still moving in its limited fashion. Cara’s gag reflex activated as she fought to contain her composure. Her stomach quickly settled back down after she forced herself to look. “It’s not that bad.” She found herself saying aloud.
Bryant knelt down beside the struggling victim. “What have we learned?”
Cara laughed. “Is this a classroom?”
“In a fashion, yes.” He smiled at her with an upturned face and an excited twinkling in his eyes.
She looked at the body and thought. “Well, it’s still struggling after it has lost most of its blood.”
“Bingo!” He jumped to his feet, obviously excited. “I’m willing to bet that when it stops bleeding, drained dry, it’ll still be kicking.”
Cara thought about that. “Well, if it doesn’t need blood, what does it use?”
“I have no idea.” He gleefully explained before lifting the ax above his head again. As he brought the blade crashing down, the creature’s head rolled away from the neck. What little blood had not leaked out the wounds of the arms now trickled from the throat. The body rapidly stopped twitching; only the eyes and mouth continued with uninhibited motion. The glazed, dead eyes followed the movement of the teenagers and the jaw flexed in anticipation of meat.
Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale Page 17