Escape from the Dead

by Joshua A. Brown

  But again, she came up short as she neared the house, repulsed and sickened at the sight of David and Clint, both laying still in death where they had fallen. Beginning to cry, she pushed past them, and ran to the screen door of the place, quickly pulling it open.

  “Hello?!” she asked into the house, which received no answer. She stood just inside the door of the place, and turned to one side to look into the parlor, but found she could see no one in it. Only a revolver laying in the middle of the floor. There was a slight thumping above her, and she listened for a moment.

  “Hello?” she asked again. “Is anyone here?”

  Her voice sounded desperate and dry, and she looked around again, hoping that a voice would come from anywhere in the house. Anyone at all that could help her, and help Uncle Mike, but there was nothing but the sound of wind and her breathing as she waited. Her hands fluttered in frustration as she stood in one spot, but there was again, a slight thumping from upstairs, and she fought off her feelings of terror to see if perhaps someone was just sleeping or hiding upstairs.

  The old farmhouse stairs creaked as she walked up them, and at the top, she looked through the dark hallway, seeing the light that came through the windows. There was a door immediately to her right, but it was closed, and her hand went to the handle. The door was locked, and she tried harder to open it. She could hear a dripping sound within, and figured that someone was in the shower.

  Throwing one of her shoulders into it, she dislodged the door, and it swung open with Ash attached to it. She was quick to back away to the doorframe, letting go of the door before she let her eyes fix on the room, and what was in it. But instead of a shadowy figure obscured by a shower curtain, startled by her entrance, the nightmare only deepened, and Ash’s head slowly shook as she began to sob.

  Abbie lay in the bathtub, two bottles of pills scattered on the edge of the tub and the floor next to it. Long, dark slits rode up her wrists and forearms, with blood having saturated the floor, and filling the tub to mix with the water. Her head was drooped, and faced away from Ash, and the filthy, sobbing, exhausted stripper in the school girl costume slumped against the door across the hall from the bathroom. Behind her, Abbie’s head turned…

  Ash left the door frame, headed further down the hall as she wept, but was trying to calm herself. If there was anyone left in the house, she had to find them. Uncle Mike was depending on her, and she knew that she had to hurry. Opening a door to another room which she found empty, she did not notice that Abbie had crawled from the tub, and was staggering to her feet.

  Nearing the room at the end of the hallway, Ash was unaware that the nude, pruned form of Abbie was closing on her. She was frustrated to find that even the last room was empty, and her head slumped in disappointment. She had to go back to Uncle Mike, and try to help him herself. Maybe they could steal one of the other cars and keep going. And even worse, at the end of all this, they still had to get Dana.

  But turning, she found herself face to face with the ghastly, leering face of Abbie, whose sunken features made her look all the more horrifying. The hands of the creature reached out as it growled, and Ash screamed as she backed away into the last room, trying to slam the door as she did so, but tripping over her own feet, and striking the floor on her back. Abbie pressed forward.

  Mick, standing above the graves he’d just covered for Marty and Andy, looked up sharply at the sound of the scream. Without any hesitation, he set out at a run for the house, throwing down the shovel as he went. How could anyone have not heard all his shooting until now? It had to be someone who had just arrived.

  Ash was holding up her hands as Abbie climbed down to her knees, and began to paw at her intended victim. Her mouth was opening and closing, revealing her dark purple tongue as she began to try to bite at Ash, who kicked out. Abbie was kicked, but it only served to flatten her against Ash, who screamed again, but could swear she heard footsteps. The eyes of the thing, the face of it, the terrible, acrid breath were so dangerously close as her wide eyes regarded it, and her hand reached up. Her fingers burrowed into Abbie’s hair as the zombie began to savagely attempt to bite her. Ash yanked back, and Abbie’s head went back, the mouth gaping open with a dreadful groan.

  But then, Ash was not sure what had happened. The face of the thing seemed to explode, and she was coated in blood, brain matter, and skull fragments when it happened. An eye splattered onto her, and with that, Ash’s eyes fluttered, and she fainted, letting the dead weight of Abbie collapse onto her. Mick approached, and reached down to take Abbie by the hair, pulling her off the woman underneath.

  It was darkly amusing, the absurd sight of the blood splattered, naughty school girl laying in front of him. He drug Abbie away further, and regarded the fact that all the shooting might have been drawing in not only more living souls, but more zombies. Returning to the unconscious Ash, he checked her over to make sure she had no bites or wounds, and then pulled the eyeball from her face, letting it hit the floor beside her with a splat.

  Scooping her up, he found her to be light and easy to carry, and so it was time to take her to the barn. He could set up in the Hayloft and have a good view of the entire farm from there, and stay somewhat safe from anything on the ground. Carrying the young woman down the stairs, he turned and decided to go out the front door, carrying her through the parlor. But just entering the parlor, he halted in his tracks.

  Another one- a little girl in a gore-covered sun dress- stood there, its hands hanging at its sides as it stared at them. Mick set Ash on the couch next to him, noting that another zombie, which had been Pete, was dead on the floor with a massive head wound caused by Clint. Mick then regarded the little girl, looking at her with sorrow as he shook his head. He didn’t want to do it, but it had to be done. Still, he guessed it was a bad idea to shoot any more rounds, unless it was necessary.

  He approached the thing, and its mouth opened as it lurched for him. Once, he shoved it back, and then shoved it again as it came for him. He hesitated, the mere thought of killing a child grieving him. He shoved it harder, and it tumbled backward into the dining room, at which time Mick grabbed the fireplace poker, and shook his head. Was he really about to kill a little girl with it?

  As it snarled, struggling back to its feet, he had his answer as he brought the poker around, and it clanked off the head of the terrible little figure. Down, but still growling and trying to get back to its feet, Mick moved in, bringing the poker down again, and then again, and then a few more times to make sure. When it moved no more, he collapsed to his hands and knees over it, looking down in horror at what he had done. But then there came another noise.

  It was a crunching, then a sort of squishing noise, and Mick realized that from where he was, the noise was coming from directly in front of his face. He slowly looked up, and though it was dark, he could make out some kind of movement. A moment later, he realized he was staring into a crib, and from within the mush against the bars of it, an eye opened. Mick could not believe it. A tiny, claw-like arm extended through the bars.

  “You’ve got to be… fucking kidding…” he choked out.

  His hand grasped the poker again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE- UNIONS AND REUNIONS

  Ash lay on a soft blanket gathered from the house, peacefully sleeping as Mick stared out from the hayloft, down onto the farm. It had been hours, and he felt a sort of numbness as he looked over at the house, and then the driveway, and then around the rest of the grounds. A rumble caught his attention, and he looked to the west to see that dark clouds were rolling in again. It couldn’t be helped, he reasoned, and at least there was a roof over them.

  That was a comforting thought, at least. “Them”. He wasn’t just left here with the grisly reminders of what had happened before he’d arrived. Whether or not she would wake up soon, or even care that he had saved her from being killed, it didn’t matter. Even if it wound up being a fight, at least it would be human interaction, and that was better than the alternative.


  Another rumble of the thunder filled the sky, and Mick regarded what he had been able to cull from the house for supplies. He figured to keep lights low, attracting less attention as he watched for the others to arrive. He hadn’t found Jake or Jon’s dog tags, and so that meant they were still out there. It had been hours since the terrible events in the house, and Mick had found everything he thought was a good idea to bring along.

  The storm arrived not long after, dumping more rain and putting on the light show of bright blue forks of lightning while thunder provided the soundtrack. One particularly close bolt of lightning set of an immediate boom of thunder that sounded like an explosion, and Ash sat bolt upright, her eyes going wide as Mick stood near the loft doors. Hearing her gasp, he turned toward her, surprised to see her awake.

  But she began to panic as memories and realization flooded back to her, and she became hysterical, even as Mick’s hands clamped onto her shoulders. He shook her once, trying to calm her, but it hardly worked, and he hesitated in slapping her, and so he thought perhaps the sound of a human voice would soothe her.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “You’re all right. Just calm down.”

  But there seemed to be no settling her down, and so he pulled her by the shoulders directly to his face.

  “You want to draw more of those things around?” he asked her. “Keep quiet!”

  Now, her eyes wide as they regarded him, she stopped making noise, and went still as he held her in his hands. He released his grip, and sat back from her as she fought to calm her breathing, and she blinked, at once realizing she was with another person, and not in immediate danger. Still, she fell into an almost trance-like state as she simply sat, rocking back and forth slightly with her knees hugged up to her chest.

  “Pretty close call in there,” Mick said to her softly, also thinking ‘at least you were asleep for the worst of it’.

  She did not answer, but he smiled anyway.

  “Where did you come from, anyway?” he asked. “You got a name?”

  Still, she was silent, and he tried not to be frustrated.

  “At least I was able to get you cleaned up a little,” he said, and looked around, his eyes settling on a bottle of Wild Turkey near them, as well as a coffee mug he’d sipped some of it from. He picked up the mug, and then the bottle, and poured the mug about two thirds full before extending it toward her. She wasn’t the “World’s Greatest Grandma” as the mug was labeled, but that hardly mattered.

  “Here,” he said. “Have a drink. It might settle your nerves.”

  She quickly reached out, taking the mug, which she brought to her lips, but began to drink quickly. She was in such a hurry to down the burning liquor that the mug was pressed back into the corners of her mouth as she gulped noisily. Mick raised an eyebrow as he watched her guzzle the Wild Turkey.

  “Don’t worry,” he said jokingly. “I’m sure your liver can handle it…”

  With the liquor downed, she had clung to the mug, while Mick simply looked at her, slightly amused as he tried to figure her out. She was now in her trance again, and Mick figured the alcohol might have loosened her up a bit.

  “So, you got a name?” he asked. “I’m Mick. Mick Scott.”

  He extended a hand, but her lip quivered at the sight of the very bloodstained hand, and he drew it back. He figured he would give her time to sort her own head out, and so he stood and headed for the doors to the loft to keep watch again.

  “I…” she hoarsely got out, which cause him to turn back. He simply stared for a moment. She was still not looking at him, but her lips tried to work out some kind of word once, then twice, and she paused again. He looked at her, waiting to see if she had anything else to say, but drew no closer to her as lightning flashed outside the loft again, and thunder rumbled. Finally, as he looked from the outside to her, she spoke again.

  “Thanks,” she uttered, almost a whisper.

  “Well, you’re probably in shock,” he said to her. “Just thought keeping you warm was a good idea. Same with a good stiff drink.”

  “No,” she said to him, not meeting his eyes as her tone was barely audible. “For… in there, I mean. I could have died if you-”

  She was on the verge of crying again, but Mick had returned to her, and he sat on the hay next to her, and looked at her with concern. She was fighting to keep her composure, and he thought back to it all for a moment, trying to even guess at what he could say that would be of any comfort.

  “You know, I…”

  “Did you see her face?” Ash asked. “It was the worst thing I’ve-”

  Now, Mick reached out, and his hand came to rest on her arm, which drew her eyes, before she looked up at his face. There was a certain comfort she felt when she looked at him, like he had a confidence that wasn’t coupled with a trainload of arrogance, like most of the men she knew. Like Marco.

  “You’re all right now,” he said, sounding neither warm nor hostile. “I thought I’d seen some terrible things in my life, but now… every day it’s like we’re on a new episode of ‘World’s most terrible shit’. Try and forget it, all right?”

  She gave a slight nod, hardly convincing.

  “Here, you liked it so much, have a little more,” he said of the Wild Turkey, pouring some more into the mug. Slowly, she lifted the mug to her lips, and tilted it back. When she lowered it, she was smiling, and she let out a quiet laugh.

  “This shit’s terrible,” she said, which made Mick smile. He nodded.

  “Yes, yes it is,” he agreed.

  “You got anything stronger?” she asked, the barest hint of her former charms showing through.

  “Sorry, all I got is this terrible shit,” he said to her.

  She lifted the mug up again, and took another drink before lowering it, and heaving a huge sigh.

  “Rough day?” Mick asked her, which drew her gaze, and turned her face to a rather amused expression. Finally, she laughed, and nodded as she looked at him.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yeah, it was. You?”

  It was his turn to sigh.

  “Killed some family friends, found two of my friends turned into puddles, and buried them before meeting a beautiful girl and covering her with blood,” Mick said. “All in all, pretty normal Tuesday.”

  At first stunned, she realize he was trying to be humorous and make the best of it, and she smiled at him.

  “Well thanks again,” she said. “How did I get into these clothes?”

  She was dressed in a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans, and her shoes were nearby, and Mick nervously messed around some of the hay with his hand. He looked up at her with a sheepish expression as she stared at him.

  “Yeah, well, that was me,” he said.

  “Like what you saw?” she asked, and started putting on her shoes.

  “Didn’t look much,” he told her. “But I didn’t figure you wanted to wake up with blood and brains all over you. At least I got rid of the eyeball.”

  She looked horrified, but then examined the clothes she was in.

  “You even got my size,” she joked, noting that the clothes fit pretty well.

  “I pretty much searched the whole house for stuff. “There is some other clothes over there if you don’t like that.”

  She didn’t say anything, but looked to where he’d stacked all kinds of things taken from the house. It must have taken a long time to do it, and she suddenly regarded, that, time.

  “Where did you come from, anyway?” he asked her.

  “I was traveling with my uncle, and we were on our way to get my sister,” she explained. “This guy ran into us. With his car.”

  “I only found you,” Mick said. “Where’s your uncle?”

  “I went ahead to find help,” she answered. “He was pretty hurt.”

  “It’s been a while since I found you,” Mick warned her.

  “Oh no…” she said. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “You’ve been passed out for hours,” Mick infor
med her.

  Suddenly, she was on her feet, and she looked uncertain for a moment.

  “Oh no…” she repeated herself, and then moved quickly, heading for the ladder from the loft. Mick was after her just as quick, and as she hit the ground at the bottom of the ladder, he was right behind her. She was nearly out of the barn when his hand caught her arm and he spun her around.

  “Where the hell are you going?” he asked.

  “I’ve got to get back to Uncle Mike!” she shot at him. “Sorry, the peep show’s over!”

  “You go back out there, all you’re gonna find is rain, and more of those things,” Mick warned her.

  “I’ve got to go!” she said, and shook free of him, turning to flee.

  But as she went to leave, she was blocked by a figure who spun into the doorway, which caused her to shriek and leap back to where she was almost behind Mick, who brought up his pistol. But soon enough, his eyes focused on the drowned rat in the fatigues and the boonie hat, staring ahead at him with a stern expression. Mick grinned.

  “Why don’t you make a little more noise in here?” Jake asked. “Not attracting enough attention?”

  “Jake!” Mick blurted. The brothers laughed, and exchanged a rough greeting- not so much a hug as seeming to shake one another- as Jake stepped into the barn.

  “We were just waiting for you,” Mick kidded. “We were gonna make it a party.”

  “God damn it’s good to see you,” Jake said, and then regarded Ash as she had shrunk back to the ladder to the loft. “Who’s your friend?”

  Mick turned back to her, and a dry laugh escaped him.

  “You know, in all this excitement…” he said. “I never did get your name.”

  “I’m Ashley,” she said. “Ashley Welles, but everybody just calls me Ash.”