Dead Highways (Book 2): Passage

by Richard Brown

  You got that right, buddy.

  I told you so.

  We both turned on a dime, stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the window.

  Sam walked up and stopped in front of us, put his hands on his hips. “Well…?”

  *

  I tried to tell him, didn’t I?

  I pulled him aside, sat him down, one on one, man to man, and told him the truth. I told Robinson, the dead don’t stay dead. No, sorry to say, they come back. They awake. They arise. They stumble down the dark halls of death and back out into the bright light of life. Sure their flesh might be rotting. Sure they smell worse than a porter potty. Sure they might moan more than a rich whore after a long night of partying away daddy’s money. But unlike Paris Hilton, they weren’t something to laugh about. Dagnabbit, this was serious.

  I stood shoulder to shoulder with Robinson, helping to block the kitchen window. Sam was in front of us, hands on his hips, wondering what we had been looking at. Outside, there were things he didn’t need to see—like the grave we’d wasted a good twenty minutes digging, and his dead wife crawling out of it.

  Oh Lord, what had we gotten ourselves into this time?

  We should have left when we had the chance. We should have driven a few miles down the road, found some gas elsewhere. But we had felt bad for Sam, bad that he had caught us attempting to rob him, bad that he had a bad back. Bad bad bad. It was all bad. And Sam had laid the sympathy routine on us like a real pro.

  “Why y’all look so nervous?” Sam asked.

  Robinson glanced at me, and then back at Sam. Then he faked a laugh. It was about as reassuring as a lawyers handshake. “I’m not nervous.”

  The look on Sam’s face said his bullshit detector wasn’t buying it. I thought I was doing an admirable job holding it together, but Robinson definitely looked nervous. Maybe it was just the heat inside the house, but he was sweating like a pig. A pig dressed up as a cop.

  “You look like you just seen a ghost,” Sam said.

  There was a flash of lightning dangerously close by, followed by the immediate crackling sound of thunder. It made Robinson and I flinch, but it was perfect timing. Mother Nature provided Robinson the excuse he needed.

  Robinson relaxed his posture. “Okay. Honestly, I’m afraid of lightning. It’s been a fear of mine ever since I was a little kid.”

  The words came out so effortlessly, I wondered if they were actually true. He did say honestly, after all.

  Sam dropped his hands. The concerned look fled from his face, replaced by a crooked smile. “Oh, that’s too bad,” he said, chuckling. “Lightning don’t bother me. You’re a lot like Edith. She didn’t like it much either.”

  Robinson was a lot like Edith? Oh yeah, that made me smile. I looked over at Robinson. He didn’t look like an old dead white woman to me. Maybe in a previous life. Nor did Edith seem to mind the lightning much. If anything, it got her up and out of the ground.

  “It’s not something I like to talk about,” Robinson said. “It’s … you know … kind of embarrassing.”

  More lightning. More thunder.

  “Woo, that was a good one,” Sam said. “Right in our backyard.” He looked at me. “You afraid of lightning too, son?”

  I shook my head. “No, not really.”

  “What’re you afraid of?”

  Let’s see. Aamod the Destroyer. Empty swing sets. Dusty attics or basements. Opera singers. Butt chins. Skeletor from the Masters of the Universe movie. And spiders. Tricky bastards always spin their webs right where they know you’ll walk into them, causing you to freak out and start ripping your clothes off.

  But I didn’t get the chance to unveil my list, as something slammed hard against the window behind Robinson and I. Thankfully, the glass didn’t break. But it did cause all three of us to flinch this time.

  “What in the hell was that?” Sam asked, stepping forward. “Sounded like—”

  “It was probably nothing,” I interrupted. “Just a tree branch or something.”

  The second sound was half as loud but twice as chilling. The sound of fingernails scratching against the glass. Unlike Mother Nature who had provided lightning at the perfect time, providing Robinson with the excuse he needed, Edith had not so perfect timing. She wanted through the window. Now! She was ready to eat, and it wasn’t even dinnertime yet.

  Sam took another step forward, tried to peer around us. Robinson and I strategically placed ourselves in his path.

  “Stop it, dammit!” Sam yelled, trying to wedge his body between us and the small kitchen window. “This is my house! Get outta my way! What’s your problem?”

  “Just relax,” Robinson said.

  “Heck no I ain’t gonna relax!”

  While Sam yelled, the sound of scratching continued, with the occasional thump of an open hand against the glass.

  “Is everything okay in here?” Ted asked, stepping in from the living room. Aamod came up behind him, followed slowly by the rest of the group.

  “These two here are playin’ games,” Sam said. “They’re hidin’ something. They keep protecting this window.”

  “Robinson,” Ted said softly. “What’s going on?”

  “Yeah, what’s going on?” Sam echoed. “You looking at my shed? You see somethin’ else you might like to steal?”

  “What’s that noise?” Ted asked.

  Sam wouldn’t allow us to answer. Not that he’d like the answer we’d give. “Something flew into the window, and now it’s stuck there, probably ruining the glass. But I wouldn’t know what because these two won’t get out of my damn way.” Sam stormed off toward the patio door. “I’m gonna go outside and see for myself.”

  “No!” Robinson yelled. “Trust me. Don’t go out there.”

  Sam took a few steps back toward us. “Trust you? That’s funny. You’re the most pathetic excuse for a lawman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

  Robinson bowed his head and sighed. “I was trying to be nice, you grouchy old bastard. But it’s your house. So we’ll do things your way.”

  Robinson lifted his head and stepped away from the window, pulling me with him. Mouths dropped open, including mine, as we all stared out the small kitchen window.

  Edith was on the other side, standing in the wind and rain, pressing her hands and face against the glass. Her milky white eyes darted around, watching us watch her, as she moaned and snapped her jaw open and closed like a crocodile. Slowly, all of us turned our attention from the dead woman to the dead woman’s husband, trying to gauge his reaction. Sam never took his eyes off her. He inched closer and closer to the window. He leaned over the sink—his face only a foot away from the half-inch pane of glass—and stared at her, as we did, completely speechless. Bewildered.

  Finally, he spoke one word. It slipped from out between his lips laced with both sadness and confusion. Her name.

  “Edith.”

  Sam turned from the window and once again went for the patio door. This time even more determined than the last.

  “Ted, stop him!” Robinson shouted.

  Like a good soldier, Ted stepped in front of Sam, blocking the patio door. But Sam wasn’t going to be stopped anymore. He grabbed Ted by the shirt and they began to tussle. Sam seemed surprisingly strong for a man in his seventies. What happened to his bad back? The adrenaline pumping through his body put an end to that real fast. As far as he knew, his wife was alive. Somehow, she was alive. And he’d fight to go out and see her again.

  And we had to fight to prevent him.

  Robinson and Bowser came to Ted’s aid, helping to push Sam away from the patio door. Peaches and Naima stood in the far corner next to me, not wanting to jump into the fight with the big boys. Aamod also didn’t jump in, and instead walked quietly back into the living room. He returned ten seconds later with his shotgun.

  “What are you gonna do with that?” I asked.

  Aamod didn’t answer.

  “Get your hands off me!” Sam yelled. “That’s my wife out there
! I gotta see her!”

  “That’s not your wife anymore,” Robinson said. “She’s infected. And if you go out there, she’ll kill you. You understand me?”

  Sam struggled to get free, but he was outnumbered. Three against one. Bowser alone was built like a German tank. He could have held Sam back by himself, but it was clear their intention wasn’t to hurt him. They were trying to save him. Help him. Aamod, however, had his own special way of doing things. He walked by them, heading for the patio door.

  “Where are you going?” Ted asked.

  Aamod opened the door and then turned back toward us. “I will take care of it,” he said, shotgun in hand. Behind him, the rain was still coming down strong, though the lightning had died down quite a bit.

  Edith must have heard the door open. She took her ugly dead face off the window and stumbled backward, slipping on the wet ground.

  Sam stopped yelling. “What do you mean … you’ll take care of it?” The tone of his voice said he knew exactly what Aamod had meant.

  He’ll take care of it.

  He’ll kill her.

  “Wait, Aamod,” Robinson said. “Not yet. We have to…”

  “What?” Aamod asked, standing statuesque in the doorway. “We have to what?”

  Robinson appeared to be at a loss for words. Ted and Bowser offered him no help.

  Sam began crying. “Let me go. Please.”

  “We can’t,” Robinson said, looking Sam in his tear-filled eyes.

  “But I have to see her. Please.”

  “I’m sorry. We just can’t,” Robinson said again. He returned his attention to Aamod waiting in the doorway. I remembered Robinson saying last night that Aamod could be a valuable member of the group when he wanted to be. This was one of those moments. In days, he had become this emotionless machine, and would volunteer to do the things the rest of us didn’t want to do. The things we couldn’t do, because we were still trying to hang on to our humanity, while Aamod’s was already gone.

  “Go,” Robinson finally said. “Go now.”

  Aamod wasted no time. He walked out into the porch and out of sight.

  Sam began struggling to get free again, crying out, “Nooooo! Nooooo!”

  Let it be quick. Let it be over.

  We all waited for what we knew was coming, at any moment, cutting through the sound of the wind and the rain and the thunder…

  The shotgun going off.

  BANG!

  Sam collapsed, sliding down the wall to the kitchen floor, sobbing. The three big boys backed off, no longer needing to hold him.

  I felt terrible for Sam. I really did. He was clueless. He didn’t understand. But he had real emotion. He had real love for his wife. He just didn’t realize the woman outside, the woman Aamod had presumably shot down with no hesitation, was no longer the woman he had loved. She had become a dangerous monster. A monster capable of killing all of us, including her husband, with just one bite. Perhaps even with a scratch of a nail. And like any dangerous monster, she had to be dealt with. She had to be killed.

  “Jesus, what have I done?” Sam cried. “What have I done?”

  Robinson wasn’t Jesus. He was too chubby. But he answered anyway.

  “You haven’t done anything,” he said. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Course it is. I buried my wife, and she wasn’t even dead. I let you all in here. You terrible, sick people. And now … oh God…”

  Robinson knelt down next to Sam. “Listen to me. Your wife was dead. But this infection … well … it has some strange side effects.”

  “What side effects? What on earth are you saying?”

  “It wakes the dead,” I blurted out.

  “Ya know, we have a name for people like you around here,” Sam said. “Insane. You are all insane.”

  Aamod came back into the house as if nothing had happened. He leaned against the kitchen counter across from Sam and Robinson.

  “It’s done,” Aamod said. He had the shotgun lowered by his side. “It’s time to go.”

  Sam eyed Aamod, slowly making his way back to his feet. “Tell me … did you kill my wife?”

  “She was already dead,” I said.

  Sam ignored me, kept his focus on Aamod. “Did you? Did you, you son of a bitch? Did you kill my wife?”

  Aamod smirked. “Didn’t you hear the gunshot?”

  Sam growled and lunged, arms extended, toward Aamod. Robinson and Bowser stepped forward to hold him back.

  In a flash, Aamod had the shotgun raised and pointed at Sam’s face.

  “What are you gonna do about it?” Aamod said, racking the pump on the shotgun.

  Robinson and Bowser pulled Sam back against the wall and held him there.

  “Aamod, lower the gun,” Ted said. “Please.”

  “No,” Aamod scoffed. “It’s time to go. Are you listening? We’ve been here long enough. We need to get the gas and leave. If you all had listened to me, we wouldn’t even be here right now.”

  I hate to admit, he had a point.

  “We’ll get the gas,” Ted replied, trying to keep his voice low and calm. “Just lower the gun.”

  Sam, unable to move, did the only offensive thing he could do. He spat at Aamod. “Shoot me, you coward.”

  Aamod rushed forward and pressed the barrel of the shotgun hard against Sam’s forehead. Both of the girls beside me gasped. The gun didn’t stay long against Sam’s forehead, however, as Bowser quickly spun and grabbed hold of it, and after a moment, successfully wrestled it out of Aamod’s hands.

  Indeed, things were spiraling out of control.

  “Give me back my gun!” Aamod yelled.

  “Go fuck yourself,” Bowser barked back. He handed the gun off to Ted, who hurried off with it into the living room. Aamod stepped toward Bowser, chest to chest, and stared up at him angrily. Bowser was a good eight inches taller. “What you gonna do, huh?”

  Naima ran up and put her arms around her father, tugged him away from Bowser. “Daddy … just stop … will you,” she cried. “We have enough problems. What is wrong with you?” Aamod, for once, allowed Naima to speak without interrupting her. “We already lost mom. I don’t want to lose you too.”

  “You won’t lose me,” he said, hugging her back. “I’m fighting for you. Every day for you. Only you.”

  While everyone was focused on Aamod, Sam slipped away and out the patio door.

  “Should we…” Bowser started.

  Robinson shook his head. “No. Don’t matter now. Let him go.”

  I walked up and looked out the small kitchen window. Edith’s body was nowhere in sight. Aamod had taken care of her off camera, so to speak.

  “Where did you shoot her?” I asked.

  “Where do you think?” Aamod said. “In the yard.”

  “No, what part of her body?”

  “Does it matter where he shot her?” Robinson asked.

  “Yes. Don’t you remember what I told you? The infection is in the brain.”

  “Okay, where did you shoot her?” Robinson asked of Aamod. “Did you shoot her in the head?”

  “Close enough. Her head is … barely hanging on,” Aamod replied.

  Naima and Peaches both had enough of this conversation and fled to the living room. Such weak stomachs.

  Robinson stared at me looking for guidance.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. She could still be alive.”

  Alive as a zombie could be.

  Robinson sighed. His right hand massaged the pistol at his side. I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was.

  One of us might have to go finish the job.

  Then came Sam’s blood curdling scream from outside, and I knew it was true. Following Robinson’s lead, we all ran out into the rain.

  We found Sam lying on his side, curled up in the fetal position, soaking wet, big globs of mud dripping from his overalls. Edith was on the other side of him, not moving. Her hands were still. Her legs were still. As we got closer, I saw the upper
part of her chest was blown apart, mangled like road kill. I recoiled when I saw her head. It lay a foot away from her body, attached only by a thin strand of muscle tissue. But more upsetting than the blood and the flesh and the exposed spine, was that despite Edith’s head being ninety-five percent detached from the rest of her body, her eyes still glowed with ugly dissociated life. Her jaw slowly came open and closed, like she was chewing on something, savoring it.

  Robinson knelt down next to Sam. “What happened?”

  Sam was sobbing, holding his wrist. “She … she bit me. How is she still alive?” He rolled over on his back and looked up at us. Then he removed his other hand, exposing his wrist. The rain quickly washed away the blood as it poured out of the open wound, making the severity of the damage easy to see. Edith had chewed off a two-inch section of meat right down to the bone.

  “Come on, we have to get him off the ground,” Robinson said. “Help me with him.”

  I reached down and grabbed Sam by his good arm, making sure not to get too close to Edith the zombie head, who was still enjoying the fresh flesh she’d pulled from her husband’s wrist. With Robinson and Bowser’s help, we pulled Sam to his feet, and then helped him walk back to the porch.

  I let go once we were under the wooden canopy and out of the rain, and glanced over at the brain without a body. Robinson looked over his shoulder, noticing I’d stopped. He nodded and said, “Go ahead, Jimmy.”

  With permission, I went back out into the rain to finish what Aamod had started.

  Nobody understood what was really going on better than me; even Peaches had been slow initially to come around. Robinson was right to think I was crazy, or trying to get one over on him. It didn’t make sense. The dead coming back to life. A head able to function without a body. Impossible. But now none of them would be able to deny it. Things had gone from bad to worse. And any comfort we had taken by the fact that we hadn’t become infected, that we were the lucky ones, the immune, was now long gone. We were all at risk now. We could all become the next Edith.