by Tim Meyer
It was the smell of the dead heading toward him.
“How long have you guys been here?” Josh asked. Victoria had just finished making a sling for his arm out of some unused tee-shirts that belonged to the recreation center. She had done a good job, too. Josh thought she might have been the camp's nurse.
“Two days,” Ranger Steve said. “I was out there—with the Girl Scouts. Ranger Rick and I were showing them how to tie knots down by the lake when...” He stopped. The man was covered in sweat, his uniform drenched. Tears found the corners of his eyes, his lips trembled softly. For a second, Josh thought the man had reached his limit. However, he composed himself and continued. “They came out of the woods. Tons of them. Too many to count. Everyone ran. It was chaos. They started attacking the girls. Ripping them to shreds like they were made of construction paper. The chaperons tried to stop them, but... it was useless. They were taken too. Ranger Rick tried to be a hero. Got jumped by three of those fuc—” Stopping himself, he caught the cold gaze of the snooty religious woman. “Got jumped by three of them. They wrestled him to the ground. Ate him.” Ranger Steve wiped a thick layer of sweat from his forehead. “Sorry, darling,” he said to Emily.
She buried her head in Victoria's midsection.
“It's okay, Emily,” her mother said calmly. Josh could tell she was trying to keep it together for the sake of the kid. “We're going to be okay.” Josh noticed red speckles on Emily's uniform. She had been at the massacre near the lake. He could see it in her eyes. The poor child had seen some terrible shit happen, horrors that would forever warp her innocent mind.
As Josh surveyed their faces, he could tell they had all been there, seen the horrors this new world brought. Some hid it better than others. Like the Jesus-Woman, who seemed to act as if all were well, as long as they had the Lord in their hearts. There was no sadness in her eyes, only hope.
Ranger Steve was practically shitting himself. Josh figured one loud sound and he'd need a new pair of underwear.
“Your mother's right, Emily,” Josh said. “You're going to be okay. My friend Ben outside—he has a car, and there's room for all of you—”
“You think we're leaving this place?” Ranger Steve asked. “You're outta your mind if you think we're leaving this place.”
Josh glanced at him, his eyes narrowing.
“Steve's right,” Victoria agreed. “I mean, we have food and water here. Enough to get us through the week. By that time, this whole thing'll blow over and help will come. It doesn't make any sense to leave.”
Josh frowned. “Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don't think this thing is going to blow over.”
“What do you mean?” Victoria asked.
“Yeah,” Jesus-Lady chimed in. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“What I mean is...” Josh began to say, then noticed Emily peeking at him, her head still resting against her mother's stomach. “I think this thing might last a little longer than that.”
“So what do you suggest we do? Go out there?” Jesus-Lady snootily inquired. “Uh-uh, no way. I'm keeping my fanny right here. Couldn't pay me to go out there with those... demons. The devil is out there, sonny-boy, and I plan to stay here with God. Yessir.”
“Okay, well that's fine and dandy,” Josh told her. “But what's going to happen when you run out of food and water? Or worse, what's going to happen when those so-called 'demons' of yours find this place?” He could see his questions bothered Emily, but he didn't care. Jesus-Lady was being intentionally stubborn and she needed to face the facts. “What's going to happen then?”
“Someone will come for us. The police. The government. Somebody,” Victoria told him.
“Suppose they don't.”
“God will provide for us. All we have to do is pray,” Jesus-Lady announced. She closed her eyes, humming a spiritual tune quietly.
“Jesus.”
“Hey!” she snapped. “Don't take the Lord's name in vain, mister!”
Josh waved her off, turning his back. He wondered how exactly to convince these people that it was only a matter of time before the swarm found them.
Ben watched one of them stumble out from the brink of the forest. It was a brownie scout, a little thing, no older than seven. She was walking with an uncoordinated limp, like she had broken her foot.
With the exception of dried blood caked around her mouth, she didn't look very dead. Yes, Ben noticed the lifelessness in her eyes, but other than that—she appeared perfectly normal, unlike some of the other zombies he had seen on Densberry Avenue.
It's because she's fresh. It made physiological sense that the bodies of newly converted zombies were in better shape than those who had been dead for quite some time. Like Mrs. Yoland, who had probably been dead for close to a week, was badly decayed and reeked like something Ben never had the displeasure of smelling before. Just thinking about the awful stench was enough to make him gag.
He thought back to the old woman on the side of the road, and how unmotivated she was. Maybe the older they are, the less energy they have. It made good sense to him. Some of the zombies in the suburbs could flat out run. He supposed fresh corpses could do that. Maybe they hold onto something from their past lives, like their physical attributes. Sooner or later, though, their bodies would decompose, and left to rot. This made Ben think that if he survived long enough, maybe every walking corpse would rot away and become maggot-infested clumps of decayed flesh. But how long would that take? A year? Two? Five? Ten? He had no idea.
Ben watched in awe as the little girl slowly staggered across the dirt parking lot. She was twenty feet from him, her putrid scent wafting through the air, cutting away the freshness. Ben kept himself hidden behind the car. He doubted the zombies had any sense of smell, that their ways of locating their quarry were restricted to sight and sound only. She walked past the car without glancing in his direction.
Ben's heart rattled in his chest.
As the little girl limped on, Ben heard something rustling behind him. He turned and watched another girl scout, slightly older than the first, emerge from the trees and foliage. Then another. Then a park ranger stumbled out of the dense shrubbery. His face was covered in blood. There was a gaping hole in his stomach where his intestines dangled like strings of pink sausage. They appeared recently gnawed on. The ranger's left arm was missing, detached at the shoulder.
One by one, zombies came forth from the forest. Snarling. Hungry.
“So how'd you break your arm?” Victoria asked. She handed Josh a bottle of water.
“A friend hit me with his car,” he replied.
“Some friend.”
“We weren't really friends at the time. It was more of an accident—it's actually a really long story, and I'd love to tell it to you, but I really must insist that we get the hell out of here.”
“You're not going to give up, are you?” Jesus-Lady asked. “Can't you accept that the Lord Jesus is going to come down from Heaven and collect us into his loving arms?” The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked Josh up and down. “Oh, I get it. The devil's got a hold of you.” She paused, expecting Josh to argue. “Doesn't he?”
“Maybe that's enough, Ruth,” Victoria told her.
“I'm not listening to this crazy bullshit anymore,” Josh said. “If you want to stay, lady, then fucking stay. I don't care. As for the rest of you, I suggest you come with me. Before whatever happened down at the lake happens here.” He glanced at Ranger Steve, glaring at him apathetically.
Ranger Steve kept his mouth shut, staring down at the floor.
“We'll go,” Victoria said.
“Don't be ridiculous, Vicky,” Ranger Steve snapped, immediately whipping his head toward her. “You weren't out there when we were attacked. You don't know what it's like—”
“We don't know anything,” she told him. “Josh is right. We can't be certain that someone is coming for us. Usually in situations like this the government sets up survival camps, right?” Sh
e looked to Josh for verification, as if he were an expert on apocalyptic protocol.
Josh shrugged. “I don't how things are going down out there. All I know is—if you stay here, it's a deathtrap. You can't hold them off forever. There's too many of them.”
“That's exactly why we stay here,” Ranger Steve said. “They overran us.”
“Sooner or later they'll get in.”
“We'll see.”
Something crashed into the sliding-glass door, causing them to jump. Victoria screamed. Emily gripped her mother tight, wrapping her arms around her waist. Ruth backed away from the direction of the sudden outburst, signaling the Stations of the Cross. Ranger Steve pointed the shotgun toward the unexpected commotion.
The noise repeated.
Josh faced the enormous sliding-glass door that practically made up the entire back wall. Beyond the glass was a massive porch, stained the same color as the rest of the recreation center's exterior. On the porch, stood a little girl, clad in her scout's uniform.
“Jessica!” Emily yelled. She broke away from Victoria's grasp, sprinting toward the door.
Before Josh could protest, Emily was opening the slider. Josh seemed to be the only one who saw the writing on the wall. Ranger Steve appeared indifferent about the situation, but Josh knew better. He knew what she was, although, to Emily's credit, her friend's body didn't showcase the familiar signs. She wasn't missing half her face like some of the others Josh had seen. She wasn't dragging her entrails behind her. She didn't writhe her lips in contempt for the living.
Jessica appeared normal with the exception of her blood-caked clothes and the faint red smears around her mouth.
It's her eyes, Josh thought. It's her eyes that give it away. They lacked humanity. Two dead vacuums planted in the center of her face. Lifeless little circles. The girl was something less than human.
And Emily was letting it in.
Quietly, Ben climbed into his car. He shut the door slowly, hoping not to draw any attention to himself. Impossible. The clunk of the door closing was loud enough to turn the heads of the dead in his direction. Shit! Ben thought, discovering a few soulless eyes staring right at him. One woman—a camp counselor, her shirt read—hobbled toward him, exposing the right side of her face, which had been completely chewed away. Fresh droplets of blood oozed from the raw muscle. Ben's throat burned with bile, but he prevented the stomach juices from climbing any higher.
Fuck, they're changing fast. Judging from the woman's wound, she couldn't have been attacked more than a few hours ago.
Ben started the car, grabbing everyone's attention. One by one the zombies changed their course and began shuffling toward the car. One sprinted ahead of the slow-moving concourse. An eleven-year old boy rushed the car. The little bastard jumped on the hood, crouching like a gorilla. Wildly, he began smashing his fists against the windshield with bloodthirsty rage. He managed to crack the glass after a few tries. Shocked, Ben watched the windshield spider-web. Instead of waiting for the dead kid to break through and rip his throat out, Ben stomped on the gas, sending the kid toppling over the roof, tumbling onto the dirt below. In his rear-view mirror, Ben saw the boy scramble to his feet, wounded, but still motivated by the hunger raging inside his belly. In that moment, Ben thought of throwing the car in reverse, running the little fucker over, making sure the tires crushed his skull in the process. Instead, Ben thought of Jake, wondering if the zombie had a father looking for him, and how he'd feel if he reached Pittsburgh and found his son in the middle of the street with tire marks over what was left of his cranium.
Ben decided not to put the car in reverse. Alternatively, he circled the lot, honking his horn, warning Josh to hurry up. They had overstayed their welcome.
“Don't!” Josh said, but it was too late. Emily had opened the door, letting Jessica in. The recently-reanimated corpse lunged forward, mouth open, disease-coated saliva dangling from her blood-muddied lips. Emily screamed as Jessica tackled her, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Josh and Victoria rushed to Emily's side, but Jessica was quicker. Snarling bestially, she mounted Emily, bearing her tiny, yet incredibly dangerous teeth.
Shoulder first, Josh rushed forward, colliding with the infected girl scout. He dislodged her from her prey, and Jessica fell to the floor. While the dead girl scout struggled to regain her footing, Victoria escorted her daughter away from the immediate danger.
Josh hopped to his feet and saw Jessica had already risen to her own. The little bitch growled, crouching like a sumo wrestler waiting for the round to start. Josh backed away cautiously. Jessica followed him like a cat waiting for the precise moment to pounce.
“Still want to stick around?” Josh asked.
Their silence answered for them.
Before Jessica had the chance to fling herself at Josh, a deafening boom made their hearts dive unexpectedly. Jessica's head suddenly exploded into a million pieces, sending bits of brain matter airborne in a spray of red mist, splattering the oak paneling behind her. Her head had popped like an overfilled water balloon. Gore slowly ran down the walls.
Ranger Steve held his shotgun, tendrils of smoke wafting from the end of the barrel. He shivered as if he had wandered into the winter weather, wet and unclothed. “Oh, God,” he muttered, then scurried behind the receptionist's desk, reaching the wastebasket in time.
The gurgling sounds of Ranger Steve vomiting was interrupted by the shrill shriek of a girl scout who had nearly been eaten by her friend.
Josh glanced at Emily. She pointed toward the sliding-glass door, mouth agape, unblinking. He turned to see what had caused her outburst.
“Ho. Lee. Shit,” Josh said.
At least thirty zombies were rapidly approaching the open doorway. Evidence that they had already eaten was painted around their mouths, yet their stomachs still growled in harmony.
“Come on!” Ben shouted. He continued circling the parking lot, wasting the gasoline he had just pilfered from people he would never come to know. He had a trail of dead folks in tow, their numbers growing with each lap. At least twenty of them followed Ben lazily, swaying drunkenly and gnashing their teeth together. Some of them approached head on. Ben avoided them by swerving around them. He knew he couldn't keep it up for long. Only a matter of time before a runner, or a really motivated zombie came to the front of the pack. The boy he thought about crushing was no longer a threat; he had broken his ankle during the fall, only able to crawl.
The internal clock in Ben's head rapidly approached zero.
The honking continued.
“Who the hell is that?” Victoria asked, yelling over the groaning horde, as they pounded on the glass door.
Josh had been lucky enough to shut it before the pack of killing machines reached the doorway. He knew it would only buy them a few minutes. Had there been a runner in the pack, he probably wouldn't have made it in time. Josh watched with fascination as they hammered the door with their bloody fists, leaving red smears on the glass.
“Remember that friend I was telling you about?” Josh asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well, that's him. And I'm pretty sure we shouldn't keep him waiting.”
As if on cue, the glass shattered. The dead stumbled inside, bumping into each other, jockeying for the lead. Many of them tripped over themselves, falling to the ground. The zombies able to keep their balance trampled their counterparts, heading toward their food source.
The group appeared in the recreation center's entrance. Ben spotted them immediately. He saw Josh with other people—other living people—and instantly became excited with the prospect of other survivors. Josh led them while a legion of zombies hurdled after them. The zombies clumsily followed, many of them falling to the ground while the more aggressive creatures stepped on them without care.
Ben saw some of his followers abandon their efforts, seeking the easier meal. The park ranger raised his shotgun and blew the head off of an approaching zombie. Ben watched its head disappear, bits of br
ain-meat raining on the wooden steps. He pumped and aimed, taking out the next contender in similar fashion.
“Into the car! Hurry!” Josh commanded.
Ben stretched across the seat, popping the lock on the passenger's door. It's gonna be a tight fit, Ben thought to himself, adding up the bodies that were going to squeeze into his four-door sedan.
As soon as Ben completed that thought, he watched the older woman trip on a loose deck board. She fell hard on the ground. This would have been painful to watch under ordinary circumstances, but the dozens of hungry dead folk ready to pounce on her made his adrenaline kick harder. The others didn't hear her cries for help over the crowd of dead cannibals. Their animalistic groans reminded Ben of wind swooshing through an open field.
Ben rolled his window down, yelled something along the lines of, “Hey!” and pointed behind the survivors. Only Victoria understood what Ben was implying. She turned, seeing Ruth struggle to her feet. It was too late. The dead swarmed her. They grabbed her, pinned her down, and clawed at her flesh with dark, dirty, and—in most cases— already-bloodied fingernails. They tore her open like a Christmas present. The old woman tried to scream but her throat filled up with blood. No one would have heard her over the raucous noise of the zombie drove anyway.
“No!” Victoria screamed. She began to double-back, but the zombies had shredded through most of the old woman's muscle, reaching her bones. What was left was no longer recognizable, a life-size lump of bloody sinew. Her head had detached during the carnage, rolled across the deck like a weakly thrown bowling ball. Victoria's mouth dropped, color fleeing from her face.
The zombies continued their slaughter, uncaring.
“Shoot the fucker!” Josh yelled. He grabbed Victoria, turning her away from the clutches of a nearby walker. She had been so lost in the living nightmare that she hadn't seen it coming, nor did she hear her daughters' warning.