ZOMBIE BOOKS

by Gnarly, Bart

  “Who are you?” I ask the box.

  Inside the person really comes to life. He starts banging and talking excitedly, “Kyle? Kyle?!? Is that you? Oh I knew you’d come back I just knew it! Please let me out, man. Please! Just like before, okay? We’re in this together, right? It’s us against the world. So open the door, man. Open the door! You can do it. Just like last time. Come on, man! Open the door.”

  “I can’t…” I begin. “I don’t know how.”

  “The fuck you don’t!” the voice hollers back. “I’ve seen you open tighter boxes than this dozens of times. Just come on, hurry up. I’m dying in here.”

  “No, you don’t get it,” I answer.

  “Is this about Rebecca? It is isn’t it? Why the fuck did you come back if you weren’t going to open the box, Kyle? Why?!? Just to torture me? To torture me on the day that I die?!? There was nothing we could do about her, Kyle! She was already dead! As soon as the hunger hit she would have tried to eat us all at her first chance. You know it! She was one of them. She was dead, Kyle. She was dead!”

  The passion in his voice fades and I hear the sounds of labored breathing against the steel door.

  “I loved her too!!!” roared the voice from within. The declaration was defensive and passionate and threatening.

  “That’s not me,” I mumbled. The effects of the drink were wearing off, no thanks to the somberness of my current conversation.

  “What?” came the answer.

  “I’m not the guy you’re looking for,” I answer in a louder voice. I didn’t feel it was worth explaining the name confusion, so I kept it simple for him. “I’m not Kyle.”

  “Then who are you? Can you help me? Can you open the safe?”

  A straight truth or a well-meaning lie? What shall it be?

  I could tell him that I would go get some tools to open the box. He would have hope at least, but of course I could never really manage to open the safe. I had no idea where to even begin. And his hope may help him live longer, which would only delay the inevitable and extend his suffering.

  I decide to give it to the guy straight.

  “No,” I say in a loud voice. “I can’t open the safe.”

  The bank grows silent for a few long moments.

  “Who are you?” the trapped man finally asks.

  “Just some guy passin’ by,” I respond.

  Another awkward pause marks the passing of time between us.

  “My name is Sergio Anthony,” the man says. “I’m thirty-four. I had a wife, and two kids. Sabrina and Alfredo. She was an American. We had a bulldog named Bridgette. Her idea. Anyway, I was a salesman for Kruger, you know, the light bulb guys? I wanted to get in the military when I was a boy, but Allison hated the idea…”

  And on and on it went. Sergio threw memories and facts at me ad nauseam. It was as though he was sharing facts as quickly as he could remember them. I tried to figure out his response; why he was dumping like this on someone he didn’t even know. My only guess was that he knew he would die in the box, and if he told me about his life, he wouldn’t die alone. Someone would know him, and maybe love him, and then care that he was dead. This way, there would be one person alive who would remember and miss Sergio Anthony.

  Several times during his monologue, I debated stopping him, or just walking away. I didn’t know him, what he looked like, or who he was. To me, he would always be the ghost in the safe: Dry, withered, and smelling of shit. I cleared my throat, and was about to excuse myself when he got to his current history. At the mention of the name ‘Kyle’ my curiosity got the better of me. I waited to hear why a man would lock another in a tomb. Sergio had killed a zombie, I got that. And I understand the zombie was someone special to Kyle, like a girlfriend or a wife or something like that. But what drives a man to sentence another to death for helping to eradicate the zombie threat?

  “Kyle had formed a band when the apocalypse broke out. He got a bunch of us organized and helped us to prepare. He told us that only the strong would survive, and that if we wanted to come out on top we had to be the kings of the jungle. We had to be lions, he told us. So we gathered our supplies and guns and food and everything at Kyle’s house. He had a shelter and everything. There were eleven of us, and more were asking to join every day. The zombies hadn’t made it to Cheney yet, but people were going nuts. Everyone was in a mad rush to get what they cold and get out of town. Kyle was determined to make a stand of it. He kept telling us that the zombie outbreak would be everywhere, so why not have home field advantage? Soon we were twenty people. Then thirty.”

  My mind raced. A group of thirty? In Cheney this whole time? How did we miss a group that big for so long?

  “Kyle started getting worried about food. He made us pick. He made us choose who would get to stay and who would leave. We were told to pick the lions and to hell with the rest. He said that the strong would keep us alive, but the weak would only put us in danger. When we couldn’t choose, he chose for us. He kicked out my brother and his family. Women with kids but no ability to work. The elderly. It was awful. I stayed. My God I stayed ‘cause I didn’t want to die. I watched them leave. They’re all dead now, I know it. We sent them to die so that our chances would be better. One man, Richard something, told Kyle that he was wrong and Kyle shot him. He killed that man.”

  Again, the room grew silent. I imagined Sergio watching Kyle murder his dissenter. It would be a powerful lesson for whoever was present.

  “After that,” Sergio continued, “no one questioned Kyle. He formed two parties. Those who would protect the base, and those who would collect supplies with him. Pirates and guards we called ourselves, though not in front of Kyle. I was a pirate. We would stop people as they tried to leave and take their supplies. We were lions, he said. Everything in the city belonged to whoever was strong enough to take it.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and fought the chills creeping up my body. I prayed that this man did not say what I thought he would say.

  “We killed people, man. But we did it to survive. We took from all over, raiding the city by neighborhood. All up and down First Street. The Salnave Park neighborhood.”

  I waited for him to say it, but hoped he didn’t

  “There was this family on Fitzner Lane…”

  Oh shit.

  “They were all loaded up. Husband. Wife. Kid. The guy wouldn’t hand over the supplies. We told him we would kill him but he didn’t do it. He called Kyle by name and swore that we all knew better; that we were better people than this. But we weren’t, man. We weren’t. We shot them and looted their van before anyone came by. We killed those people.”

  It was them. The mob that killed my family. This was them.

  “Some of us left,” he continued. “They couldn’t live like that, but we were lions. Everything in the city was ours if we were willing to take it. I believed him. Until Rebecca was turned. You see, it’s easy enough to tell one man he has to kill his loved one, but it’s a whole new deal when it’s your daughter. Rebecca was Kyle’s only child. His wife had left him as soon as the outbreak began, and his kid was all he had left. She was thirteen. She was out with the pirates, helping to clean out some abandoned houses, when we got surprised and she got bit. I didn’t think. I just shot her. You get bit, you’re a zombie. Right? She was bit. She was as good as dead. Kyle couldn’t see it that way. He told me that I had murdered her before we could tell if she was going to turn or not, but everyone turns, right? Nobody lives. I was convicted of murder. They brought me here and locked me in.” His voice was beginning to fade into a weak hum behind the great door. “But I didn’t kill her. I loved her. I’m not a murderer. I’m not. We’re just surviving…just surviving.”

  It was them. I couldn’t believe it. “Where is Kyle’s house?” I demanded.

  “Are you going to get Kyle?” he asked, hope spilling out in each word.

  “Yes,” I said, though not in the way he meant.

  “Up South Murphy Road, almost to Meadow Lake,�
�� Sergio answered excitedly.

  Just up the street from my parent’s home.

  He cheered his thanks through the door so loud I had to yell to be heard.

  “Sergio!”

  “Yes my friend?!?”

  “You killed that girl.”

  “What?” he asked, his words peppered with horror and confusion.

  “I don’t die from bites. There are lots of us out there. She was one of them. You killed that girl.”

  I knew it was wrong, but I was operating off of pure hate at this point. Rotting was not enough of a punishment for what he and his band did to me.

  “No,” he answered weakly. His voice was so muffled I almost couldn’t hear him. “No.”

  “You killed that girl. And you killed my family, Sergio. That was my house on Fitzner. Those were my parents and my brother you shot. I lost everything because of you. If I let you out, it would only be to beat you and throw you back in that hole. Enjoy rotting, Sergio.”

  The bank became silent. No noise came from the vault. The entire building was now a tomb. I shouldered my club, and made for the door.

  Brimming with hate, and determined to take revenge, I went back to the mill to get supplies, but instead I collapsed. The truth and the confessions. The dying man in the safe. The killers. It was all too much. I told myself that I couldn’t just march door to door until I find him and then kill an entire band of people. I decided to take the next day to plan, and then begin to carefully extract vengeance for what Kyle and his group did to my town.

  That was my state when Sebastian found me. I head him calling for me and pounding on door after door. I was mad at him for disturbing me more than I was that he was attracting zombies with all that noise.

  I pulled a side door open and squinted against the morning sun. Sebastian was off to my left, pounding away at a freight door.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “The hell you want?”

  “Kyle,” he breathed. His eyes were wild and full of panic. He rushed to me but pulled up short. “Are you drunk?”

  “It’s my day off,” I replied.

  “But it’s still morning, I…”

  “I said, it’d my day off,” I growled. “Why are you here?”

  “I was hoping for your help.” The phrase didn’t seem to humble him the way it would have me.

  “No,” I answered and turned to go back in. I had enough to do on my own, I didn’t need side jobs from anyone else. Sebastian followed and closed the door behind us. I glowered at him, then barred us in and wandered off to the stairs. “Stay if you like, but don’t think you’re going to move your whole group in here,” I threatened.

  “They’re all dead,” he replied.

  That stopped me in my tracks.

  “All of them?” I asked, and Sebastian nodded. A laugh slipped out and I said, “Got ’em all collected in your shop?” I laughed again and pushed the envelope a little further, “Catching bunnies and puppies and homeless to keep them fed and healthy?”

  “They’re not zombies, Kyle,” he said icily.

  “Lucky for you!” I pointed out and started up the stairs.

  “It was men, Kyle. They broke in, and when we resisted they attacked us. At least three of us got away, but I don’t know where the other two are. They took everything, Kyle.”

  Without turning around I ask, “Bertha?”

  “By the time they were done raping her I’m sure they killed her.”

  One of my knees wobbled and gave out. I steadied myself on a handrail. At this point, I wasn’t sure if it was the booze or the news that was having this effect on me. Was it Kyle’s gang?

  “And you’re busily getting drunk for breakfast,” he said with venom.

  “When did they come?”

  “Last night,” he spat. “I came straight here for your help.”

  That made me wheel around. “What do you want with me, Sebastian? Huh? What am I supposed to do?”

  “They killed your family. They killed mine.”

  The images of my loved ones dying in our car, their blood spilling out of the car doors and the look in the eyes of the men as they stole everything from me.

  “Might not be the same crew,” I pointed out.

  “Does that matter?” Sebastian asked, his voice rising. “These men are the same as the ones that killed your parents, Kyle. And they will continue to do so until someone does something about it.”

  I fell silent and stared at the man before me. Was he handing over the very men I wanted? Could it really be them?

  “I want you to help me stop them…” His voice cut off at the sudden moaning and clanging coming from the other side of the room. “The hell?” Sebastian turned and for the first time he spied my pen. Eight zombies were crammed into a dog run I had found at the hardware store. It was sixteen by five, and I was currently trying to find out how many deadies I could jam in there at once. “Are those…”

  “They sure as hell ain’t pets,” I assured him.

  “Is it safe to keep them like that?” he asked in a wavering voice.

  “Probably not,” I agreed, “but you’re one to talk. So,” I said, abruptly changing gears, “what’s your plan?”

  Sebastian was having trouble looking away from the collection, but when he did his statement floored me. “I heard how you handled the zombies at the shop. I want to treat these bastards to a similar fate.”

  I laughed and let my eyes wander about the ceiling. “You want me to murder them?”

  “I want you to help me bring them to justice, and to answer for what they have done,” he declared.

  “You want me to play Sheriff?”

  “Or deputy if you like. Just… I need your help in this.”

  I looked at the broken man before me and I knew what my answer had to be. Sebastian was going to confront them with or without me. Either way he was destined to die, but this was exactly the chance I was hoping for.

  I turned and headed up the stairs.

  “So that’s it?” he cried.

  “I have to eat before I kill all the bad people, ‘Bastian.”

  ◊◊◊

  We headed up South Murphy, looking for a house that was fortified.

  “How do you know they’re up here?” Sebastian asked. “All I heard was they were by Meadow Lake.”

  “A little ghost told me.” I said cryptically. I didn’t explain, but Sebastian didn’t ask me to.

  We knew the house as soon as we saw it. Two fences. One was the original cyclone fence and the other looked like homeless people build a barricade. The barrier was a long line of junk, interspersed with spikes and barb wire. Climbing through would not be an option and getting over would be loud and messy. Not to mention how badly we would be exposed.

  I decided that we would circle the compound and find the best way in, but my gut told me the only real path was right up the front drive and that would be suicide if these guys were the ones I thought they were. They would cut us down before we took three steps.

  We had nearly completed our lap and the barricade was complete all the way around. It was an impressive feat in a desperate time. There must have been six hundred feet of trash and obstructions blocking the house. Old appliances and lame cars. Pallets and dumpsters. Playground equipment. Whatever they could find they had used. There was even a barn off to one side within the boundary.

  Frankly, I was envious. They were on a hill above a natural water source, away from the town, and there were escape routes in most directions. This was a prime spot.

  Yelling from the driveway brought me back to the moment. Five men were screaming. Three of them were running for a Bronco. The other two opened fire and shot one of the men while the others jumped in the truck. The rig roared to life under a hail of bullets. The driver spun the truck about and crashed through the barrier on the side of the house. He bounced onto the road and tore off toward town. The other men cursed and jumped in a Jeep. They tore off after the Bronco through the hole in the barrier.

&nb
sp; “There’s our chance,” I said, and hurried toward the gap. I could hear voices inside the house. Sebastian and I readied our guns and slipped across the yard. The front door was open just far enough to get a view of the inside. Two men were sitting at a table, and another one was pacing the front room. They were debating going after the others, but they had no other car. From their conversation, I guessed it was just the three of them in the house.

  So I marched in.

  Guns drawn, I yelled, “Hey!”

  The three men snapped their eyes to me and the color drained from their faces.

  “Alright,” I said, feeling like a classic lawman, “which one of you assholes is Kyle?”

  About an hour later, the Jeep returned with only one occupant. He entered the house to find three corpses seated on the couch, watching a dead television.

  I love irony.

  Sebastian and I surprised him from behind and before he knew what had happened, we had his gun and had bound his wrists.

  “Are you Kyle?”

  “He dead, boy,” the man replied with a murderous glare.

  “This the guy to raped Berta?” I asked Sebastian, without taking my eyes off the prisoner.

  “No,” Sebastian replied, emotion filling his tone. “He’s the guy that held her down.” It was clear to me that he was just as guilty as any of them to Sebastian.

  I shook the prisoner’s arm to regain his attention. “After Kyle, you the next in line?” I asked.

  He lifted his chin at me and spat.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I replied, and pushed him to the ground. “Watch him,” I ordered Sebastian, and then moved to the kitchen. We had already cleared the house, so we knew there was no one else here, but that was not all I cared about.

  “What are you doing?” Sebastian asked.

  “You kidding?” I replied. “They have a Jeep and a shit-load of supplies. I’m shopping.”

  I filled the back of the Jeep with all I could take in one trip. I left the front seat for Sebastian.

  “And him?” my partner asked. “Where does he go?”