The Corpse Whisperer

by H. R. Boldwood

  I threw on my Wonder Woman robe, shoved my phone into the pocket, then grabbed Hawk from the nightstand.

  Stepping softly down the hallway, I nearly collided with Capple, as he rounded the living room wall.

  “Shit,” he hissed, lowering his weapon.

  Footsteps padded out from the darkness in the hall behind me. “What is it with this neighborhood? Don’t you people ever sleep?”

  “Damn it, Leo,” I whispered. “Go back to your room, lock the door, and don’t come out until I tell you.”

  Leo’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Hawk in my hand. He did a 360 and retraced his steps down the hall, feeling his way along the wall. His door closed softly, followed by an audible click, as the lock tumbled into place.

  I turned to Capple and said, “You take the front yard. I’ll take the back.”

  Capple nodded and disappeared into the living room, while I crept into the kitchen. The glow from Nonnie’s porch light filtered in through the curtains on the back door, illuminating not only the ugliest linoleum floor ever, but the shadow of the person standing outside my door.

  I darted forward, and took cover beside the refrigerator.

  Then Nonnie’s unmistakable voice blared through the door.

  “Miss Allie?” she said, banging on the door. “Someone out back. Let me in.”

  I raced across the kitchen, unlocked the door, and threw it wide.

  “Come here,” I said, pulling her inside.

  Headbutt howled and scooted past me, then tore, bulldog-style, across the backyard. Only one thing could make him move like that.

  Nonnie wrenched her arm loose from my hand, pushed through the door, and scrambled after Headbutt.

  I flipped on the backyard floodlight, and sprinted after them both, pulling out my phone and speed dialing Rico.

  “Get over here, now,” I yelled. “Ferris, too! Code… Oh, what the hell. We got biters!”

  Headbutt bayed furiously and disappeared behind the tool shed, with Nonnie trailing, maybe twenty yards back.

  Next came the sounds of breaking glass and Headbutt’s frenzied snarls.

  I raced past Nonnie, yelling, “Get back inside, now.”

  After rounding the corner of the tool shed, the source of the commotion came into view, and I skidded to a halt. A deadhead, of the corpsicle variety, flailed helplessly, impaled on a jagged spike of glass rising up from the broken window frame.

  Despite my order for Nonnie to return to the house, she had followed me, wringing her hands, sobbing hysterically. One look at the corpsicle found her crossing herself and slowly backing away.

  Leo, the last to arrive, put his hands on his knees and gasped for air. Nonnie launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around him, nearly tackling him in the process.

  Those two would be the death of me yet.

  “Damn it, Leo. I told you to stay in your room.”

  Headbutt sunk his teeth, gum-deep, into the rotter’s leg and shook it like a rag doll.

  The biter writhed against the serrated edges of the glass, shearing off bits of zushi that splattered like chum bombs on top of Headbutt.

  Every time that crazy dog jerked his head, flesh flayed off the rotter’s leg in long wet strips, exposing degloved muscles that glistened like fish bellies in the moonlight.

  I leveled Hawk and took aim, but had second thoughts. It was the middle of the night. The homeowners association already hated me. One more hundred-dollar fine and I’d have moths flying out of my pockets.

  So, I pulled open the door to the tool shed, reached in, and wrapped my fingers around the first object I came to—a hoe.

  I owned a hoe?

  What the hell, the business end of that thing would shred a biter into coleslaw faster than a Veg-O-Matic. I turned, raised the hoe high, and whaled it down on the deadhead’s skull.

  Brains and bone splattered like blowback from a gunshot. The biter’s body sank deeper into the jagged glass and severed at the ribcage, leaving its top half still impaled on the glass, leaking liquid decomp on two generations of worthless shit shoved inside the shed. Its bottom half slid slowly down the shed’s vinyl exterior, painting it, and my yard, zushi red.

  Damn it. A middle of the night, make-it-go-away-before-dawn kind of clean-up. Jimmy at Splatz would charge me an arm and a leg for this mess. So to speak.

  Thoughts of the clean-up cost disappeared when Nonnie screamed on the far side of the shed.

  I tore around the corner and found her backed up against the siding, another corpsicle gnashing its teeth, inches from her neck.

  Leo pulled on its arm to keep it away from her, but the arm came off in his hand.

  Freaking corpsicles fall apart faster than pork roast in a crockpot.

  “Leo. Get back to the goddam house,” I screamed. “I’ve got this.”

  The rotter turned and lunged at me. I swung the hoe like a Louisville Slugger and took its head clean off, sending it into the Winstel’s backyard, leaving a juicy trail in its wake.

  Well, crap. Another job for Splatz. After tonight, Jimmy should dedicate a wing to me.

  Nonnie headed straight for me, waddling faster than any gum-grinder I’d ever seen. I put my arms around her and told her everything would be fine.

  Then Leo moaned.

  I let go of Nonnie and whirled around to find him curled into a fetal position on the ground, his muscles randomly contracting.

  “Nighthawk,” he whimpered. “Help me.”

  Oh, God. No. No. Not now, Leo. Not now.

  I knelt down and swung his arm across my shoulder. “Stay with me, Leo. Let’s get you inside, so you can take your meds.”

  Everything was falling apart, dammit.

  C’mon, Rico. Where the hell are you?

  I glanced up to find Capple ambling toward me, his weapon at his side.

  I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. “Where the hell have you been?” I asked.

  “Securing the front yard. Like you asked.”

  “Were there any biters out there?”

  “No,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the corpsicle’s jawbone that lay at his feet.

  I reeled at the sound of footsteps. Rico and Ferris sprinted toward us from the side yard. Thank God.

  I turned back to chew Capple a new one for taking his sweet time, but the words caught in my throat. A biter had grabbed Capple from behind, its teeth inches from his neck.

  I had no choice but to pull Hawk and squeeze off a shot, drilling the rotter’s forehead. The bullet blasted out the back of the deadhead’s skull, blowing biter bits all over Capple.

  “Grab Leo,” I yelled to Rico. “He’s having another seizure.”

  Rico and I carried Leo back into the house, with Nonnie in tow, while Ferris and Capple cleared the yard, making sure we’d seen the last of the biters.

  If my neighbors hadn’t been awakened by the barking dogs, the crashing garbage cans, or the sound of breaking glass, the gunshot might have succeeded. But they’d seen and heard some weird shit at my house over the years. Two-to-one, they’d rolled over and gone back to sleep.

  We got Leo into the house and laid him on the kitchen floor. His muscles had stopped contracting, but the whites of his eyes had turned a sickly beige, and his irises, a golden yellow.

  “Nighthawk,” he rasped. “You look funny.”

  “It’s okay, Leo.” I held him and jabbed the medicine into his thigh. “Just relax. You should feel better any time now.”

  He lay in my arms, looking at the ceiling, tears welling in his eyes, no doubt wondering what muscle contractions and visual changes meant. It was probably better that neither of us knew.

  Misplaced or not, the anger that burned inside me exploded. I slid out from beneath Leo and jumped to my feet.

  “What the fuck were you thinking out there, Crapple?”

  “It’s Capple,” he said with a snarl. “You want to tell me what you mean by that?”

  I poked my finger in his face. “Nonnie moved faster than
you did. What the hell took you so long? You trying to get me killed?” I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “If you’re going to work with this team, you’d better get somethi...”

  The power cut off. I dropped to the floor and dragged Leo beneath the kitchen table, then pulled the chairs in as far as they’d go, to hide him.

  “Nonnie,” I whispered, “Crawl under here with Leo. And whatever happens, keep quiet.”

  “Wait,” she said, yanking open the cupboard door above the stove.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  She pulled out a giant box of quinoa and plunged her hand inside it. “A gift from my Mortie—God rest his soul. I bring when Leo tell me about zumbas. Just in case.”

  She slid her hand from the box, pulling out a .44 Magnum and a gallon-size baggie of ammo.

  God help the zumbas—and anyone else within range.

  Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed the cast iron skillet from the burner on the stove.

  “Now, I ready,” said Nonnie, the world’s only two-fisted zumba killer.

  While my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I heard Rico, Ferris and Capple scrambling for cover in the living room. Once they got into place, an expectant hush fell over the house.

  I crawled away from the table, feeling my heart beat quicken. With Leo and Nonnie hiding there, that was the last place I wanted to be when trouble started. But my options were limited. I crept across the room and hunkered down between the refrigerator and the stove.

  Spread out, in the dark, not knowing exactly where my guys were—that’s as dangerous as it gets. God help me if I took one of them out by accident.

  “Rico?” I called softly.

  “Here,” He said, raising his arm high enough for me to see that he was concealed behind the arm of the couch.

  Fingers drummed against the side of the entertainment center that held my fifty-two-inch pride and joy. “Over here,” Ferris whispered.

  “Here,” muttered Capple, followed by the unmistakable cocking of a gun.

  I followed the sound and choked back a laugh. Moonlight, streaming through the picture window, illuminated a lone drapery panel that stuck out a good eighteen inches further than the others.

  For the third time that evening, the sound returned: Thump…thump… Bam. Thump…thump… Bam.

  Sweat trickled down my forehead.

  Thump…thump… Bam. Again. And again. And again. Then more of the same sequence, faster, and over-running the sequence before, until the expectant hush that had filled the house, only minutes earlier, had been replaced with an incessant, relentless pounding.

  In one horrible moment of clarity, I realized what they were doing. They were trying to break down the doors.

  But, just as quick as the pounding started, it stopped. The four of us stepped out from behind our cover and silently huddled together, back to back, in the center of the living room, guns at high ready, peering into the darkness, waiting for whatever was coming.

  The kitchen door splintered and a corpsicle broke through. I fired, sending its head airborne. Another deadhead tumbled in behind it. And then another. And another. Then the picture window exploded and a tide of biters rushed inside.

  I brought Hawk to bear and wondered what it would be like to be eaten alive.

  30

  Gotcha!

  Capple, positioned closest to the picture window, fell in a matter of seconds, his screams nearly swallowed by the frenzy of the horde.

  Rico, Ferris and I fired into the scrum on top of Capple, but it was a waste of ammo. Capple’s screams had stopped almost as soon as they’d started. He was either dead, dying, or destined to turn.

  Headbutt, stationed at my feet, snapped and growled, spoiling for a fight. I worried for him. All heart and no brains, that dog. Whether it was one rotter, or dozens, made no difference to him. Headbutt would stand with me until the end—and take out more than his fair share of deadheads along the way.

  On the other hand, Kulu, whose cage had toppled during the onslaught, was nowhere to be seen. The cage door, now slightly bent and open, probably unlatched when it hit the floor. Kulu, bird of prey, would have to fend for herself. I was up to my eyeballs in rotters. And since she wasn’t in my line of sight, at least for the moment, she was out of the fray.

  For once, Leo and Nonnie did as they were told, and stayed hidden beneath the table.

  Deadheads tumbled into the house in waves, first the corpsicles, then the flesh-eaters, and finally, the freshies. The attack had a definable strategy. The first wave, corpsicles, were nothing more than expendable battering rams, their sole purpose being to gain access into the house.

  Once inside, they either continued on, or if too damaged by the initial impact, were overrun by the flesh-eaters. The freshies, the least decayed of the lot, struck last, moving quickly and at will.

  Was Dr. Christian seeing that same cooperative pack mentality in Europe?

  I fired one round, then two, then three. The closer they came, the faster I shot. And still, they came.

  Headbutt charged and sank his teeth into the foot of one of the corpsicles, its rotting muscles and tissue giving way instantly to the crush of his bite. Festering flesh peeled down its foot in jagged strips. With one last snap of Headbutt’s jaw, the zombie’s foot severed, coming loose in his mouth. The biter toppled over, but continued to pull itself across the floor, using only its hands.

  Kulu reappeared, swooping down with a screech, and proceeded to peck out the rotter’s eyes. She kept on drilling, too, until she hit brain matter.

  That’s my bird.

  Another deadhead advanced from the kitchen. I squeezed the trigger again but the gun misfired. The son of a bitch jammed. I racked the slide, chambering a new round.

  But the rotter was a freshy, quick and agile. It lunged forward, grabbed both my arms, and then threw me to the ground. I fired off balance, halfway to the floor and missed it completely.

  Shit. Bad time for my Ka-Bar to be holstered in my room.

  Headbutt went for its leg, but the rotter kicked him hard and sent him sailing.

  Bad move, meatbag. “Oh no, you did not just kick my dog.”

  “Ferris,” Rico screamed. “Help Nighthawk! I’ve got Leo.”

  Ferris, maybe twenty feet away, raised his Glock and took the head shot. But the biter moved, pouncing on me like I was a breakfast burrito, its dead eyes staring into mine, its death stink wafting up my nose.

  How many rounds do I have left?

  I pushed up on the rotter, putting as much distance as I could between it and me, and then closed my eyes. Please don’t be empty, I thought as I brought Hawk to bear, squeezing his trigger.

  Booyah, baby! Tango down. Nailed that sucker right in its temple. I’d have bragged about that kill for the rest of my life, if I wasn’t pretty sure I’d peed my pants.

  Ferris, now at my side, rolled the biter off me and pulled me to my feet.

  “Just how big are your balls?” he asked.

  “Bigger than yours.” I reached into my pocket to check for more mags and came up empty. “How many mags you got left?”

  “One.”

  I hollered over to my shoulder to Rico, “How many mags you got?”

  “Two.”

  “Ferris, watch my six,” I said, as I battled toward the kitchen.

  A corpsicle shambled straight for me with outstretched arms.

  “He’s mine,” I called to Ferris.

  Our ammo was dangerously low, no need wasting it. I sidestepped and threw a roundhouse to the biter’s head. It splatted like a leftover Halloween pumpkin.

  Two more bogeys attacked. Flesh-eaters. Their heads wouldn’t fly from a kick, so I squeezed Hawk’s trigger and prayed. But he was empty.

  Ferris took them both out, one-two, with his Glock.

  Having finally made it to the kitchen table, I bent down and yanked up the tablecloth.

  Click. The cold, hard steel of Nonnie’s .44 pressed against the bridge of my no
se.

  “Nooo,” I screamed, knocking her hand aside.

  The gun went off like a cannon and Nonnie fell over backwards, taking the table and chairs with her, wiping out the next wave of biters.

  “Give me that gun.” With a quick grab, and a twist of my wrist, I took it from her and handed it to Leo. “Whatever you do, don’t give this back to her or I’ll shoot you myself. Now, both of you, get behind me. Quick. We need to move.”

  Nonnie grabbed her skillet and scrambled to her feet, followed by Leo. They sandwiched themselves between Ferris and me. Headbutt remained at my side, ever loyal, snarling and snapping at the new wave of rotters as they advanced.

  I nodded to Ferris. “Help Rico take out the rotters, so we can move down the hall. My ammo’s in Leo’s bedroom. We can hold them off from in there.”

  Together, Rico and Ferris picked off the biters that blocked our path.

  I whaled on the ones behind us with a broken chair leg, to drop the backline of deadheads that charged us from the kitchen. One down. Two down. Then three. But they kept coming. And coming.

  One of the fallen corpsicles clambered back to its feet as we moved past it, and latched on to Nonnie’s left arm, pulling her dangerously close to its mouth.

  Nonnie screamed and powered through, with a deadly right skillet to its face. Its head exploded like a piñata, producing a spectacular spray of zushi.

  Another biter zeroed in on Nonnie.

  Leo pulled the .44 and aimed way too close to my head for comfort.

  If he was off an inch or two, I’d be the next corpse on the floor. I ducked.

  He fired, taking out the rotter, nearly losing his balance from the recoil.

  Nonnie caught him by the collar of his pajama top and we continued our push toward the hallway.

  “Kulu. Kuulluu.” Nonnie called.

  Damned if that bird didn’t come right to her and perch on her shoulder. What the hell was her secret? I couldn’t make that pissy little pecker-head take a drink of water if she was dying of thirst.

  The battle raged for what seemed like an eternity, although it was only a matter of minutes and most of our remaining bullets, until we cleared the hallway.