Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel

by Cochran, Richard M.

  “Oh no,” Scarlet says in a faint yammer.

  “Stay here,” Johnny says and begins to sprint toward the truck.

  The heat of the day hits dry across his face, working at his beard, creating tingles beneath. His pulse quickens as he approaches the line of abandoned vehicles and sidesteps between each one, grazing his pants on dust covered bumpers before he can get through.

  His gaze descends upon the corpse that is sprawled out on top of Greg. Its burnt skin wafts up an aroma of cooked meat, sent higher by the heat rising from the asphalt.

  “A little help here,” Greg says, trying to push the corpse off.

  Johnny mouths the words, but his voice is lost. “Greg…” he says as he squints away the hot wind, “I’m sorry.”

  Greg gives a small shake of his head. “No,” he says and blinks in shock.

  “You’re going to become one of them,” Johnny says, leaning down over the corpse that pins Greg to the ground. He shakes his head as his eyes moisten. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats as he stares down with unfeeling eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Greg asks, confusion spreading across his face. “I wasn’t bitten.”

  “Yes you were” he says, eyeing the wound.

  Johnny stands and stares at Greg before his eyes divert to the bag that lies at his side.

  “No, you can’t,” Greg mumbles.

  Johnny pulls out a tire iron and grips the end tight, reflecting for only a moment before Greg howls. “No, don’t…” Greg shouts and tries to pull free from the body, but his voice is lost on the wind, and he’s not strong enough to stop the impending assault. The acrid sounds penetrate the air as Johnny brings the weapon down hard. With a faint pop, the sound is gone and all that is left is the sand gently caressing the roadway, stained red, and sent by wind that promises change.

  He wipes away the blood with the tarp from the pickup and places the tire iron back into the bag. He lowers his head as he walks away, letting his feet drag across the asphalt. There’s a stirring in his heart as he looks at the others. He wonders how long it will be before they change too.

  Scarlet is there with tears in her eyes, all too aware of what it means when someone has been infected. She remains quiet as Johnny leans down beside the truck and starts to remove the lugs on the tire.

  Passively, he glances to her and says, “There’s food and water in the pickup. We can get it when I’m done here.”

  She nods as she places her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming. The taste of her tears are bitter as she swallows them down, as she fights the urge to collapse and let the world rape away the last bits of her soul. She lets the tears flow as she watches Johnny do the same.

  “Don’t look at him,” Johnny instructs. “You don’t want to remember him that way.” He lifts a box of canned food and places it on top of another, balancing the weight of the two beneath his stomach.

  “Okay,” Scarlet replies and stops in her tracks and turns, placing her hand over her mouth again to keep the tears at bay. She moves to the side of the truck and lifts one of the crates of water and hoists it up to her shoulder. She can see Greg’s leg from the other side of the truck and quickly looks away, following Johnny back to the pickup. “What are we going to do?” she asks.

  “About?” Johnny asks.

  “About all of this,” she says. “We never did come up with a real plan.”

  “I thought we were just going to head toward Colorado, find a secluded spot and wait this thing out.”

  “But what if it isn’t a matter of waiting it out? What if those things never go away? Then what?” she asks.

  “Then we keep doing what we’re doing,” he says. “We live every day and try to survive.”

  “And wait around until what happened to Greg happens to us?”

  “We don’t have much choice.” He places the boxes in the back of the pickup and turns to help Scarlet with the water. “I don’t believe in ‘good’ plans anymore. There’s no way around it, we’re fucked any way we go. No matter where we go or how safe we think we are, those god damned things will always be around to fuck it up.” The anger rises in his voice. “There’s no government, no order, no fucking hope.”

  “I can’t believe that,” she says. “I have to have something to hang on to. I don’t want to die that way.” She looks over her shoulder at the other truck and the faint hint of bodies beyond. “I can’t die that way. It scares the hell out of me.”

  Johnny rests his hands on the bed of the truck and lowers his head. “I don’t know what else to do. The little girl is right. If we go far enough out into the wild where the population wasn’t so dense, we might have a chance.

  Sure, it won’t be perfect, but at least we’ll have an actual chance at some type of normalcy.” He wonders if they’ll make it that far before someone else looks at him the way Greg did. He looks at the children in the back of the truck as their faces jerk and spasm into snarls before returning to normal. “It’s only a matter of time,” he says.

  “I hope you’re right,” she says.

  “I do too,” he replies. “But until then, I suggest we watch each other’s backs and get back on those tracks. It’s going to be night soon and I want to get past Vegas before dark.”

  Johnny drives the truck back onto the tracks and lowers the wheels. With a clank, the steel makes contact with the track and slides into place.

  “What happened to Greg? Why isn’t he coming with us?” Billy asks.

  “He turned,” Emma replies, staring out the window.

  “Oh…” he says in a whisper.

  In the dimming light of day, they can see Las Vegas over the horizon, pale and lifeless. The former glory of the city has faded into the oblivious scourge of death.

  Scarlet holds the map outright, resting it on the dashboard and follows the lines with her finger. She folds it in half when she finds the section she’s looking for. “If we take the next set of tracks, we should be able to bypass the city entirely,” she says, pointing the way on the half folded map.

  “That’s perfect,” Johnny replies, resting his hand on the wheel.

  “Where’re we going to sleep?” Billy asks.

  Scarlet turns to the boy with a smile. “You can nap right now,” she says. “I think we’re going to take turns driving so we can get some rest on the way.”

  “Okay,” he says and sinks down into the backseat with heavy eyes.

  Emma continues to stare out the window as she recalls images of what she knew of Greg. She can still see, with vivid detail, the dead man she shot to try to save him. She didn’t do it out of fear; she did it out of necessity. It was like all the other times with her grandfather back at the beach house. She saw something that needed to be done and threw herself into action. The dead have become like the trees or the sky, they have become just another part of the scenery. She can’t be afraid of them any more than the rocks or the shrubbery they pass along on the track. They are as simple and mindless as those things – they are just another part of life.

  Like most children, she sees things in black and white, good and bad. She hasn’t become jaded yet to the fact that the creatures aren’t natural or that there is some other type of reality which she should exist. She doesn’t hate them or wish them to go away – she merely knows that there are times when they need to be taken care of and times when she needs to run from them.

  In her mind, it is the simplest of things, an instinctual knowledge. When there are too many, she runs, when there are only a few, she fights.

  She has become numb to the people falling around her, complacent to the death that inevitably takes them away. Even through the hurt of losing another, she can’t bring herself to cry for them. It is just another curve in the circle of life.

  “Don’t eat me,” Billy screams in his sleep. “No, no, don’t!”

  “It’s okay,” Emma says. “You’re safe. Everything is all right.” She pats him on the back as he begins to stir. “It’s just a bad dream
.”

  “They were everywhere,” he says.

  “You’re alright,” Scarlet says, turning in the front seat, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

  Tears streak the boy’s face, rubbing away the grime that has collected. He lets out a sigh when he sees everyone around him and begins to relax.

  “They were trying to get us,” he says. “We were surrounded and there was nowhere to go.”

  “You’re okay now,” Emma says, trying to smile, but knowing she’s had the same dreams. “My grandpa used to say it’s just your imagination playing tricks. There’s really nothing to be afraid of.”

  “It was so real,” he whimpers and curls back up, his eyes too heavy to resist falling back to sleep.

  Johnny watches the sun drift behind the horizon, becoming a hint of light, long and thin as it spreads out across the desert. Another day, he thinks, another day gone to the hands of Hell. He looks over at Scarlet, asleep in the passenger’s seat, facing away from him with her head lying gently on the window. He can see a hint of April there as the woman breathes softly. She almost looks peaceful before her face contorts and whips back at him.

  Her screams awaken the children as she launches herself at Johnny, her mouth snapping at his face as he struggles to keep her away.

  “Kill her!” he yells. “Fucking kill her!”

  His pleas go unnoticed as the children’s eyes flash bloodshot red. Their little mouths gnash out as Johnny presses against the side window, fending off the attacks.

  The hate in their eyes gravitates toward his neck as he kicks out at Scarlet, sending her backwards into the window. He grabs Emma by the back of her neck and pulls her over the seat, slamming her head into the dashboard with a loud crack. The child’s body quivers and twitches as her neck is bent at an awkward angle between the front seats.

  Scarlet flails forward over the girl’s body and lashes out at Johnny. He jerks away at the last possible moment as Billy comes over the seat. Johnny places his leg between the boy’s chest and himself; keeping him at bay as Scarlet tries to rip at him from around the child’s thrashing strikes.

  He uses the boy as a weapon, grabbing him by the throat and whipping him around to face Scarlet as he slams the child’s head into her, sending up splatters of blood as he grips the boy by the hair at the back of his head. Over and over, he beats at Scarlet with Billy until he can finally hear the child’s skull crack.

  Johnny pushes hard on the brakes and slams the shifter into park, sending Scarlet into the windshield. Her body impacts hard and a spider web of cracks appear across the glass, gathered in the center where she hit.

  “My god, what have I done?!” he says as he awakens fully.

  Scarlet moans, holding her arm on the floorboard of the truck. Her eyes squint in pain and moves back to the seat, still cradling her arm.

  “Are you okay?” Johnny asks.

  “What happened?” Emma asks from the back, her eyes still groggy from sleep.

  “I think I fell asleep,” he replies.

  “I’ll be fine,” Scarlet says rotating her shoulder.

  “You hit pretty hard, are you sure?” Johnny says, placing the truck back into drive.

  Just outside of Las Vegas, they come across a small town complete with its own casino, promising ‘a less crowded gambling experience’. The sun has begun to amble up over the skyline and teeters as if it were stretching before it begins to ascend. As everywhere else they’ve been, the streets are deserted, save for a handful of crows feeding on the remnants of garbage that has been left behind.

  Johnny can make out most of the dust covered town from the train tracks and stops for a better look.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” Scarlet asks, keeping her voice down as to not wake the children.

  Johnny shrugs his shoulders. “There’s no way to tell without going in.”

  He releases the hydraulics and lifts the steel wheels from the tracks with a whining purr. Nudging the truck away from the gravel, he hops the curb line onto the street, keeping his speed at an idle.

  “Welcome to rural America,” Scarlet says as takes in the emptiness.

  Johnny fidgets with the steering wheel uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Scarlet.” He looks at her shyly. “I know you and Greg were close, but I only did what I thought was necessary.”

  She holds back the urge to sob and glances out the window, trying to keep her reddening face out of sight. “Yeah, I’m going to miss him,” she says. “It’s not like we were actually that close.” She frowns and turns back to Johnny. “We’ve been running since this whole thing started. I wish I could have gotten to know him better the way things were before.”

  ·20

  The man on the gas station rooftop adjusts his rifle on his shoulder and brings the binoculars to his eyes. The morning sun is glaring and he shields the front of them with his hand to make out the people who have jumped the curb and are making their way along the frontage road.

  He can see a man and a woman. There looks to be someone in the back of the truck, but he can’t tell, only seeing a tuft of hair poking up over the rear window.

  “They’re alive,” he says, lowering the binoculars to his chest. “How am I going to get them to see me?” he asks aloud.

  At the rear of the station, he takes to a hatch that leads to inside of the building from the roof and slides part of the way down the ladder, using his feet to guide him along the outer rails. In his excitement, he nearly falls once he reaches the floor, but recovers quickly and runs toward the front doors of the gas station.

  In the early days, when the dead first rose, he took refuge here within the construction gates of a remodeled gas station. The shelves had been stocked and the underground tanks had been filled, but the gate was to remain until the business officially opened. On the outskirts of town, he figured it was the best place to go until he could muster the courage to finally leave. That time never came.

  In his mind, the dead were everywhere. They were in the planters outside and in the light fixtures overhead. They were in the air and under the dirt, just waiting for him to slip up. They were biding their time and so was he.

  But these people, they would help. They were new and hadn’t succumbed to the nightmares yet. They obviously hadn’t or they would be hiding out somewhere just like he was now.

  At the front of the station, he waves his hands frantically, trying to get their attention. He doesn’t dare shout for fear that the creatures will find him out. With panic in his eyes, he waves and jumps up and down at the edge of tears.

  “You have to see me,” he whispers. “You have to know I’m here.”

  This place had become his deserted island, a refuge in the wasteland of time and death. All he could ever hope for was to escape, to live a little longer without the dead finding him. He had been lucky. He knew to stay quiet and concealed. He knew anything else would be a death warrant.

  “Please see me,” he whines. “In the name of all that is holy, see me and take me away from here.”

  A child spots him from the backseat of the truck.

  “Yes, that’s it, tell them I’m here,” he mouths the words through cracked lips. “Tell them…”

  The girl tugs at the man’s shoulder beside the truck. She points in the direction of the gas station. They look his way with surprised expressions. When they see him, he falls to his knees and thanks God to finally be seen.

  “Over there.” Emma points. “There’s a man at the gas station,” she says, guiding the way with her finger.

  “She’s right,” Scarlet agrees. “He looks pretty happy to see us too.”

  Johnny hops back in the truck and waits for Emma and Scarlet. “Well let’s see what he has to say,” he says.

  At the front of the station, the man waves frantically again. “Turn it off. Turn it off or they’ll hear you,” he says with a twitch of his head, glancing around nervously.

  Johnny turns off the ignition and steps out of the car. A low hum sounds off in the
distance like the loping of an engine or the faint noise of electricity through a transformer.

  “Oh, God, we have to go,” the man says with a flare of his nostrils. The sweat is thick on his brow and threatens to seep into his eyes.

  “Just calm down,” Johnny replies. “What the hell is that noise?” he asks, turning his head to focus on the direction of the sound.

  “They know you’re here,” the man says, beads of sweat dislodge from his eyebrows and trail along to the sparse facial hair along his cheeks as he turns his head quickly.

  “Who,” Johnny asks, “who knows were here?”

  “The dead,” the man says, his eyes turning to saucers as he gazes down the street at a black mass of curling forms.

  “Holy shit!” Scarlet cries after casually changing her gaze to the direction the man is staring before realizing what it is that has him so frightened.

  “Oh my God!” Johnny exclaims. “Get in.” He pulls the door open. “Get in the fucking truck!”

  The man jumps in, taking the center of the front bench seat and scoots over for Scarlet to fit.

  “Go go… go,” he says, looking back through the rear window at the gyrating mass of bodies.

  Johnny turns the ignition, but only an irritating clicking sound returns. “Don’t you fucking do this, you piece of shit!” he says through clenched teeth and tries it again.

  “They’re getting closer,” Scarlet says, turning in her seat and pressing her back against the dashboard as the dead draw near.

  Through blurry eyes, Billy wakes up in the back seat and stretches. He glances around at everyone looking over his head through the back window. “What’s going on?” he asks, blinking away the blur of sleep in his eyes.

  Emma wears an expression of absolute shock as she stares with her back pressed against the rear of the front seat. She moves uncomfortably and snatches the rifle from the floorboard and holds it tightly against her chest.