Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale

by Layton, James J.

  “But he’s not!” The boy cried in earnest.

  “Let’s go.” Bryant motioned everyone forward.

  ***

  Rick stepped through the doorway anticipating an attack and was greeted with one. Tensed muscles cannot react as quickly as relaxed muscles, and a metal framed chair with a plastic seat smashed into his face. The shotgun clattered to the floor and Martin scooped it up, deftly pointing it at Rick. The former football player had recovered and sprang forward, knocking Martin onto his back. With one hand on the weapon and the other curled into a fist, Rick struck a blow to his adversary’s nose. Faced with the sharp jolt of pain, Martin lost his grip on the shotgun. He felt the gun pried free and prepared himself for the point-blank blast to the head.

  Stephanie rushed the brute. Rick’s peripheral vision caught the movement and he swung the shotgun around, pulling the trigger. The blast hit her in the gut and she staggered back, her hands unconsciously covering the wound, becoming sticky with leaking fluid.

  Martin jumped up, grabbing the gun and swinging Rick into the barricaded door. Martin made a guttural sound as he pumped the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The shot missed and splintered the wood on the left side of the soon-to-be dead man’s head. A ragged, decomposing hand smashed through the weakened fortification and clawed at Rick’s scalp. The fingers curled around digging into his face. The index finger scratched at his temple while the middle finger sank into his ocular cavity. Feeling warm flesh, the beast squeezed, not wanting to lose its prey.

  Rick screamed in a shrill voice as milky fluid leaked out of the punctured eye. The hand kept pulling at him, edging his head closer to the hole. Other gray shriveled hands pulled at the wood, creating a bigger breach. More talon-like fingers grabbed at him and the steady force of more arms pulled his head through the hole. In his last moments of life, he looked up at the sky and saw only gaping maws descending on him. A set of teeth dug into his cheek, biting into the bone beneath it. Other mouths found the tender flesh of his neck and consumed. Severed arteries sprayed wildly while clumps of flesh and fat slid down starving throats. Hands delved into the hole in his neck pulling out chunks of bright red meat and shoving it greedily into their mouths.

  Martin watched, horrified as the entire body started to disappear, yanked through the hole. Rick’s foot got caught on the edge of some debris. Another jerk, and he was gone. Then the faces peered in. The eyes were no longer quite so vacant. They gleamed with purpose, with a goal. Then the ravenous corpses began crawling through.

  Behind Martin, everyone else descended, summoned by the latest gunshots. The multitude stood watching in transfixed horror as the creatures kept pulled and tore at wooden planks or chairs stacked in the way.

  Martin raised the gun and fired into the face of one zombie that was half in, half out. The body drooped and more of the living dead pushed it through. Finally, under the pressing weight of so many bodies, the door gave way. Martin fired again, sending another corpse to the ground.

  Bryant fired his rifle. nailing a ghoul and watched it twitch as it collapsed. Not sparing a moment to congratulate himself, he aimed at the next closest target. Cara yelled behind them. “We need to get upstairs!”

  Eric took the suggestion readily and grabbed Tommy by the hand. “Come on, little man. We’re getting out of here.”

  Bryant and Martin continued firing while the rest made their retreat. Bryant placed his foot on the bottom step and tried to coax Martin back. “Hey man, get in here! We’re on our way up! There’s too many!” Then he saw her.

  A newly reanimated Stephanie lunged onto Martin’s back and ripped a chunk out of his shoulder. He let out a pain-filled yell, threw his elbow back into her stomach, and broke loose. He turned to face her and fired into her head.

  His face contorted in emotional upheaval when he realized who he had killed. Bryant fired at the zombie closest to the wounded boy and begged him “Get up here, man!” Martin ignored the pleas and fired into the rapidly growing crowd approaching him. When he fired his last shell, they had already formed around him. He acted as if he were rooted to the spot and began swinging the shotgun like a club.

  Bryant watched helplessly as the cold bodies engulfed his friend like a tidal wave. Martin’s screams reached a fever pitch as he drowned in a sea of decomposing flesh. Bryant tried to pull the door closed but a skeletal pair of hands gripped the handle and another set grabbed the unhinged end. He let go of the door and flew up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Bryant met Cara on the second floor landing and started waving her up higher. She blocked his path and spoke in a fast, excited voice. “We have to get them out!”

  He looked down at the ascending horde and yelled, “What are you talking about?”

  “Eric took Tommy and the father into the sanctuary. I told them it was a dead end, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Bryant swung his head into the doorway and spotted Eric trying to drag debris from the main doorway. “At least let Tommy come with us.”

  Eric shouted back. “They’ll all come in through the bottom floor. So if we exit here, we can make a run for a vehicle.”

  Bryant screamed in an uncharacteristic panic. “That won’t work!”

  The priest looked up from dragging another pew and shrugged. “Climbing higher will trap us on the roof with no food. At least here, we’ll have a chance.”

  Bryant felt Cara tugging at his shirt. Desperately, he called to Tommy. “Come with us, please.” He stressed the last word and heard a shot right behind him as Cara fired down the stairs.

  Eric grabbed Tommy’s wrist and held him in place. The boy’s eyes grew moist and he waved goodbye. A growl forced Bryant to look to his left and see the horde just a few steps below. He sprinted up the stairs, trying not to tangle his feet in Cara’s just ahead of him. Slamming through the third floor passage, the pair ran to the office with the ladder leading up to the roof.

  ***

  Eric turned and fired. He screamed at the priest and Tommy to keep clearing the door. The two non-combatants threw broken pieces of furniture and pews to the side in a flurry of hands. Without warning, the doors gave way. Instead of a passage to freedom, it became an entry point for more zombies. The priest swiped at one with a table leg, but the villain had already grabbed Tommy. Eric spun around seeing, that the trio had no escape. The boy’s anguish-filled cries pierced his ears and he watched the demon digging out the sought after meat. Eric swallowed and pointed the rifle at the boy’s head. Another crack of air being forced out of the way of a speeding piece of metal sounded the end of a ten-year life. Eric looked at the priest, aimed his gun again, and saw that the old man understood why. He pulled the trigger, splattering the old man’s skull. As the rough hands seized him, Eric put his mouth around the barrel, tasting the metal and gun oil before pulling the trigger.

  ***

  Bryant closed the door behind them and ran to the ladder. Cara scrambled up onto the roof first. He climbed after her, hearing the door open behind him. Bryant pulled his top half into the sunlight and felt Cara grab his arms and help pull him up. The couple ran hand-in-hand to the edge of the roof and looked down. The streets had thinned out with most of the single-minded beings entering the building after the new food. More rotting bodies kept fighting through the already crowded doorways. However, Bryant saw more than enough to stop them even if they found a way down.

  He turned to Cara and swallowed. “I don’t see any way out.”

  “A full clip in the pistol and four shots with the rifle.” He felt choked up. A strange lump formed in his throat that impeded his ability to speak. What he wanted to say to her involved the unfair hand they had been dealt. They had survived so much hardship and so many tight spots only to die anyway. He felt sick to his stomach thinking about all the adversity the two of them had overcome, but still did not impact the outcome at all.

  “Let’s take out all of them that we can and leave one bullet each.” Cara did not explain why but Bryant
knew the answer. She wanted the Romeo and Juliet double-suicide, lovers with no choice but to enter oblivion together.

  Bryant watched the hatch slowly lift and sunken eyes peer over the lip. He raised the rifle and put a bullet in its forehead. The hatch closed and he heard the body tumble down, connecting with the metal ladder. Bryant kept the sight trained on the hatch, waiting. When the next head bobbed into view, the bullet rocketed through the bone and brain, dropping the second beast. He repeated the process and two shots later, he dropped the empty gun at his feet. He stepped forward ten feet and pointed the nine millimeter, prepared to keep going. Cara stood beside him with her pistol drawn.

  She looked at him with admiration. She tried to remember a point in which she hated him. Though she knew that early on she disliked him, she could not remember those feelings, not standing beside him while he looked so resolved staring death in the face.

  The piling bodies made it easier for the zombies to more quickly climb. They no longer even needed the ladder. He fired over and over, sending the ghouls back into the darkened interior and then he stopped. Looking down at his gun, he realized that the final bullet was in the chamber.

  Cara handed her pistol over to him and took the almost empty one. “You’re a better shot.” His watery eyes met hers and they hugged, embracing before the end to their lives. Over her shoulder, he watched one get to its feet on the roof. He broke away and fired.

  In the silence following the shot, Bryant heard a muffled noise barely break the threshold of his senses. He cocked his head to one side trying to hear it clearly. Cara noticed it as well. She looked around, trying to place the steadily growing rhythmic sound. Then Bryant pointed into the clear blue sky.

  “A helicopter!” The hot rush of joy frightened him because it seemed so foreign after five days of death. He turned and fired into the skull of an approaching monster and fired at the next one, hoping that the chopper would hurry. He only had two shots left. Two more dead bodies did not slow down the beasts shuffling forward, immune to the fear of bullets.

  Bryant tossed the pistol and picked up the rifle to use as a bludgeon. Before his first swing, Cara pulled the trigger of her pistol with the one remaining bullet. Her shot counted, sending one creature slinking toward the ground. Bryant rushed the next cadaver, cracking its head open with the wooden stock. A sweeping blow to the head sent another enemy sailing off the roof into the streets below.

  The helicopter hovered above them and rolled out a rope ladder, which unwrapped during its free fall. Cara tossed the empty pistol to the side and grabbed the coarse wooden rung connected by sleek nylon cords. She scrambled up, trying to leave room for Bryant to grab on. With her adrenaline pumping, she scaled the entire device and climbed into the open door of the heli.

  The interior of the chopper held three dirty soldiers, a pilot that she could not see very well, boxes of ammo and M.R.E.s. One of the men on the end held an M16 propped on his knee. Deciding to ignore her new companions, she peered out at her man.

  Bryant swung again, letting go of the rifle as it collided with another skull. He quickly turned and grabbed the grainy wooden step. The pilot, sensing time had run out, maneuvered the copter laterally away from the building. Bryant suddenly found himself swinging wildly on the unstable rescue rope. One last lumbering beast lunged forward and caught Bryant’s ankle with its gnarled, but strong hands.

  Cara extended her head out enough to see Bryant struggle to hold on. The extra weight of the body dangling from his shoes slowly pulled his aching fingers from the surface of the ladder. Her eyes met his as the strain became too great. She blinked and when her eyes opened, her lover plummeted toward the earth. His face, still upturned, mouthed a silent scream as he plunged downward.

  The girl spun around and begged the pilot to set down. The man in an olive-drab jumpsuit and oversized helmet turned to her and said “No way, girl.” The soldier with the big ears shouted to the pilot that the guy fell three stories and had probably died.

  Cara slapped his seat, startling him. Her voice carried a conviction that the pilot found he could not argue with. “If you don’t set us down, I’ll jump out of the chopper.” Her eyes were hard as steel.

  “Jesus Christ, I’ll set us down but you have less than a minute to check on him. If those things get near the bird, I’m taking off!” He did not have to say “with or without you”.

  The chopper circled the splatter mark with two bodies in the center like a bull’s eye. The soldiers began picking off the walking dead that moved too close to the helicopter. During the rat-tat-tat of machine guns, bodies jerked and convulsed until the shooting stopped. Most of them fell down dead for the second time. Using the cover of assault rifles, Cara ran out and felt relieved, noticing that the zombie hit first, cushioning Bryant’s landing. She sprinted to him and knelt down looking at his face. His eyes were closed. She reached out and touched his face. His skin still felt warm and she leaned closer to hug him, to feel his breath on her neck, to lift him up and drag him to their godsend.

  As she started to move, Bryant’s eyes opened. They were wide orbs telling of complete surprise. His right hand moved up grabbing her hand that gently caressed his cheek. The gesture looked so affectionate, so Bryant. He pulled her soft palm across his face to his lips as if he were about to kiss it. His lips parted, sliding back over his white teeth and he bit down on the knife edge of her hand.

  Cara stared in complete horror. Her mind could not comprehend what he had just done. Her nerves told her that the pain was excruciating, but she could not think of that. Her only thought involved the man that she loved, that she would have gladly given her soul to, had just tried to eat her. She jerked her hand away and lost some skin in the process.

  Cara stood holding her shredded palm to her stomach, using the shirt to soak up most of the blood. She stumbled toward the chopper and could barely hear the shouts over the blades whirling above her.

  A soldier waited at the side pointing his M16 at her. “She’s been bitten!” He yelled it over his shoulder several times as if waiting for a response.

  Cara didn’t listen. Her mind occupied itself with the words “Bryant, oh Bryant, how could you do this?” Dazed as she was, she had to concentrate to realize that she could not move forward because the soldier with the funny features pushed her back keeping the rifle between them as a buffer.

  “You’ll infect the rest of us!” He spat in her face.

  “You don’t understand. . .” She began but stopped. What did he not understand? She did not know what she had intended to say. She just wanted back on the helicopter. “Let me on.” He pushed her back with the gun. She reached out and grabbed the barrel with her good hand, which he interpreted as an attempt to wrestle the weapon away. His finger reflexively squeezed out a burst hitting her all three times in the chest.

  Seconds later, Cara realized that she saw the bottom of a chopper growing smaller and smaller and eventually disappearing in the strong rays of the sun. “I’m sleepy.” She said to Bryant who had just appeared above her. His face was hidden under shadows from the sun, but she knew it was him. She wanted to reach up and stroke his face but her arms refused to cooperate. Her eyelids felt heavy, even heavier than her arms. “I can just close them for a second” she thought.

  ***

  Bryant sat beside her, holding her wounded hand up to his mouth, nibbling on the thin flesh covering her carpal bones. Another thing had walked up to feed but Bryant hit it in the head with a rock found within arm’s reach. He thought “she tastes good”, which was the most complex thought he could muster. Unfortunately for him, the taste had begun to sour. Then he knew not to eat anymore.

  She pulled her hand out of his mouth and used it to push herself up from the ground. Bryant stood too. He looked at her, feeling . . . His poor pitiful brain could not name it. She looked back at him, recognizing something in him. They no longer felt the heat beating down from direct sunlight. They no longer felt the sticky humidity of the Deep South. Th
ey no longer noticed the others of their kind aimlessly walking. They did, however, notice that their hands were entwined. The fingers interlocked in a familiar way. They also noticed that they felt satisfied. The reason why laid beyond their grasp. Maybe it was because the hind-brain controlled feelings of contentment, maybe not. Regardless, the two newly dead did not break the physical connection between them. She tentatively put one foot in front of the other. Soon the other copied the motion and they were walking hand in hand down a bustling main street. They needed no verbal communication. They both sensed that they would have to travel to find food, but that did not concern them. They just walked on, fingers gently gripping each other, contented.

  EPILOGUE

  Debbie woke up in a twin sized bed, under white sheets. The doctor and the walls of machines around her served as a reminder as to her location. She was somewhere below the Center for Disease Control (CDC) in Atlanta. Somehow, this building had remained safe during the outbreaks. A group of humans tried to take it over, accusing the government of the outbreak. Of course the soldiers managed to quell the attack pretty easily. Most of the survivors had been brought inside. They were all confined, but never referred to as prisoners. Debbie’s circumstances allowed her freedom of movement for the most part. The doctors told her that she was a patient. As far as she had seen, they did nothing different from a normal hospital and she trusted them. After all, everyone wanted the plague outside gone. It had spread beyond borders and decimated the world population. It would be suicide not to work together.

  A man in a white coat asked her how she felt and pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. The girl replied that she could go back to sleep for a few more hours. She had wakened several times in the night. He gave a short laugh and adjusted his spectacles yet again. He casually mentioned breakfast and pointed toward a small stainless steel cart with a plate and plastic lid. “I believe that it is scrambled eggs and grits, maybe a piece of grapefruit thrown in. Bacon and sausage are running low.”