Dry Rot: A Zombie Novel

by H. E. Goodhue

  My phone vibrated.

  Kara: Daddy? Are you coming to see Mommy and me?

  “Soon, baby girl. Very soon.” The pistol trembled in my hands. My teeth clicked against metal. I could taste oil and the tang of spent gunpowder.

  Kara: Daddy?

  -53-

  The phone in my pocket vibrated, trembling in time with my frantic heartbeats.

  Kara: Daddy, stop. Stop, Daddy. I love you.

  The pistol splashed to the ground. A muddy pool began to form around the edges of the weapon as it sunk into the spongy earth.

  “I love you too, baby girl.” The screen of the phone was blank. The keys were dark. “I love you.” Greasy drops of rain smeared across the cracked screen. There was no message. Nothing had come through since I was released from prison. Whether it was memories of old messages, insanity or a combination of the two, there had been no messages.

  I had been looking for permission to end my life, but wasn’t going to find it here, not from Kara or Lisa. They were gone and I was still here. It was cruel. It was real. If I was lucky I would see them again, maybe in some spiritual sense, but that was never going to happen in this graveyard and I wasn’t going to unlock the Pearly Gates with a round from my .45.

  Something hitched in my throat. I swallowed hard, but found no relief. Tears stung my eyes. A sound, unlike any I can remember making, echoed between the gravestones.

  Water pooled around the gun, around me. It had been a long time since I had cried and I was unsure if I would be able to stop, be able uncurl my knees from my chest and stand again.

  My phone vibrated.

  “You’re not real,” I moaned, snot streaming down my face. “You’re not real.”

  Kara: Daddy, stop it. Mommy and I love you, but Jared and Danni need you.

  I don’t know if I believed in Heaven, I still don’t. But any chance was better than no chance. Hell seemed pretty real lately, so maybe there had to be a counterpoint to balance the equation. There was a pretty long list of bad things in my book, I knew that much. It was probably time I started balancing that out.

  I pulled myself to my feet, my hands trembling as I gripped Lisa’s grave marker. I stopped to gently kiss the tops of the two stones jutting from the ground before me.

  I was probably crazy, probably had been since I lost Lisa and Kara. Prison didn’t help either, it never does. But I would rather be insane and still connected to the people I love, than sane and utterly alone.

  Kara: Good,Daddy. Now go help them.

  That damn smiley face.

  Help them. Kara and Lisa wanted me to help Danni and Jared. Like I had been unable to do for them. I couldn’t save my girls. They were gone, but there was still time to save Danni and Jared.

  My girls waited for me. They loved me and I would see them again. Until then, I need to give them a reason to keep waiting, to keep loving me.

  My NBC mask sat between the two graves, a small piece of myself left with Lisa and Kara. It was probably stupid and sentimental to do so, but I had been taking in lungfuls of air since I arrived at Brookview. Whatever sickness or poison or whatever was in the air either was already in me or was no longer toxic. Either way, it didn’t matter. I picked up the .45 and headed for the cemetery gates.

  -54-

  Husks swarmed over the remains of my Bronco II like maggots on road kill. There wasn’t anything left in there anyway. I shouldered my bag. Something seized in my chest. My throat hitched. A long string of black mucus dangled from my chin as a cough doubled me over. I spat it to the ground.

  The spit pooled in the divots left by a set of tires. My eyes followed the tracks. A few husks stumbled through the ashy streets, their feet burying the trail. A length of rebar jutted from a pile of random junk. I wrenched it free and connected with the nearest husk’s head. The monster lurched sideways, falling to all fours. Its head was collapsed inward, bits of yellowed bone poking through the leathery skin, but it was far from dead for a second time.

  Stepping over the downed husk, I continued down the street. These tire tracks were left by Dar’s people. It was my best chance to find Danni and Jared.

  On foot, I was making decent time, but the husks were starting to notice and I found myself leading a morbid parade of reanimated corpses down the center of the street.

  A mountain bike lay on its side. The blue paint shone through the greasy coating of ash that clung to the frame. A desiccated body was tangled around the metal and gears. I put one foot on the rear tire and pulled the corpse free. It came free in two pieces, loose bits rattling to the sidewalk.

  The pedals groaned and gears protested as I pushed down. A mechanical chunk chunk clanked as I steered the bike into the middle of the street and shifted gears. It was less than ideal and slower than my Bronco II had been, but it beat the hell out of walking and would keep a healthy distance between the husks and me.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see the husks stumbling along. A few dropped away from the pack, easily distracted by other sounds or movement. The front tire of the bike traced the lines left by the tires. Dar’s people had vehicles, but wouldn’t be able to travel too fast as they scavenged supplies. They were ill equipped and would have to stop frequently.

  I’d catch up to them. I’d find Jared and Danni – because I had to, because Kara and Lisa wanted me to.

  -55-

  A line of vehicles snaked their way through a snarl of wrecked cars on the highway. A heavy-duty pick-up truck led the way, its candy-apple red paint shining in stark contrast to its surroundings. Husks lunged from where they were trapped, the metal twisted into makeshift sarcophagi. A large moving truck, the type anyone could rent, but no one had any business driving, dominated the middle of the convoy. A black Hummer brought up the rear. The supplies strapped to the top marked it as Danni and Jared’s vehicle. There were more people than I wanted to deal with, but it was still less than I expected.

  I had scavenged a pair of binoculars from a burned-out sporting goods store. The case was slightly warped, but the lenses were still in good shape. I watched the convoy come to a stop. Five cars had crashed and turned sideways across the lanes of traffic. It would take a while to move these or they’d have to double back to the nearest exit ramp, either way this was my best chance.

  Stashing the mountain bike under an overpass, I listened to the arguments taking place on the highway above me. It sounded like most wanted to try to push through instead of doubling back.

  “Screw that,” a voice shouted. “We’re not getting off the highway. It’s a wasteland down there. You saw what happened in the last town. Dar said that we stay on the highway, so that’s what we’re doing.”

  “Dar’s not here, you moron,” another argued.

  Good news. Bad news.

  I had the right group, but they had apparently split up. As much as I wanted to save Jared and Danni, I really wanted to take Dar out. They would never be safe as long as she was guiding her people towards Heathway and his settlement in Buffalo.

  No matter. It was better to get things done in small steps. One thing at a time.

  The screech of metal and a chorus of cursing let me know what their decision was. I hopped on the bike and peddled for the nearest on ramp. It wasn’t far, but I’d have to move fast.

  The ramp was choked with more wrecks. I ditched the bike and climbed over a dented-up sedan. A husk thrashed in the driver’s seat, the seatbelt lashing it in place. A coating of black, hardened gore covered the seat beneath the husk from where skin and meat had sloughed away. It flaked and cracked as it struggled against the seatbelt. The stench inside of the car must have been overpowering, not that the husk appeared to mind, but I was glad that the glass was still intact.

  I dropped off the hood of the car and ducked behind the nearest wreck. A few hundred yards up the highway, Dar’s people worked on pushing through the wall of cars. The red pick-up had moved off to the side. It looked like the driver didn’t want to damage the ridiculously oversize
d chrome brush guards and paint job.

  A few people stood at the rear of the group. Most of the group appeared to be men, but there were some with smaller frames that could have been women. It was hard to tell with the respirator masks and missing hair. Patches of raw scalp glistened where clumps of hair had slid off. Stringy deadlocks dangled where the grease and dirt clung to the remaining strands of hair.

  I grabbed a chunk of concrete the size of a tennis ball and tossed it at a group of cars a few yards away. It clanked off the roof and rolled underneath a nearby car. Three husks stumbled around the sides of the cars, clawing at the air, teeth gnashing.

  “Over there,” one of the people from the convoy pointed.

  “Take care of them before they attract any more. No guns. We’re making enough noise already.”

  I waited.

  Two of Dar’s people headed towards the husks. Edging around the surrounding cars, I crept closer. I still had the hammer from before. The metal had gone from a shiny nickel finish to a dull black.

  The first of the two walked past me. As the second passed, I swung the hammer in a tight upward stroke. The soft space underneath his chin absorbed the blow, throwing his head backwards. A muffled grunt slipped from beneath the mask as he collapsed to the ground. He dropped a knife. It was a large cheap kind, sold in the kitchen sections of big box stores. I buried the knife in the neck of the second man and wrenched in backwards until the handle snapped. There was a spray of blood and wet gurgle. I rolled onto the trunk of the nearest car. The husks took care of the rest.

  A riot-style shotgun and a hunting rifle jutted out from the writhing pile of feasting husks. I leaned over and used the claw end of the hammer to pull the guns towards me.

  Once I had the weapons, I dropped off the side of the car and scrambled through the nearest open door. Images of the trapped husk raced through my head, but the car was blessedly empty. I shut the rear passenger door as a husk collided with the glass.

  I checked the weapons. The shotgun had been sawed on both ends and looked like it was more electrical tape than gun. It would probably jam or explode in my hands. There were five shells.

  I was luckier with the hunting rifle. It was a Browning BAR. Someone had envisioned themselves as a big game hunter or was at least the type of person who felt they needed a semi-auto hunting rifle capable of firing magnum rounds. A few heavier rounds were slid into the bandolier on the strap. Four regular rounds were in the gun.

  I had never been much for hunting. Survivalist sure, but not really hunting, though I figured the line between the two had become increasingly blurry.

  -56-

  Slipping between wrecked vehicles, I carefully took my shots. The first few caught the rest of the group off guard and thinned their numbers, but surprise only lasts for so long when the sound of your rifle has the grace of a drunken dinosaur. Still, it was a good weapon and I was happy to have it.

  Four were left – people, not rounds. I loaded a few of the heavier rounds into the rifle.

  “Just leave,” I shouted from behind a car.

  A shot pinged off the hood in response.

  “I’m not asking again,” I added, not really sure that what I said mattered one bit. “I just want the girl and the kid back. Give me a vehicle and tell me where the rest of your group was headed and you walk.”

  A second shot chewed a crater into the street off to my left. These idiots were terrible shots, but they also didn’t appear to be wasting ammo either, so I had to think fast. Sooner or later, they would get ballsy and try to flank me.

  Flank me? That was it. The obvious choice for them was to split up and come at me from both sides. Shadows bobbed behind two sets of cars on opposites, as if in agreement with my summation. If flanking me was their plan, then going straight forward had to be mine.

  I tucked the sawed-off shotgun into my NBC suit and scrambled under the car in front of me. I watched boots scuffling behind other cars, edging closer to where I had previously hid. I kept crawling forward.

  Two men remained near the pick up and Hummer. They apparently weren’t as dumb as I first thought. Each one watched a side, completely ignoring the middle – ignoring the danger that crawled towards them.

  “Don’t send those MENSA applications in just yet, fellas,” I muttered as I lined up my shot.

  A pink haze wafted about as bits of skull bounced along the pavement like hail. The first one dropped to the ground. By the time the second realized where I was, it was too late. I lined up a shot and blew out his left knee. He howled in agony and writhed next to his dead friend.

  I rushed forward and kicked their guns away. It looked like two big box deer rifles – nothing special, but certainly better than nothing.

  The gunshots alerted the remaining two that something was wrong. Cut off from their vehicles and no one watching their backs. Something was very wrong, indeed.

  “We’re leaving,” one of them placed his gun on the hood of a car and backed away. “Just leave us…I mean please, just leave us the keys to whatever truck you don’t want.”

  “Yeah,” the second added, dropping his gun to the ground. “Just like you said before, you want to find the girl and the kid. Just keep heading west towards South Dakota. Dar’s using the main roads. She’ll be easy to track. You find her and I bet you’ll find that lady and the kid.”

  “See,” the other one added. “We’re not so bad. We’re doing like you asked.”

  “I said I wasn’t asking again,” I clarified and fired two quick shots.

  -57-

  “South Dakota,” the last one gasped. Shock was setting in. He stared at his ruined knee, hands trembling, as if unsure of how to even begin to attempt to address the injury. “Look what you did.”

  “Let’s not focus on the past,” I said. “Just keep talking and you might be walking…oh, sorry. I guess hopping out of here.”

  “Just like the others?” he sneered.

  “I told them I wasn’t asking again,” I answered. “I’m nothing, if not honest.”

  “You’re a psychopath,” he added and spat a wad of bloody phlegm at my feet.

  “Yeah, maybe.” I withdrew the sawed off shotgun from inside of my NBC. “So you should probably think very carefully and make sure that the next thing out of your mouth is what I want to hear.”

  “Dar took the woman and her kid,” he said. “I’m not sure what she did with them or why she even wanted them, but that’s where they are. She’s taking them with her towards that politician’s settlement in Buffalo. Stick to the main roads and you’ll find them. Okay?”

  “Fair enough,” I shrugged. I studied his face for a few moments. It looked like he was telling the truth, but something was off. The majority of his face was hidden behind a respirator mask, but what skin was visible had a sickly hue. The lines of his face appeared hardened, maybe even cracked. Eyes, deep-set and bloodied, glared at me.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I toed him.

  “You mean other than the fact that you blew my kneecap off?” he snapped.

  “Yeah, asshole,” I nodded. “Kneecap aside, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  He coughed and tugged at his mask. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

  I snatched the mask from his face. The surrounding skin flaked and peeled, some still attached to the purple plastic of the respirator. A ring of leathery red skin traced the outline of where the mask had sat.

  “Like Hell nothing’s wrong with you.” I looked at the tattered skin that fluttered around the edges of the mask. “Disgusting.” I tossed it aside.

  “Dar says we’re fine as long as we keep our masks on most of the time,” he said. His gums were black, lips cracked and bleeding.

  “Dar’s full of shit,” I answered. “And whatever the hell is floating around out here has already done whatever it was going to do. Your piece of shit painter’s mask didn’t do jack, other than slow it down.”

  “So what’s that mean?” he demanded. “Are you say
ing I’m going to become a rotter?”

  “Rotter? Husk?” I shrugged and looked at a few of the monsters stumbling towards us. More would be here soon. “Maybe. I guess so? Or maybe you’ll just die a slow, painful death. It’s not like I really know what the hell is going on around here lately or really care what it does to you.”

  “Shoot me,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to be one of those things.”

  “One of those things?” I asked. “You’re already something worse. It’d be a waste of a bullet.”

  Two vehicles waited, their engines idling. As much as I wanted to take the pick up and leave that ridiculous Hummer to rust on the side of the road, I didn’t have time to transfer the supplies from one to the other.

  “Looks like you’re getting the pick-up truck,” I said and pulled the keys from the ignition.

  A tangled knot of husks stumbled between the wreckage, drawn closer by the smell of blood and fresh meat. Some stopped to tear chunks away from the cooling bodies, but they didn’t appear to hold the same attraction that we did and more closed in.

  “Give me the keys.” He grasped at them in my hand.

  “Keys?” I asked.

  “Yes, the fucking keys!” he shouted. “Give them to me before the rotters get here. You said I get the pick-up. Give me the keys!”

  “You do get it,” I nodded. He appeared relieved, but before he could speak I added, “Yup, you get the truck. But I don’t recall saying anything about the keys.”

  I tossed the ring of keys into the approaching mob of husks.

  “You probably shouldn’t trust a psychopath. Enjoy the truck.”