Dead Judgment

by Flint Maxwell

  The idea that he might’ve magicked himself far away from here is creeping into my consciousness again. It’s becoming more and more plausible, because the feeling that I’m alone is very prominent.

  I am alone in here while my friends, what’s left of my family, fight out there.

  “What am I doing?” I say aloud to myself. “He’s gone.”

  I lower the rifle, and prepare to run back toward the exit. There will be another chance to kill the one-eyed man. I’ll make sure of it.

  Back between the warheads I go, my pace fast, my ankle only slightly bothering me. It’s that great old constant of my life: Adrenaline. Without it—

  A sound overhead. I stop and wheel my weapon toward the top of the missile closest to me.

  It’s the one-eyed man. He didn’t vanish, you idiot, Jack! I’m thinking, as the figure reveals himself.

  There is no fear. Only confidence. I know it ends here, it ends right now.

  My finger finds the trigger, but—

  It’s not the one-eyed man, not the Overlord.

  No. No. No.

  It’s my older brother. It’s Norm.

  41

  I am a deer in the headlights as a semi-truck comes barreling down on top of me. Tons of steel coming to crush me into oblivion, and I can’t even move a muscle. Can’t even scream.

  Norm tackles me. I’m knocked backward, land on my ass with bone-jolting force. The rifle wasn’t strapped around my shoulder, so it’s gone, somewhere behind me, near the twenty-yard line.

  I roll a couple of times and spring up in a fighting stance.

  The first thing I notice is how different he looks. He has no hair, which isn’t a far cry from what the top of his head usually looked like, him being a fan of military buzz cuts. Now, though, there’s no hair whatsoever. He’s squeaky-clean bald. One of his eyebrows is gone, too. The other, the right, has about five vertical lines shaved into it. His skin is old and cracked with wrinkles. His eyes are haunted, even more so than before.

  But through this mask my older brother wears, I still see that he’s my older brother, my Norm Jupiter. It’s the way he grimaces, the way his upper lip comes up to show me those pearly whites. It’s the perpetual smile at the corner of his mouth, always threatening to burst into a shit-eating grin. It’s the finger he had cut off in Eden by the psychopaths Spike and Butch Hazard. It’s the way his shoulders are straight—never slumped—in his own fighting stance.

  “Norm, it’s Jack!” I say. “It’s me, Norm!”

  “I don’t answer to that name anymore,” he says. “My name is the Judge.” He reaches behind him, pulls out a gleaming chrome pistol.

  “It’s me, Norm. It’s your little brother.”

  My hands are up, but not in an ‘I surrender’ type of way. I’m pleading for him to remember me.

  Dying is the furthest thing from my mind.

  “All of my family is dead,” he says. His voice has changed, too. It’s a few octaves lower, gruffer, pained…but beneath it, like beneath his mask, I hear his real voice.

  “No,” I say. “No. I’m still alive. Abby’s still alive. Don’t you remember Abby? Remember how she’d hit you whenever you said something stupid? Don’t you remember, Norm?”

  “For your crimes against the District, I sentence you to die, friend.” He ignores everything I’ve said. Aims right at my head.

  I show no fear because there is no fear inside of me. There is only acceptance.

  If this is the way I die, by fratricide, so be it.

  Norm pulls the trigger.

  42

  I don’t close my eyes. I stare my older brother right in the face.

  The gun clicks.

  I’m thinking of fate. If this is not fate, then I don’t know what is.

  Norm moves the slide back. Reaches into one of the pockets of his cargo pants, which are stained with mud. He pulls out a fresh clip, never taking his gaze from me.

  “Fearless, huh?” he says.

  “Norm,” I say. “You’re brainwashed. You have to remember. Think. Think.”

  Then an idea pops into my head. A face.

  “Tim!” I say. “Don’t you remember Tim?”

  His mask wavers. One eye flashes with remembrances, the other remains dead, devoid of all emotion.

  “What about Darlene and Carmen. Herb! What about your nephew? My son? What about Haven? We helped build that place together, you and me, Norm!”

  He chuckles. It’s a humorless sound, like the snapping of dead tree branches. “Haven,” he says. “I remember that place.”

  Hope freezes my lungs, and I can’t breathe. He remembers.

  “I remember it just fine,” he says. “I remember that the Overlord destroyed it, set the place on fire to send a message. I remember he saved me from that nightmare. And then he put the place and all its shitty people out of their fucking misery.” A smirk stretches across his face, one I don’t recognize, and my false hope is snatched away, replaced by a fiery anger I’ve not felt in a long time.

  I can’t control myself any longer. My body tenses, and then the next thing I know, I’m launching forward, going for my older brother’s throat.

  He is caught off guard, but only for a moment. I manage to throw my shoulder into him, knock him off balance.

  He is older than me, past middle-aged, but he is still as solid as a rock. Seconds after we collide, he’s regained his balance and is coming my way. His gun isn’t loaded, so he holds it by the barrel and swings it like a hammer.

  I dodge the blow. Barely.

  Now I take a swing. All the force I have left goes behind this punch. I feel a rib snap beneath the force of my fist, and he cries out, but he doesn’t crumble, which was my intention.

  His face goes as red as blood, and the emotionless look in his eyes changes to that of a psychopath in the throes of a killing spree. He swings back, and I’m not quick enough to dodge it. A fist as hard as steel catches me in the side of the jaw. Teeth are knocked loose. The coppery taste of blood floods my mouth.

  I stumble backward, seeing a duplicate of Norm.

  “You piece of shit,” he barks.

  Then he’s running, and I don’t know where to go, because there’s two of them coming at me. As they get closer, they merge into one, but I’m too late in moving.

  He slams me up against the warhead. My head knocks against the metal casing, thrums, and my brain rattles. Warm liquid gushes down my upper lip and frames my mouth. More blood.

  “Fight back! Fight back!” he demands as he hits me with a fury of blows, each one more bone-crushing than the last.

  I spit blood out of the side of my mouth.

  My brother looks down. My eyes somehow manage to follow his, and I see he’s looking at the knife I have strapped to my calf, the one I pulled from the guard in the watchtower.

  He snatches it from its holster and brings it up to my face. “It’s done” he says. “You won’t fight back, so it’s done.”

  I can’t fight back even if I want to.

  “Norm,” I plead. “Don’t do this. Just think. You have to remember.”

  “Enough!”

  He flips the blade in his hand, catches it by the handle, and stabs down.

  “Norm!”

  I reach up and catch his wrist. His teeth bare as he struggles. Mine have bitten through my bottom lip.

  Sometimes, you have to accept failure. Failure is a part of life. Sometimes, you have to remember the ultimate goal.

  For me, my ultimate goal is to bring down the District, to make the Overlord pay for what he did. If I’m dead, I cannot achieve that goal.

  So I do what I have to do.

  I scream as I bring my knee up. The blow catches Norm in the same injured ribs I punched earlier, and he cries out in pain. His grip around the knife loosens, and I easily take it from him.

  In one smooth motion, I do the unthinkable.

  I stab my brother in the gut.

  The blade is easily six inches, and Norm’s
flesh swallows the blade completely. Still, I press until my fingers are wet with his blood.

  He collapses to his knees with both hands wrapped around the knife. He tries to pull it free. Can’t. Now he’s holding his hands up in front of his face, hands that are bright red with his life force.

  I stare at him in utter horror. What have you done, what have you done? I ask myself over and over.

  But I know what I did. I did what I had to do.

  Norm blinks heavily, like he’s sleepy or drugged. He smiles. It looks so wrong on his pain-twisted face. He opens his mouth to talk, but he can only cough. Flecks of blood hit the turf, stark red against the green.

  “Supposed to finish the job, maggot,” Norm says when the fit passes. “Leave no survivors.”

  “Norm?” I say. I drop to my knees, though I know the danger of this, I know he could be playing me for a fool, but I don’t think so.

  My gut tells me he’s back.

  “Jack,” he says. “It’s g-good to see you, man.” He can no longer hold himself up on his knees. He falls backward, moaning.

  Tears are rolling down my face. They’re warm, and I’m sweating, but I feel so cold right now. So cold.

  “Norm, I missed you,” I say through the tears.

  He shakes his head, but even this seems like a lot of work. “Don’t g-get all…all sentimental on m-me, man.”

  A laugh bursts forth from my mouth.

  Norm grins back.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say as I take his hand. He is cold, too.

  “Don’t b-be sorry. You d-did wha-what you had t-to do.” He puts his arms up. I hug him. He hugs me back, weakly.

  “He’s a b-b-bad man, J-J-Juh…” He can’t finish my name.

  God, it hurts.

  “I know. I’m gonna beat him. I’m going to kill him if it’s the last thing I do,” I say.

  Norm nods. His face has gone unbelievably pale. His shirt is soaked through with blood, the knife handle still sticking out of the wound.

  “That’s m-my little b-b-bro,” he says. He points to his jacket pocket. “In there.”

  I reach in and pull out what looks like a cheap smartphone. “What’s this?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, and shudders in pain. I cradle him closer, trying to avert my eyes from the knife, from the blood, but it’s hard.

  “It’ll h-hel-huuu…”

  “No, don’t. I’ll figure it out.”

  Norm nods, smiles again, despite the agony he’s in.

  I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back, but it’s too soft. I barely feel it.

  “My l-l-little bro,” he says. He laughs, which quickly turns into hacking, blood spraying the front of his shirt and jacket, turning the steel zipper red.

  “Don’t talk,” I say. “Don’t talk. Just hold on. I’m gonna fix you. I’m gonna get you some help.”

  But logic is telling me we’ll get no help here. This part of the city is overrun with zombies. Who can help us?

  Norm shakes his head. “I’m d-done.”

  “No,” I say.

  He nods, laugh-coughs again. “Hey…y-you fuh-fuh-finally beat m-me,” he says.

  I wish I didn’t. A sob wracks through my body. I’m still holding his hand. I squeeze.

  He doesn’t squeeze back.

  He closes his eyes.

  “Norm?” I say.

  “R-Resssst,” he says.

  I stare at him for a long time. Eventually, his chest stops rising and falling, and his muscles go stiff.

  He dies in my arms.

  43

  I don’t know how long I sit there with him. It must be a long time.

  Someone calls my name.

  I look up to the gate I came through, the metal bars just visible from where I’m sitting on the field. Through the bleariness, I see a collection of figures.

  Zombies?

  Probably.

  No, they don’t talk, Jack. Don’t be stupid.

  I know that I should get up, that I should fight, but I can’t let go of Norm. Letting go of him means he’ll be gone for good, and I’m not ready to lose more family. I’m not. I can’t.

  I did. I have. I killed him.

  “Jack!”

  It’s Lilly. She is covered in gore and running toward me, hopping over the gate like an Olympic hurdler. Behind her are Abby, Nacho, Roland, and Mandy.

  “We have to go. We have to get out of here!” Abby yells. “We’re overrun! Out of ammo!”

  “The helicopter, Nacho,” Roland says. “Can you fly it?”

  “Si, si!”

  The gate rattles and groans as zombies beat against the metal.

  The group stops short, looks at me with wide eyes. Abby brings her stump up to her mouth. I can just make out her trembling lips.

  She turns away. “Norm,” I hear her say.

  Lilly puts her arm around her.

  I stand, then bend down to scoop up my dead brother. He weighs a lot, but I’m not leaving him here.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lilly says.

  Abby is crying. She pulls out from under Lilly’s hold and comes over to Norm and me. Her face is wet with tears as she wraps her arms around us both.

  The others look on like casual attendees at a funeral, people who were only friends of the friends of the deceased. Because in a world like ours is now, this is the closest we’ll get to a funeral.

  “I’m sorry,” Abby says. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “I killed him,” I say. “I had to.”

  “You didn’t kill him. The Overlord did.”

  Behind her, the gates squeal as they begin to give beneath the weight of the zombies.

  “We need to go, like now,” Lilly says. “Nacho?”

  The small Mexican man nods and runs toward the helicopter.

  “He knows how to fly it?” I find myself asking no one in particular.

  Abby doesn’t answer because she’s staring at Norm, at the bloody rags that were once his clothes.

  Lilly answers instead. “He was in the Air Force. Remember?”

  I nod, but I don’t remember. My mind is not working like it did moments before.

  The helicopter roars to life. A lot of time passes in what feels like no time at all. Roland and Mandy escort Abby and I to the helicopter. Lilly crawls in.

  Mandy says something about the warheads still being armed, and Abby says “What can we do about it? As soon as they’re disarmed, the District will rearm them.”

  Then Nacho is mentioning something about the weight capacity of the helicopter. The next thing I know, we are flying straight up as a mass of zombies pour through the gates and into the stadium, like river water from a broken dam.

  Lilly is holding my hand. Norm lays in front of me, his eyes closed, his face no longer in pain.

  At peace. Resting.

  On the bridge, an army of headlights is fleeing west. Zombies crawl over the ruins of the streets like ants over an abandoned picnic.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the device Norm gave me. I think he meant to say ‘This’ll help’. But how?

  Mandy’s eyes light up at the sight of it. “My God,” she says, having to shout over the roar of the helicopter. “That’s a key to the kingdom.”

  I don’t know what she means, but I know I’ll find out.

  Right now, I’m not okay. Right now, I don’t want to think about what lies ahead.

  I look at Abby across from me, and try to smile at her. It’s not easy. Sometimes, I guess, you don’t get a happy ending.

  I’ve lost my wife, my son, and now my brother.

  Who else will I lose before this journey is over?

  I look out the window as I hold my dead brother’s hand. The glass is starred by bullets, but still intact.

  The city below us grows smaller, that diseased skyline fading…fading…

  Gone.

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  Afterword

  Sorry this one took so long. It wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for the Fright Squad series. So blame Abe, Maddie, and Zack—if you don’t understand that reference then you should definitely give Fright Squad a download ;).

  Anyway, here’s Jack Zombie #7. I hope you liked it. I dedicated it to Laura Kingsley, the wonderful woman who edited the previous six Jack Zombie books. Unfortunately, she unexpectedly passed away a couple of months ago. It was quite a shock. Without her, Jack Jupiter and the Jack Zombie series wouldn’t be what it is today. She helped me so much as a storyteller and I’m forever indebted to her for that.

  May you rest in peace, Laura.

  Anyway, expect at least one more Jack Zombie book before the year (2018) is up. And, of course, as always, thank you so much for reading my work.

  Love,

  Flint Maxwell

  July 19, 2018

  About the Author

  Flint Maxwell lives in Ohio, where the skies are always gray and the sports teams are consistently disappointing (not so much lately). He loves Star Wars, basketball, Stephen King novels, and almost anything falling under the genre umbrella of horror. You can probably find him hanging out with one (or all) of his five household pets when he’s not writing, reading, or watching Netflix.

  Get in touch with Flint on Facebook

  Also by Flint Maxwell

  Jack Zombie Series

  Dead Haven (Book 1)