I've Been Deader

by Adam Sifre

  Chapter 40

  Divorce

  Fred felt stronger than ever. His control over the undead was complete, except for the brat. He was a lean, unclean, multi-tasking machine.

  Just today he had sent all his runners ahead to scout out the area and wait for the rest of the corpses at the tunnel. Wonder of wonders, they went. They all went, including Karen, leaving … leaving the woman alone with Fred for the first time since he could remember. Her name is …

  The rest of the zombies more or less fell in line at his command, and by midday they were already in sight of the tunnels.

  On the IQ front, however, things weren't so rosy. He kept blanking out. That was bad. Now he was forgetting things. That was worse. And not little things, like where he put his eye patch or who he had for dinner. He couldn't remember his son's name for starters. He knew he had a son and he knew that was important. Why? He didn't remember.

  The woman with the pretty eyes gently bumped into him, causing Fred to lose his chain of thought. Goddammit. He'd have to tell her to stay back. Lately he felt like she was smothering him. The whole goddamned countryside to shamble around in and she had to keep bumping into him? Aleta! Her name’s Aleta!

  Some part of Fred may have known that Aleta was there because he told her to be there. But the part of Fred that was pissed wasn't hearing any of it.

  Soon we'll be through the tunnel and then ...

  And then what? He could see the tunnels clearly now, about a quarter mile down the road. A couple of breathers - looked like a man and a boy - were milling about an abandoned car, probably working up the courage to enter the darkened corridor.

  I need something. On the other side. Oh yeah, the ...

  The woman bumped into him again and Fred moaned in anger, all coherent thoughts disappearing again.

  "Braaiinnss," he moaned in frustration. He absently swatted at the woman; his arm connected solidly against her chest and she staggered a few feet away.

  When he came to again, he was just a hundred yards or so from the six runners who were more or less standing still and looking up at the sky. The breathers didn't seem to notice them. Fred saw that the breathers were armed. No big surprise there. Something about the man made him uneasy.

  I've seen him before. Haven't I? It was nonsense of course. They were too far away for Fred to make out any details. And the boy -

  The boy. Is that …?

  Fred moaned. It looked like the man had finally spotted them. He walked toward the runners, a gun in hand pointed casually at the ground. He didn't look scared. Fred knew if he didn't give new instructions, the runners would just stand there while the man shot them dead again. But there was something about the boy - the way he held himself maybe - that caused Fred to hesitate.

  He couldn't just let the man shoot his runners … but the boy. He couldn't kill the boy.

  Why not? Why not, Magic 8-ball? Should I let them live? I think I should. I think ...

  The woman gently bumped into Fred and he went into a rage.

  Fetch!

  Immediately the six children stopped what they weren't doing and started running at the man. The man raised the gun and then hesitated. Evidently he'd never seen a zombie run before. The boy, Fred noticed, was already running into the tunnel. The man soon followed suit; electing to save the fight for another day, he ran for the tunnel. The children followed. Fast.

  Something about how the boy ran, a familiar, gangly lope, made Fred wish he could smile. My boy used to run just like that ...

  Fred almost stopped shambling.

  It's him. My son!

  The six runners were closing fast, about a hundred feet outside the tunnel. The man and the boy already inside, were gone from view.

  STOP! Fred sent the order and the runners stopped, still about one hundred feet from the tunnel's entrance. Fred stopped moving too.

  I need to think. The woman with the pretty eyes walked into him again and Fred saw red.

  He went after her, tooth and nail. She stood there, accepting his savage caresses. Pieces of her flew in all directions. Fred bit and tore and moaned. A few zombies closest to him became agitated and started biting each other, but Fred hardly noticed. With ravenous hunger he stared at the woman. He bit right through her throat. Then he bit again … and again …

  Soon the woman with two pretty eyes was a heap on the ground that didn't look pretty at all.

  Fred still hadn't come completely around when he heard a scream.

  Timmy. His name's Timmy! Filled with pride and excitement he looked back to the tunnel. My son's here.

  That's when he saw Karen. She was screaming.

  Uh oh.

  The little trouble-maker took off like a shot, running for the tunnel. A moment later the others followed.

  Stop!

  The zombie children stopped. All except Karen. Fred watched her disappear into the tunnel.

  I hate that kid.

  Chapter 41

  Things Get A Little Scary

  Jon tried to scream but still didn't have the lungs for it.

  "You have to get up," Timmy whispered. "Now. Now, now, now!" Jon could make out the outline of his face, a blurred smudge in the dark gloom.

  "They aren't coming in yet. But we better go."

  Still fighting for air, Jon struggled to his knees. The tunnel stank of gasoline, urine and other less pleasant smells that didn't bear thinking about. The boy was right. The Mickey Mouse club stood at the tunnel entrance. There was a small amount of diffused light here, but just a few yards further in it turned into coal black night.

  Maybe they're afraid of the dark. Jon gasped and slowly made it to his own two feet. Timmy moved impatiently from foot to foot.

  Kid looks like he's about to piss himself and I wouldn't say boo if he did. The undead brat pack knew they were here, but no sense in shouting. Abandoned tunnels in the post-apocalyptic world practically demanded whispering.

  The children stood just outside the tunnel.

  What are they waiting for? The one kid, the girl with the long blonde hair hopped up and down, like she also had to pee. Or maybe she's warming up for a race.

  Timmy fished his flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on. The light played frantically over Jon and the ground.

  "What are you doing?" Jon wheezed. Timmy shone the light in Jon's face. "Goddammit!" Jon shut his eyes and slapped the light away. What little night vision he had disappeared in bursts of purples and dull reds.

  "Sorry." The kid, little more than a shadow now, rubbed his wrist but kept the light pointed at the ground. "I was looking for your flashlight. You must have dropped it when you hit the car."

  Jon reached and grabbed the light from Timmy. "No time. We have to keep moving." He started walking further into the tunnel, trusting the boy to follow. "If we're caught with our dicks hanging out in this tunnel, we're -"

  A shrill scream echoed off the tunnel walls and Jon's nut sack went running for the hills. He gave a quick glance to the tunnel entrance. Even with his night vision shot to shit, he could see the blonde girl running their way.

  Christ, she's fast.

  Jon started running. He could hear Timmy close behind and, lucky me, the echoes of several pairs of soft feet slapping the pavement. The light from Jon's flashlight played across the ground and walls as they disappeared into the dark.

  Two miles. Just two quick miles. The screaming stopped and the children's footsteps were drowned by the sound of his ragged breathing. That's what? Ten thousand, five hundred feet?

  He shot a quick glance over his shoulder. Timmy was right on his heels. Eyes forward. He didn't feel like he was running so much as dodging obstacles. The vehicles seemed to lunge out of the black maw and into the small island of light, forcing Jon to zig left or zag right. It was tiring work and he could feel his limp returning with a vengeance. A dark convertible loomed directly in front of him, its driver spilling out the open door. Jon jumped, nearly tripping over its emaciated hand. The jittering li
ght gave the illusion of movement and he heard Timmy give a little squeak. In the black of the tunnel, tears streamed down Jon's face and, let's be honest boys and girls, a little piss streamed down his leg.

  You wanted excitement. Jon smiled and kept moving.

  Minutes or hours later they stopped short. An Exxon truck blocked their way. The cab stood upright, perpendicular to the tunnel. The rest of it was another story. The long metal tank had toppled over, wheels facing away from them. Jon wept in frustration.

  These fuckers weren't allowed in tunnels.

  "Hey."

  For a second Jon toyed with the idea of blowing up the tank. Another Z-B-Q. Crazy as he was, however - shithouse crazy - he knew blowing up an Exxon fuel tank in a tunnel was a bad idea. Besides, I'm not Friggin' MacGyver. I can't blow up a truck with a flashlight, a gun and a Timmy.

  "Hey!"

  The truck was bad enough. What waited on the other side would truly suck. Cars and cars and cars … like water behind a dam wall. Jon trained the light at the gap between the truck and the tank, but the washed-out light revealed nothing but more darkness.

  Jon felt a tug on his arm and nearly pissed himself.

  "Jon!" Timmy tugged at him again. "I don't hear anything. I don't hear any of them." They stood there, like father and son, arm in arm in perpetual night. The only sounds were the dripping of water and the low buzzing drone of lies. It's their world now.

  "I think you're right. Okay. We're in for a long walk. The cars will be stacked like cordwood from here on out. That means slow going."

  "And more dead people."

  "Yeah, and more dead people." Jon hoisted himself up onto the runner outside the passenger door. The window was down and the door unlocked. He pulled it open. The sound of buzzing filled the air and the familiar stench of rot hammered at Jon. He buried his face in the crook of his arm and coughed. "Looks like we have company. Better hold your breath."

  Except for a few flies buzzing against the inside of the windshield, the front of the cab was blessedly empty. The real party was in the back - two bodies, a man and a little girl. The girl couldn't have been more than eight years old. She wore a pretty and remarkably clean yellow dress. Half her face was missing and the other half covered in flies. The man, also with half a face, died with the girl's hand in his; a small gun grasped in his other. Jon suppressed a gag. Must have been Bring Your Daughter to Apocalypse Day.

  Tearing eyes away from the Hallmark scene, Jon turned to give Timmy a hand, and heard the now familiar sound of running feet. Shit.

  It sounded like just one pair of feet. One pair too many.

  "Do you hear that?" Timmy whispered.

  Jon tore his arm away and Timmy went sprawling to the ground.

  "Hey!"

  "Sorry, kid. I'm not as young as I used to be. I don't have the legs for this kind of game." Jon slammed the cab door shut. He couldn't roll up the window without the engine and he saw no keys.

  "Jon!" Timmy yelled.

  "Sorry." Jon opened the driver's side door and started climbing down. He could hear Timmy crying. The sound bothered him more than it should. He considered grabbing Timmy and taking his chances. It sounded like there was one zombie. He could kill one zombie.

  But you don't know for sure if there's only one. And it's dark. And she's fast.

  Still, just one zombie and he needed Timmy to help him get that rock. They could make it out of the tunnel. The zombie wasn't a ghost. She'd have to deal with the traffic jam of dead cars as well.

  And she's angry.

  That last thought did the trick.

  "Sorry," Jon whispered as he jumped to the ground on the other side. He really was.

  Chapter 42

  The Road Less Travelled

  Fred stumbled more than usual. He didn't remember entering or how long he'd been walking the tunnel. It was pitch black and he kept lurching into cars, stumbling over bodies and bumping into other zombies. If there was a banana peel, Fred would have found it.

  Karen, come. Karen, COME! The command played over and over in his mind. He couldn't sense her nearby and for all he knew she'd already made it to the other side. Even if she was standing next to him though, it might not make a difference. She listened when she wanted to listen and she didn't when she didn't …

  Going to kill her. The girl was out of control. Her mother did nothing - where is that woman? - Now the little demon child wanted to hurt him. But I'm going to hurt her first.

  A nice thought. But how? She was faster than him. A lot faster. He'd never catch her by himself. There were the other runners, of course. But could they be trusted? Karen seemed to hold sway over them and Fred couldn't risk losing them.

  Where are they?

  He was so close to that goddamned rock but the girl was going to ruin everything. This goddamned tunnel goes on forever. He bumped into another car and moaned. Frustration and rage washed over him but quickly passed this time. No sign of the girl. No sign of the boy. Maybe something about the tunnel interfered with his mojo. After they reached the other side ...

  Gunfire erupted with the sound of thunder, echoing off the walls. Fred was able to tell it came from somewhere ahead by the muzzle flashes. They lit up the tunnel like a strobe light in the world's most bizarre night club. Slowly he sank to his knees, putting a minivan between himself and the action.

  Get them!

  They didn't need to be told that. Gunfire to zombies was like carrion to flies. Nevertheless, right now it was something he could happily do without. The sporadic light and constant noise began to wear on his last dead nerve.

  Things had been going so well. He felt stronger than ever. The undead army continued to grow although he supposed it was dwindling a bit at the moment. He'd found the love of his unlife -where is she? - And now, when he was so close to being reunited with his son and getting his hands on the rock, everything seemed to be falling apart.

  His son. Timmy.

  Fred started shambling toward the gunfire.

  "Braaiinnsss …"

  That girl is ruining everything. Things started going blurry in Fred's mind, making it difficult to focus on controlling the zombies. She never listens. He moaned in anger and kept walking. He needed to see the boy. Timmy was his son. He would help Fred. The visions promised … something. He'd find the girl and deal with her, somehow. Then he'd find Timmy. But first things first; he had to deal with the gunfire.

  He stopped moving, confused. Gunfire. Timmy.

  He started forward. Just before the world went red again, he gave out one final instruction:

  No biting.

  * * *

  The gunfire stopped and the crying and begging began. There was light up ahead, not sunlight but from what Fred assumed were flashlights. He'd blanked again, but it couldn't have been for more than a few minutes. He doubted his army would leave the breathers alive for very long, no matter what he told them. A good dog might leave a plate of bacon alone if its master was watching. But leave the dog alone and goodbye bacon. The soft crying told Fred that the bacon was still there, for the moment.

  Dozens of zombies stood gathered around the light, obstructing his view.

  Move. Make way. Move.

  The sound of dozens of dead feet shuffling along pavement drowned out the sobbing as the undead cleared a path. Fred shambled forward, hesitant. Now that his son was within his grasp, he didn't quite know what to do. Uneasy thoughts about his first date with Aleta refused to go away. She should have given me a chance. Anger started to seep in around the edges again and he desperately tried to calm himself, afraid of what he might do if he zoned out right now. At least he'd gotten to Timmy before Karen. Where is she, anyway? Maybe the little Energizer bunny had passed Timmy in the dark and kept on running. No matter. He'd deal with her later. First things first.

  Fred made his way to the front of the crowd, wishing he still had his eye patch and that he hadn't left the Magic 8-ball back at the Aquarium. There were two flashlights on the ground and quite a
few bullet-ridden former zombies - at least a dozen. The breather still held on to her gun and Fred assumed she was out of bullets.

  She?

  He shambled forward. A woman, about twenty years old, scrambled backwards, eyes on Fred.

  "Jack. Jack! Don't leave me!" She kept moving until her back pressed against the tunnel wall. "Jack, where are you?"

  Fred stopped. Where was Timmy? Where was the man?

  He'd seen them both run into the tunnel and Karen take off after them. He'd followed immediately. How far could they have run? They have to be here somewhere ...

  Fred moaned. He'd gone after them, true; he and the rest of the zombies. Right before he blacked out.

  I'm in the wrong tunnel. His world turned red again. With a groan of frustration he moved toward the frightened girl. It's all that girl's fault. All her fault.

  The breather screamed and screamed. Fred's world went redder and deader.

  Chapter 43

  Playdate

  The stale, fetid stench that had taken up residence in the tunnel seemed to give the darkness real weight and it pressed down on Timmy, causing him to crouch without thinking.

  "Jon? Please." He barely whispered, terrified something else might respond to his plea.

  Without the flashlight Timmy couldn't even see the truck right in front of him. He didn't think zombies could see in the dark - you didn't think they could run either - so if he didn't make a sound he might be okay. But not making a sound meant not moving, and he didn't relish the thought of making the dead Eisenhower Tunnel his new home.

  He tried listening for footsteps. Completely blind and alone, he imagined a thousand small noises. Things scurried by his feet and whooshed overhead. Something seemed to whisper by his face, causing him to take a short step backwards. There's nothing. Jon's a fucking asshole and a coward. Nothing here. That made him feel better, so he thought it again. A big, fuck asshole-eating fuck. That made him feel even better - even made him feel like laughing.