by Bryan Smith
The original crowd of mourners they had offended had since dispersed, but now there was a new group of black-clad unhappy people gathered around another tombstone. This service was occurring in a direct path to the bus. He started screaming and waving his hands as he drew closer to them. The mourners turned toward the sound with an array of puzzled and angry expressions. But those expressions gave way to abject terror as they got a load of the horror rushing toward them.
“Get out of here!” he screamed at them. “Run! Run for your fucking lives!”
These apparently were not stupid people because they almost instantly abandoned the grave of the dearly departed family member and ran for their fucking lives. They scattered in several directions, evidently seeking the safety of their respective automobiles. Which was fine with Darby. It meant the path ahead was clear again. Darby hardly slowed down as he reached the bus, leaping through the open door and up the stairs to grab hold of the snoozing driver.
The driver was a heavy woman in a khaki uniform. She snorted and looked around in confusion as she came awake. “Wha . . .?”
“Sorry.”
Darby hauled her out of her seat and heaved her through the open door. Her cry of surprise and fright was cut off as she hit the ground. Darby stared through the door and saw he had maybe thirty yards on the advancing horde of cheerleaders and zombies. No time to waste. Luckily, the key was in the ignition. Darby dropped into the driver’s seat and worked a lever that closed the door. Then he turned the key and the engine sputtered to life. A glance through a window showed that the leading edge of the horde had cut the distance between it and the bus in half the time it took him to accomplish these things. Time was just about out. He was gonna have to run over some of these assholes.
He worked the gearshift and stomped on the gas pedal as he cranked the steering wheel, turning the long vehicle in an awkwardly sharp angle. The wheels of the bus bumped over a curb and rolled over a flat tombstone. He heard voices screaming at him and hands slapping against the sides of the bus. The bus bounced again as a body—cheerleader or zombie, he wasn’t sure which—fell beneath one of the tires. There were meaty thumps as other bodies collided with the bus. Then he had the bus turned around and pointed back down the long drive leading toward the distant cemetery gates. He put the gas pedal to the floor and glanced at the rearview mirror. He winced at the sight of several bodies lying flat on the ground. Many were zombies, but some were cheerleaders. And the pursuit had not been abandoned. Many of the zombies were still staggering after the bus. He wasn’t worried about them. They were too slow. But the cheerleaders were another matter. They were fast. Unnaturally fast. He grimaced when he saw Lexie at the head of the pack, moving faster than any of them. Of course. Why would it be any other way? Her bloodied face was a mask of fierce concentration.
Darby gulped.
That bitch is plain gonna kill me if she catches up to me.
A change of plans was in order. There was only one thing he could think to do. He could only hope Lexie was still far enough behind him that he could pull it off effectively. He kept the gas pedal all the way down, even when the bus occasionally clipped other cars parked along the side of the narrow road. His gaze kept nervously flicking back and forth from the rearview mirror and the speedometer. When the needle crested sixty mph, he looked at the mirror one more time and decided he was going fast enough to make it happen. Lexie was very far ahead of the pack now. They all had super satanic powers of strength and speed, but she was clearly more powerful than any of the others. Maybe more powerful than all the rest of them combined.
Darby’s foot came away from the gas pedal.
And his other foot jammed down on the brake.
Something slammed into the back of the bus, hitting it with enough force to cause it to skid ahead faster. Darby looked at the rearview mirror again and saw Lexie facedown on the ground. It was as he’d hoped. She hadn’t expected him to stop. And she hadn’t quite been ready to pounce. So her unstoppable forward momentum had caused her to hit the rear of the bus at full speed. He kept his gaze on the mirror a few moments longer. She still wasn’t moving. An impact like that would have killed any normal girl instantly, but Darby knew he couldn’t count on her being dead. Lexie was no normal girl, after all. But she was definitely down for the count, at least for the moment. Knowing she might not remain that way long, Darby faced forward and hit the gas again. In a few more moments he was speeding out of the cemetery.
As he sped down the street that ran parallel to the cemetery, he glanced at the mirror a few more times. There was still no sign of further pursuit. So immense was his jubilation at his narrow escape that he didn’t see the truck passing through the intersection ahead of him until it was nearly too late. The bus clipped the back end of the 18-wheeler and went skidding out of control. The wheel spun out of his hands as the big vehicle bounced over a curb and barreled through the parking lot of a convenience store. The side of the building loomed before him and he realized what was about to happen too late to do anything about it. The bus struck the building with great force, smashing a hole through concrete cinderblocks. Darby had the air blasted out of his lungs as he was thrown against the steering wheel. He fell awkwardly back into the seat, crying out in pain. He didn’t feel like moving, but knew he couldn’t just stay there. The police would have questions he couldn’t answer. He might even have to go to jail. And that was assuming the law would get here before the cheerleaders.
He was much more afraid of the fucking cheerleaders.
He worked the lever to open the door and heaved himself out of the driver’s seat, groaning in agony again as he did so. He had probably cracked another rib or two—at least—in the crash. Something else he could worry about later—if there was a later.
A crowd had gathered around the bus. He guessed some of them were owners of cars the bus had demolished en route to its rendezvous with the side of the building. One of them was a store employee. A middle eastern dude in a turban and a Kwik-Mart shirt. In his delirium, Darby knocked the man’s turban off his head, further enraging him. He screamed at Darby and gesticulated wildly, jabbing a finger in his face repeatedly.
Darby winced. “I swear, man, that wasn’t racist. I’m just not in my right head right now.”
He scanned the rest of the crowd.
Pretty much everybody here hated his guts. He guessed he couldn’t blame them, but they didn’t understand the bigger picture—a bigger picture that was coming up fast behind them.
Darby lifted his chin. “Dude, behind you.”
The store employee snorted. “I’m not falling for that, asshole.”
“Seriously. Behind you. Fuck this shit, man.”
They were maybe a hundred yards down the street.
But they were gaining ground.
Fast.
The cheerleaders and the zombies. He didn’t see Lexie with them. So maybe she was dead after all. That could be a good/bad kind of deal. Good in the sense that she had been the biggest threat. Bad in pretty much every other sense. If she was dead, the rest of these psycho Satan worshippers would want some payback.
Which basically meant his ass.
A commotion arose in the street and the store employee reluctantly turned away from Darby to check things out. His posture changed at the sight of the onrushing horde. No longer aggressive—and apparently no longer at all concerned with Darby and the damage he’d caused to his store—he took off running.
Darby figured this was a wise move so he did the same.
The first thing he did was to put the bus between himself and the approaching horde. There was a tree-dotted hill behind the convenience store. Darby climbed the hill and pushed through the stand of trees, emerging into a residential area. He staggered into the parking lot of an apartment complex much larger than the one where he lived with Lacy. He could hide here, if he could convince someone to let him into their apartment. That didn’t seem likely, but maybe he could steal a car. The complex was comp
rised of several buildings. He’d wended his way into the heart of it by the time he finally spied someone getting out of their vehicle. A middle-aged woman stood at the back of her black SUV. The rear door stood open and she was reaching inside for something. He approached her as stealthily as he could. Which wasn’t very stealthily at all, given his beaten-up condition. She sensed him coming and whirled toward him before he could reach her. In her hands was a big wire cage.
The cage was swinging in an arc toward his head.
Inside the cage were . . . two fluffy bunnies.
Aw, shit.
The cage struck his head and knocked him to the ground. The woman started kicking him as the cage hit the parking lot pavement and the door to the cage sprang open. The bunnies emerged from their wire prison and chittered excitedly as they hovered curiously near his head.
Fucking bunnies. Go away, assholes.
Meanwhile, the woman was still kicking him repeatedly. “Teach you to mug somebody, you fucking filth! You scum.” The toe of her shoe drove into his already very tender abdomen yet again. “You’re nothing but human garbage. You’re—”
Enough of this shit.
Darby rolled away from the woman before her next kick could connect. He felt something soft squeal beneath him and realized he’d rolled over one of the bunnies.
Oops.
The woman was screaming louder than ever now and was yelling for someone to call the police.
Darby started running again. By now, he’d gotten turned around and had no idea where he was going. Every building in the complex looked exactly the same. For all he knew, he was heading right back toward the convenience store. Which meant he might well be delivering himself into the arms of the avenging cheerleaders. The prospect should have terrified him, but he was suddenly finding it hard to care. He was tired and he was in pain. A lot of fucking pain. It might be easier all around to just let them have him. They were clearly relentless. They would have him sooner or later anyway.
But then he staggered around the corner of yet another building and saw a street. It was not the same street where he’d crashed a bus into a convenience store. He saw other businesses. More convenience stores and fast food restaurants. An auto garage. He limped out to the sidewalk and watched the cars going by in opposite directions.
A 70’s era Firebird pulled to a stop at the curb. An attractive blonde woman in sunglasses peered out at him. “Need a ride?”
Darby just stared at her for a long moment.
All the day’s madness and carnage had started with a very similar question asked by another very attractive woman. What was it with random gorgeous babes suddenly wanting to give him rides all the time? Somehow that shit had never happened much at all before.
The woman slid the sunglasses down her nose a little and squinted at him. Her eyes were a breathtaking shade of sky-blue. “What’s wrong with you? Are you mute?”
“Am I what?”
“Mute. And never mind. Do you need a ride or what?”
Darby considered the question a moment longer. Then he said, “You don’t worship Satan, do you?”
She laughed. “What kind of crazy-ass question is that?”
Darby didn’t say anything.
Either she worshipped Satan or she didn’t. Either way, he was about out of other options. He circled the car, opened the door on the passenger side, and got in.
She smiled again and pushed the sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose. “Where to, handsome?”
Darby told her where he lived.
“That’s close. We’ll be there in no time.”
“Appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
Darby expected her to chatter at him non-stop, but she stayed silent for most of the ride. For which he was immensely grateful. He didn’t feel like talking. And he sure as shit couldn’t explain what he’d been through today in a way that wouldn’t make him sound like an escaped mental patient.
Then there was a loud thump from the back of her car.
Darby frowned.
The thump came again. Actually, a series of thumps.
Thump-thump-thump.
This was followed by a muffled cry for help.
Darby’s head swiveled slowly to the left. “What, um . . . is that?”
The blonde kept her gaze on the road. “My husband. He’s in the trunk.”
“Why?”
“He’s been bad. He hit me.”
“Oh. Well. Are you gonna kill him?”
“Yeah.”
Darby sighed.
Awesome.
“Will you help me do it?”
Darby looked at her again. “Could you just take me to my apartment? I’ve kind of been through a lot of shit today. I ain’t up to participating in a murder.”
The blonde shrugged. “Guess I can understand that.”
“Yeah. Thanks for . . . understanding.”
Her handbag was wedged into the space between the seats. She dipped a hand inside it and pulled out a pistol. She clutched the pistol in her lap as she continued to navigate her way through the city streets. She glanced at Darby as they stopped at a red light. “Maybe I should put you in the trunk, too.”
Darby looked at the gun. Then he looked at the woman’s smiling face. Should a woman bent on killing her husband smile so much? It didn’t seem right. “Look, I don’t care what you do with your husband. Kill him. Fuck it. I’ve just, you know, like I said, been through a lot of shit and I just wanna get home and get really fucked up and then sleep for about eighteen hours.”
The thumping from the trunk resumed.
The blonde laughed. “I can see you’ve been through some shit. You’re all bruised and bloodied. It’s part of why I stopped. You wanna know something?”
“Not really.”
She ignored him. “That’s not really my husband in the trunk.”
Darby sighed again. “I don’t care if you have the fucking pope in your trunk.”
“I’m a serial killer.”
Darby laughed. “Of course you are.”
“What’s funny?”
Darby shook his head. “Oh . . . pretty much everything.”
She stared at him for a long moment as the light turned green. Angry motorists stalled behind the Firebird laid on their horns. The blonde’s expression was thoughtful. “You’re a weird guy.”
“You’re a weird chick.”
She put the gun back in her handbag and drove on through the intersection. “I guess maybe I won’t put you in my trunk.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll have to find someone else, of course.”
He snorted. “Obviously.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence. The blonde guided her Firebird to a stop at the same street corner where the bus full of satanic cheerleaders had picked him up earlier in the day. She leaned over in her seat and studied the building where he lived for a second or two before looking at him again. “This where you live?”
“Nope.”
She laughed. “Liar.”
“Well . . . I’m getting out now. Thanks for the ride.”
“You’re welcome.”
He got out of her car and stepped up to the curb. Before he could go, she called out to him. “Hey, handsome?”
He knelt at the waist to peer in at her. “Yeah?”
“Be seeing you.”
She hit the gas and the Firebird peeled away from the curb. Darby watched her go, staying right there on the corner until her car disappeared in the thicker traffic further down the road. There was one cigarette left in his pack. He smoked it to the filter, scanned the street for signs of impending satanic doom, and saw only the usual urban chaos. He flicked the filter aside and returned to his apartment.
Lacy was sitting cross-legged in front of the sofa in the living room. Her bong was on the floor beside her and she had a video game controller clutched loosely in her hands. Her eyes were glassy. The air inside the apartment was thick with the pungent o
dor of chronic. The good stuff. She was high as fuck.
She acknowledged him with a woozy grunt as he sat down beside her.
He picked up the bong and her lighter and helped himself to a hit.
“Lacy?”
Her head turned slowly in his direction. “Yeah?”
Another burble of bong water before he replied. “We have to move.”
She nodded slowly. “Cool. Whatever.”
“Like, I’m thinking maybe today would be a good time to do it. I’ll just pile some shit in the car and we’ll take off. What do you say?”
“I can dig it.”
He frowned. He was surprised. “Really?”
She smiled and snuggled up against him. “Yeah, really. I’ve always said you needed to more spontaneous. Take chances. That’s what life’s all about, baby. About time you figured that out.”
Darby laughed.
And laughed some more.
A little later that day they were on their way to another town.
THE RESTLESS CORPSE
AUTHOR’S NOTE: An EC-comics/Creepshow kind of tale.
LINCOLN “LINK” BOOTH WAS DEEP into a 12-pack of Bud when he started hearing the racket from down in the basement. The first thing he heard was a loud crash. This was followed by a clatter of things being thrown around. His heart almost stopped upon first hearing these things. These were impossible sounds. There was no one in the basement. He knew that for a stone-cold fact. No one capable of raising that kind of ruckus, anyway.
He nonetheless hit the mute button on the TV and perked up his ears, turning his head in the direction of the kitchen as he waited to hear any additional noise. Close to a full minute elapsed before he let out the breath he’d been holding. What he’d heard was probably only his imagination. It’d been a stressful day, after all. You couldn’t blame a guy for being jumpy or prone to hearing phantom sounds after the things he’d been through today. And on the off-chance the noise wasn’t a product of jittery nerves, it didn’t necessarily signal anything sinister or troubling. It was possible he’d bumped into one of the many crowded shelves down there the last time he was in the basement, which had been earlier this afternoon. He might have jarred something which had only just now gone crashing to the floor.