by Tim Meyer
So much for the right moment, Ben thought. He scolded Paul Scott with his eyes, but the trucker intentionally dodged Ben's hard gaze.
“And why would they want to do that?”
“Who knows. Maybe they're testing biological warfare. Or maybe, they're looking to thin the numbers. Population control, or something.”
“Oh, yeah. That's believable.”
“What do you know? You're just a pathetic junkie,” John grumbled. He coughed, softly at first, but grew louder in succession.
Josh smiled. “That's right. Choke, motherfucker.”
“Quit it,” Ben said to both of them.
Glaring at Ben, John's coughing subsided. “What? You didn't know your fellow road-tripper was a junkie?”
“I did actually. And you know what? He's well on his way to kicking the habit. So it'd be real nice if you got off his ass about it.”
John laughed raucously between another series of coughs. “Yeah, right,” he wheezed. “That'll be the day.” John turned to Josh. “You know what I wished for when the dead started coming back to life?”
“That they'd actually listen to anything you had to say?” Josh said.
“That I'd be there to watch you turn into one of them. So when you came back to life I'd be the lucky one to put you down like a lame stag.” John Vander smiled hideously. “And the best part? No one would even give a shit. Not even Olivia. Because you'd be a fucking zombie!”
“Well, I'll tell you what, whack-job. I didn't kill your little girl. You did. And she died long before the zombies came along.” Josh pursed his quivering lips. He gritted his teeth as he continued. “You smothered her, John. And you know who she turned to? Someone like me.” He giggled softly. “Yeah, I'm a liar. I've cheated. Stolen things. Did drugs. Lots of them. And you know what makes girls want to date scumbags like me? Overbearing fathers who try to control their daughter's lives, John. Like you. So do me a favor and kindly keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Josh exhaled. For a second no one said anything. He caught Ben smiling behind his hand. Ross smirked as well. Josh rested his head against the cage and sighed. Fishing for the smokes in his pocket, Josh remembered that the Three Little Pigs had cleaned him out before locking him up. He muttered an obscenity that no one heard.
“You disrespectful little sh—” John started to say, but another hacking fit interrupted him. The bundle of coughs was more throaty than the previous ones. John hunched over and retched blood onto the concrete, which alarmed everyone, bringing them to their feet. A wave of gasps circled the basement.
“You okay?” Ben asked.
More blood splashed onto the concrete.
“Fine,” he said hoarsely. “I can feel it coursing through me. The sickness. Whatever we're infected with.”
At first, Ben didn't understand. Then, John rolled his pant leg. A good-size chunk of his leg was missing, about enough to fill the average mouth. Ben recognized the teeth marks around the hole that exposed bone. The skin around the wound had purpled, almost blackened. The smell that emanated from the chewed orifice was nauseating. Body odor and urine were no longer the dominant aromas. The stench overpowered the other disgusting smells that wafted around the basement. Ben tried to cover his nose with his arm, but it did nothing to block the putrid stink. Josh grimaced while Victoria heaved air. Emily quickly pinched her nostrils with her fingers. Brittany buried her nose in her arm.
Ross closed his eyes, wishing he were somewhere else.
“Jesus Christ,” Paul muttered, turning his head.
Tabby held her silent son close, fearing what was going to happen next. The poor kid trembled in her arms.
“I'm turning into one of them,” John said.
Ben shook his head, pressing his back against the cage. He realized John would come after him once the sickness ran its course. And he wouldn't stop until he he had Ben's flesh between his teeth.
Jake... Ben thought. His heart sank into his bowels when John Vander opened his mouth to speak and froze, staying that way until his body reanimated.
CHAPTER SIX
TWO DAYS AGO...
It felt like the morning after a night of binge drinking and popping Xanax. The world around him blurred, slowly reshaping reality. When things focused, he found himself in the passenger's seat of a car—perhaps the one that had bowled into him. He wasn't sure. A fog enveloped his sense of clarity. The whole thing played out like a terrible dream. There was his mother. Then the zombies. Running and screaming. Mass hysteria. The little girl in the woods. The road, the car—
Josh tried to rise from his slumped position, but pain exploded into his shoulder. He cried out while returning to his original posture.
“Don't try to move,” the driver said. “Keep your head down.”
Josh couldn't see out of the window. He tried to peek, but the slightest movement sent waves of anguish throughout the upper half of his body. “What's going out there?” he asked. Inhuman sounds coming from outside of the car pricked the hairs on his neck. Beneath the bestial groans was a woman's final cry for help. A man followed shortly after, protesting his own demise. “Hey, what's going—”
“Sssh,” the driver said. “Be quiet.”
Josh grumbled, “Dude, did you hit me?”
“Yes,” the driver said. “You came out of the woods. Fast. Couldn't stop.”
Under normal circumstances, Josh would've berated the unkempt man. Threatened him. Possibly instigated a fight. He definitely would have cursed the guy out, called him an asshole and told him he should have watched where the fuck he was going, even if it was his own damn fault for running out in the middle of the road. But these were not normal circumstances.
Josh sighed heavily. “Don't worry about it. I should've looked before I ran out.” He shook his head. “Stupid,” he muttered silently. “I'm Josh, by the way. Josh Emberson.”
“Ben Ackerman.”
“Nice to meet you, Ben—”
“Shit!” Ben yelled, and cut the wheel hard.
The car spun three times, finally coming to a screeching halt. Bodies of the dead filled the windows. Josh cowered, shrinking in his seat, watching the faces of the living dead appear around them. Bloody spittle flew from their mouths as they pounded on the glass, trying to smash their way in. They gnashed their ravenous teeth together, the life in their eyes stolen by mindless hunger. Josh studied their faces, void of human attributes. They were monsters, nothing more, nothing less.
Ben pressed the pedal to the floor and cut the wheel, shaking off a few zombies, but not enough. He could barely see beyond the windshield. He glanced back in his rear-view mirror and saw nothing but open road. He slammed on the brakes, dislodging a few more. Josh saw them tumble awkwardly to the pavement. As Ben spun the wheel, Josh clung onto the “oh-shit bar” tightly. The Hyundai one-eightied in the middle of the road, and Ben sped off in reverse.
“What are you doing?” Josh asked.
“I can see better like this.”
Josh glared at the dead folk crowding the front windshield. He closed his eyes, wishing he never left his bed that morning.
Ben cut the wheel once again, without warning. The remaining stragglers lost their grip, were tossed to the road like garbage. Ben stomped on the gas pedal. The car zipped down the street, free from the departed.
Ben pulled over on the empty highway, taking in deep breaths of air. Signs of tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. Josh was certain he wouldn't be able to hold them much longer. The levee would break momentarily.
“You okay, man?” Josh asked.
Ben shook his head.
“It's okay if you cry, man. I won't think you're a pussy or anything.”
Ben chuckled softly. Josh was glad he had kept some humor under grim circumstances. He suspected Ben was the laid-back type, someone who didn't get angry very often.
The vague grin on Ben's face quickly retired. His eyes leaked down his cheeks.
“We were in my parents' neighborhood. I th
ought that...” Ben trailed off.
“What happened?”
“They're everywhere, Josh. I mean, everywhere. Major highways are flooded with them. Suburban developments are overrun. I don't want to even think about the cities.”
“I'm sorry about your parents,” Josh said. He thought about mentioning how he watched his mother become torn apart like wet tissue paper, but decided against it. It was Ben's time to mourn, and he respected that. Besides, reality had yet to hit him. With the exception of his broken arm, he felt fine, unaffected by the day's events. Am I that cold? Josh thought. He thought he'd feel something. Sadness. Despair. Hopelessness. But he didn't feel any of those things. Instead he felt normal. Like nothing traumatizing had happened at all. It'll hit me later, he thought, feeling better coming to this conclusion.
Minutes passed before either of them spoke again. Ben sniffled, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying his best not to burst into tears. Josh watched the grown man try to compose himself with great difficulty.
Ben wiped the tears away from his eyes. “Sorry about that.”
“I understand.” Josh fought his way through the pain. He inched his way up in the seat, sitting up, staring out the front windshield. Never had he experienced that kind of pain before. He had never broken a single bone in his body, which surprised him due to the countless hours he spent doing asinine stunts on his skateboard when he was younger. The pain seared through him, as if knives were being driven through his arm, poking the bone. He remained silent, but inside he was screaming. His eyes welled, but no tears breached the surface.
“You shouldn't move around a lot,” Ben told him. “I'm pretty sure your arm is broken.”
“Yeah, I'd have to agree with you there,” Josh said. “Where the hell are we?”
Ahead was a long stretch of highway, vaguely reminiscent to the one Josh had been on when Ben came along. A vast, endless forest lay on both sides of them. Dusk was starting to settle. To the right, just over the branches, orange smears of sunlight were being absorbed by a bruised sky. To the left of them lay darkness.
“Route 77 South. About twenty minutes west of LBI.”
LBI, Josh thought. Long Beach Island. They were about forty minutes south of his apartment. The old shitbox. There was nothing back there for him anyway. He had some supplies they could have used, and an unregistered handgun he had stashed beneath his mattress, but that was it. Nothing worth risking their lives for.
“I have something I need to do.”
“And what might that be?”
“I'm heading to Pittsburgh.”
“Oh,” Josh said. “Why?”
“My son lives there,” Ben said. “With his mother. They might... still be alive.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Josh didn't have the heart to tell him that he had seen news reports about cannibalistic attacks in Ohio, not too far from the Steel City. Instead, he shook his head. “Anything is possible.”
“Do you have any family that might be alive?”
Josh thought about it. He couldn't be certain. His mother had been eviscerated in front of him. His father ran out on him when he was little. His uncle in Oklahoma was arrested for diddling kids. He had no siblings, at least to his knowledge. Every single grandparent died long before the end of times. He might have had a few cousins left in Detroit. He hadn't seen any of them in over ten years.
“No,” he said.
Then he thought of Olivia again. Fuck, how could I forget her?
Maybe because you don't care about her as much as you let on, you useless addict, a very harsh voice responded in his head.
“I'm sorry,” Ben said.
“I have this girlfriend, sort of. It's off and on. Complicated.”
“Oh?” Ben tried to smile. “And... uh, is she...”
“Alive?”
“Yeah.”
“Don't know. She's on vacation with her folks in Harrisburg.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“It's on the way.”
“Do you have a cell phone?” Josh asked. “I could call her.”
Ben shook his head. “No signal. I've tried everywhere.”
Josh closed his eyes. “How did this happen?”
“I've asked myself the same question.”
“The government will bail us out. I mean, they prepare for this sort of thing, right?”
Ben shrugged. “It happened so quickly.”
Josh rested his head against the seat, staring at the ceiling.
“I can take you to Harrisburg, if you want.”
He ignored Ben, leaning his head toward the window, trapped in some horrific reverie. Then he glanced over at the man responsible for the pulsating pain in his arm. “What?”
“I can take you to Harrisburg,” Ben repeated. “It's silly to travel alone. At least together, we can watch each other's backs.”
Josh nodded. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure. Under one condition.”
“What's that?”
“You're buying the first round at the first bar we find.”
“Is that right?” Ben grinned, killing the engine.
“Absolutely. It's the least you could do for breaking my arm.”
They chortled softly before deciding who was going to take the first shift watching for zombies. They needed to be refreshed for tomorrow. Brand-new horrors awaited.
“God is finished, sick of his creation and the abomination it has become, you hear? This is the end of times, the days that will lead us to the Rapture!”
Ben awoke to the fiery, southern drawl of an evangelist. His temples throbbed and the righteous man's sermon was not helping. He switched the radio off, not remembering turning it on. Something pounded on the glass. His first semi-conscious thought was that the windshield wipers were swaying back and forth rhythmically. As the world became clear, he saw a dead woman gently smacking the windshield with her palm.
The zombie was once an old lady, but now it was just an it, barely resembling anything human. Half of her cheek was missing, exposing grayed gums and teeth blackened with rot. She stared at him with eyes displaying no intelligence, no sensible thought or reasoning. All it wanted, all it craved, was the taste of Ben's flesh and blood.
She was unlike some of the other zombies he'd seen in his parents' development. Some of them were quick. Really quick. Almost as fast as Ben could run. They had more will too, more motivation. The elderly corpse only made feeble attempts at breaking in. Her fists were doing little, except damaging her own body; her wrists were clearly broken, blood leaking from the torn flesh where bone peeked through. Ben turned on the wipers to wash the old woman's blood away, and she didn't seem to mind. She continued smashing her fist against the glass sedately.
Just as the wipers dragged across the patches of dry glass. Josh snapped out of his mini coma.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “I fell asleep.”
“It's okay. Look.”
Before Josh noticed the walking corpse outside of the car, he lightly touched his shoulder. Pain shot up and down his arm. He couldn't move it. Rolling up his sleeve, he found a big purple mark where the car got the best of him. “Motherfucker.”
“She's so... slow.”
Josh finally glanced up and saw the old lady. She was as Ben had observed. Slow. She vaguely reminded him of his mother, only much older, and more... dead. He would never know what Meridith Emberson would have looked like in her eighties, but the walking cadaver was close to what Josh had imagined. It brought a certain sense of sadness to the forefront of his emotions, but hatred, confusion, and the pain that throbbed in his shoulder overpowered everything.
“Definitely not like the ones back in Pine Coast...”
“What?” Ben asked.
“Pine Coast. That's were I was before you hit me.”
“You work there or something?”
“No, I was visiting,” he replied.
Ben heard something in his voice that gave everything
away. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't know.”
“Don't worry about it,” Josh said. He quickly wanted to change the topic. “I'm sorry I fell asleep during my watch. Could've gotten us killed if granny here was a little more hungry.”
“She looks hungry all right,” Ben said. The woman opened and closed her mouth like a fish.
“I say we get out of here before more come,” Josh said.
They drove west for almost twenty miles, not seeing a single person, living or dead. There should have been evidence that the world had ended, an indication that the dead no longer stayed dead. But there was nothing. Only open roads and derelict vehicles. They didn't stop. Driving slowly, they peered through the windows. No signs of the living. They thought they might see the owners of those vehicles hoofing it a few miles down the road, but that wasn't the case. It had been days since those cars and trucks had seen their drivers.
“Do you think maybe the infection—or whatever it is—has made it everywhere yet?” Josh thought out loud.
“I don't know,” Ben replied. “But I find it weird we haven't seen anyone or anything in almost an hour.”
“I don't like it. It's like the calm before the storm.”
Ben had that feeling, too. The arrow on the Sonata's gas gauge approached empty. Considering they were nowhere near a gas station, it would have been a very bad time to run out of gas. They had no food, with exception of a few packages of gummy snacks Ben had found in the glove-box. More importantly, they had no water.
“Cigarette?” Josh asked, holding the pack in front of Ben.
“No, thanks. My wife made me quit years ago,” he said. “Well, ex-wife,” he corrected.
“It's the goddamn zombie apocalypse. You're probably not going to be alive long enough to catch cancer,” Josh said.
Ben wouldn't allow himself to think that way. However, it was only one cigarette. Wouldn't kill you, he thought. Ben plucked a death-stick from the pack, putting the filter between his lips.
“That's the spirit,” Josh said, lighting it for him.