Live From the Scene of Death

by Nick Curry

  Part 7: My Saving Grace

  By Jordan Martin

  “Jordan, you have to help me, please,” Chloe begged. I wanted to hold her and comfort her. No matter how many times I would say “It’ll be alright,” and “We’ll be OK,” I’d never be convinced. Worse yet, I hesitated to move for the simple fact that my feet were stuck to the floor like they would in a movie theater.

  Except it wasn’t some loudmouth kid spilling his soda—it was Matt. Rhodes. At least one Dunbar… and they didn’t look like the first. Smaller hunks of more decayed flesh were strewn about Martha’s animated corpse of a body.

  Honestly, falling apart at the seams doesn’t cut it for her. She looked like she’d been dead for weeks and simply forgotten. The left side of her face gaped open, squishing pieces of skin and muscle out of it as she chewed. Her parchment skin was ashen and gray, and her legs were swollen from blood pooling around the clots formed after her heart stopped beating.

  Where she wasn’t painted red, thick black webs of vein crept under her skin, throughout her body Her gut was bloated to the point of rupture, spewing forth gobs of purple muck when she was able to keep a bite in her mouth long enough to swallow it.

  And yet her eyes still pleaded outwardly, unable to suppress some unworldly hunger that burned within. Her eyes met mine, and I felt my chest collapse upon itself. Icy tendrils of horror branched out from my heart, locking every muscle group I had.

  Martha gave a gurgle and a moan that rattled my ribcage, squeezing a shudder from my throat. A low growl grew from her, escalating to an ear-shattering screech. I staggered backward, feeling my feet peel from the floor with each step. Martha threw herself at me, rattling the chains and bringing them to their limit.

  “Jordan!” Chloe cried, “Look out!”

  Tearing my eyes away from the putrid gore, I spun hard on my left hip and found Harry trying to stand. He was breathing loud enough and hard enough that I could hear him over Martha’s grunts and slurping chews. He was disoriented, feeling around for something to support him.

  “The fuck—who the fuck hit me?” Harry growled.

  “Harry, what have you done?” I pleaded. Harry stopped, finally reaching one of the confinement fences opposite Chloe.

  “What would you have done, Jordan?” Harry asked, firm and low. “A bunch of those horrible bastards showed up out of nowhere—we had no idea any of this was even happening… She said they looked sick, and that she was trying to help them.”

  I glanced back to Chloe. She was on all fours, her face wet with tears. She shook hard, making her chains jingle.

  “Listen, Harry—“

  “No, you listen! That’s my wife! She gets bit one time, and my whole world is fucking gone!” Harry barked. He was hoarse and raw, his stomach caving in as he leaned his shoulders toward me to shout. He reeled back suddenly, pushing his fingers through his scraggly gray hairs and knocking his hat to the ground.

  “She bled out right in front of me… and I tried to wash my hands again and again, but it never came off. Eventually, I knew I had to call someone. But no one answered. No hospitals, no police… So I took it upon myself to make sure she was laid to rest.

  “I wrapped her up in a sheet and dragged her back here, behind the shed. Not three scoops into her grave, she started movin. Makin’ noise,” Harry said, his voice dropping into a whisper. “She’d come back to me.”

  “Jordan, we have to get out of here,” Chloe said, trying to contain her sobs.

  “Harry, I’m so sorry,” I said, mustering what sincerity I could.

  “She tried to bite me a few times, but never got a good one in without her dentures. Dryin’ her mouth out and super-gluein’ those in there was a son of a bitch, believe you me,” Harry said, almost with a giggle. My hands twisted around the branch I still carried.

  “Harry,” I said, as his gaze started to wander toward his wife, “Harry!” He snapped his head back to me, locking eyes. “Please, you have to let us go. This woman, here, she’s my wife, and I need to save her like you saved Martha.”

  “I can’t let that happen,” Harry cooed. “Martha’s eaten her fill, but I’m a growin’ boy still.”

  “What do you need us for?”

  “Them steaks you been eatin—you seen any cow bones around here, boy?” Harry grinned.

  An invisible fist sank deep into my sternum, blasting all the air from my chest and making a vacuum above my stomach. The branch clattered to the messy floor, as did I, spewing all of my insides out.

  “Tears down a few walls, don’t it? Ever since I tried it, Martha and I ain’t never been closer,” Harry whispered. “Jus’ you two hold still, and I’ll make it quick.” Several small clicks and pops arose as he lifted his assault rifle and cocked it.

  Vertigo and nausea convulsed through my torso, my diaphragm unable to decide if it wanted to help be breathe or vomit more. I shook violently, screaming at the floor to give me mercy. I wasn’t asking Harry, though. I was asking whoever’s poor soul I had eaten without knowing it.

  I deserved to die. There was no difference between me and the infected any longer. The muzzle of the rifle landed squarely on the top of my head, and I closed my eyes.

  Click.

  Click.

  “This fuckin’ thing jam?” Harry whispered. Blood erupted from Harry’s nose and mouth as the branch bludgeoned his face, spinning his head suddenly. He coughed and sputtered, and I felt my lungs fill with air once more. I had jerked to my feet.

  “You!” I screamed, rage giving fire to each of my strikes. “You son of a bitch!” The branch slammed into Harry’s sturdy body again and again, sometimes bringing forth loud cracks and shouts of agony. “You fed me people, you sick fuck!” My words trailed off into incoherent rambles, eventually unvoiced as I smashed his head into the concrete. I have no idea when he actually went unconscious.

  The splintered ruin of the branch scattered at my feet and around the old farmer below me. I fell to my knees once more, but this time I shed no tears. I kept my resolve. I patted Harry’s pockets until I found what I sought—a key.

  Small and silver, the keys glinted on a ring in the moonlight that edged into the door. I ran to Chloe and fumbled until I slid the right into the padlock that bound her neck, and the two at her wrists. The last shackle undone, she sprang forth.

  Her embrace nearly choked me, but I couldn’t think of any better way to go. Her sobs filled me with glee, as horrible as it may sound. Her sobs were here and now, with me.

  “Oh God, Jordan! I love you so much… I love you…”

  “I love you too, baby,” I said back to her, feeling suddenly self-conscious of my several weeks’ worth of body odor and lack of teeth-brushing. I must have been in shock.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, easing to my feet. Martha groaned loudly as I helped Chloe to her feet. I hadn’t noticed in the commotion, but she no longer seemed to be staring through a hollow scowl; something about her looked sad.

  “How?” Chloe asked. I went over my options. If I could find the keys for either the water truck or the gas truck, I didn’t want to drive either. Something about driving a huge tank of increasingly valuable fluid didn’t seem to bode well for if we made it anywhere with people, much less the driveability. If Harry had used the water truck to haul the bodies out here, they’d be thick with blood—a beacon for the infected.

  “Wait,” I thought aloud, “how did you get here?”

  “Jake helped me—when I couldn’t get a flight to Chicago, he got us a flight to Denver. We drove through here with an army escort, but got divided one night… Jake stayed with me, and kept me safe,” she said.

  “He was supposed to come here with me, too, but… He had been bitten the same night we lost the escort. He never told me, not until he knew he couldn’t keep going,” she said, tears continuing to pour forth.

  “How did you get here, though?” I asked, more insistent on the farm. I felt horrible having to be stern am
id the gruesome scene around us, but we couldn’t stop moving. Not yet.

  “Oh, sorry… We got a car, some SUV,” Chloe said.

  “Do you have the keys?” She patted down the front of her dirty pink shorts, and then her back pockets.

  “No—that old man hit me. He must have taken them,” she said.

  “Ok. He must have kept them inside,” I said, reaching for my back pocket and retrieving the grill lighter. “Let’s go.”

  Back inside the old, dark house, we fumbled about every last knick-knack on the blood-drenched floor. Coins. Rings. Even a watch or two popped up, but we found no keys. We passed through the living room, where Dunbar thankfully still laid dead, and continued up the stairs and past Arthur’s room.

  “I think his room’s back here—I never actually saw where he slept,” I admitted. She squeezed my hand tight, and I eased open the door at the end of the hallway.

  The painted white walls were tinged with yellow, and the reek of sweat and cigarette smoke was impossible to ignore. Stacks of overalls were bundled on either side of the bed, adorned with brown and gray sheets. It was still made perfectly.

  “Check that nightstand,” I said, pointing to the opposite corner of the room. Chloe carefully tiptoed around the corner of the bed to the nightstand at the same time I reached mine. We both began digging through the drawers.

  The back door creaked loudly, and banged closed with a slam.

  “Did you hear that?!” Chloe whispered, stifling a gasp. “Is it that old man?” Her voice shook. She quivered, and her knees gave out. It couldn’t be. He was dead—I felt his skull break. Someone was walking around below us.

  “Chloe,” I whispered back, climbing over the bed. She let her knees give, and she sunk into a slump in front of the night stand. “Chloe, you have to keep looking. Those keys are the only option we’ve got to get out of here.”

  “I can’t… I can’t!” she said loudly. “He’s not going to let us leave.”

  “I will take care of him, Chloe, but we can’t stop. Keep looking,” I said. She protested. I was scared, too, but I couldn’t let her see. The only thing more motivating than the paralyzing fear settling into my limbs was the idea that Chloe and I still had a chance to get out of here. Maybe we could even live a little longer, through all of this.

  “Keep focused, baby,” I said, but it was really aimed at the both of us. “We need to survive this.” Chloe sniffed hard and nodded. “We’re going to get out of this.”

  She put her hands on the ground and a small jingle rose. We both looked down at her hand, resting atop a small pile of keys. She flipped over onto her knees, scattering the keys out. She picked up each set one at a time, looking at them closely.

  “These are it!” she said.

  “You sure?” I asked. “We’ve gotta go.”

  “Oh,” she said, confused, “maybe these.”

  The thumping grew louder. There was more than one thing moving around downstairs.

  “They’ve both got remotes—hit the panic button on one,” I said. I handed her the lighter and rolled to the side of the bed I was looking at.

  Outside, a car horn beeped. It sounded like it was coming from near the barn. The drawer I searched had two handguns, and nothing else. I picked them up, and turned to Chloe.

  “This is it,” I said. I held out one of the guns. “Take this. Stay close behind me.”

  “I don’t know how to shoot one of these!” Chloe said. Me either, I thought.

  “Just point and squeeze the trigger,” I said, hoping she’d buy it. I burst out of the door, keeping the pistol aimed directly ahead of me. We walked through the upper hallway in short strides, peeking in the rooms. We crept down the stairs, each squeaking louder than the last.

  Two younger men were gathered around the younger Dunbar’s body, chomping messily through the thick uniform and bandages. I gave Chloe the finger-to-mouth quiet signal. We moved slowly from the bottom of the stairs, around the couch while they continued eating. They didn’t seem to notice us. Still, I held my breath. I didn’t hear Chloe breathing either.

  Gray blobs rimmed my vision with the strong pulse of my heart; my eyes were fixed on the pair in the living room, hoping their intentions didn’t turn to us. I stepped into the kitchen, feeling the familiar slick surface.

  Along with the chomping, another noise caught my attention—something like a scratch sponge rubbing the floor. Chloe handed me the lighter and I held it outward, casting light into the kitchen.

  A young girl, maybe twelve, was sprawled on the floor, lapping at the bloody vinyl. The flickering light caught her eye, and she lifted her face from the ground. A black socket gaped where her right eye once was, and her sundress was stained with her last meal. Several small holes perforated her right shoulder, leaving her arm hanging by few tendons.

  My lip hurt, and it finally registered that I was biting it. The lighter continued to flicker, and Chloe bumped into me.

  “What’s wrong?” Chloe said, turning around. She let out a slight whimper, following with “Jordan, you can’t…”

  “She’s gone already, Chloe. I have to,” I said. As I finished my sentence, the lighter blinked out. The little girl loosed a high pitched howl toward us, and I pulled the trigger. Three consecutive shots rang out, and she fell to the floor.

  “Jordan? Jordan?!” Chloe said, bumbling in the dark. I sparked the lighter twice before it took. “I’m behind you,” she said.

  “Chloe, get down!” I shouted. The two men in the living room stood behind her. She lunged forward, and I fired four rounds before the gun wouldn’t fire any more. The man on the right dropped, tangling into the other’s feet. He fell forward on to me, his teeth settling on my thick jeans.

  Sharp, horrible pains lit up my brain and I cried out, slamming the grip of the gun into the top of the man’s head. He persisted, twisting and jerking his head to liberate the meat. I broke the skin on his head, exposing his skull, but he didn’t give up.

  In just a moment, the denim would rip, and he’d have his meal.

  A loud report stunned me, and the man’s jaws came loose. He slumped onto the floor next to me, twitching on the ground.

  “Did he get you? Are you ok?” Chloe screamed, gun still pointed at him. I unzipped my pants and looked—the skin hadn’t broken. Purple and yellow clouds occupied the space under the indentation of his teeth.

  “No, I’m ok,” I said. I reached slowly, and put a hand on Chloe’s gun. She lowered it slowly, and then let go of it entirely. I tossed my empty gun to the floor, grabbed Chloe’s hand, and sprinted to the back door, stopping just short.

  A key rack hung on the wall. In spite of all things that happened, a chuckle emerged. I stuffed the different sets in my pocket.

  “Chloe, give me the keys,” I said. “Keep the door shut and stay inside.”

  “Why can’t I come with you?” she insisted.

  “I’ve only got one gun, and I can’t watch us both. Look around here—grab some supplies. Don’t touch anything that looks like steak, though.” Chloe nodded, then reached out and pressed her mouth into mine.

  “You come back to me,” she said.

  “We made it this far, right?” I smiled. “Don’t forget the water.” I gave her one last soft kiss, took the keys from her hand, then turned and left.

  Sprinting at breakneck pace across lumpy farm ground in pitch black wasn’t easy. I tripped twice, realizing I was more of a hazard to me than whatever waited in the woods, it seemed. Regardless, I pressed on, stopping just short of the shed.

  Glancing down at the gun in my hand, I thought about Martha. She was no immediate danger to me, but I didn’t want her to suffer further. Almost on cue, a loud moan came from within the shed. I kicked the door open hard, lifting my gun upward. Her chains jingled. I sparked the lighter.

  Harry lay in Martha’s arms, and she had torn deep into the flesh on his neck and chest. She devoured bite after bite in front of me, her blackenin
g skin newly coated with shimmering crimson. Harry hadn’t died by my hand—he crawled to hers.

  I left the shed behind me, chasing down the car horn through a clearing wide enough for a vehicle. The cooler air burst into my lungs with each exhausted breath as I finally reached the vehicle. In true Chloe fashion, a blue SUV sat before me. I silenced the alarm.

  Here’s hoping Chloe noticed it.

  The engine roared to life, and the headlights splashed light into the trees around me. They were alive with the dead, at least five in my sight. I sat the pistol on the seat and dropped into drive, doubling back to the house.

  “Chloe!” I shouted as I hopped out. “I’m here!”

  The back door burst open, and Chloe emerged with what looked like a heavy box, complete with several rolls of toilet paper on top. She carried the box to the passenger seat back door and plopped it down. She hopped in the front seat.

  “I have one other thing I need to do,” I said. “Wait right there.”

  “Jordan, we can just go! What is so important?” Chloe shouted, sounding more frustrated than scared.

  “I’ll be right there,” I said, looking at her eyes. “I promise.” She took the keys from my hand and started the engine. I turned and headed back toward the house, but avoided the back door entirely. This was my moment where I left a legacy. A saving grace.

  This farm brought nothing but death and despair to those who touched it. If the rest of the world is burning, it will, too.

  The rubber hosing from the side of the gas truck was much heavier than I anticipated, but I still managed to lug it to the side of the house with plenty of slack to spare. Taking aim on a window, I hurled the hose as hard as I could, smashing through and into the house. Offering no resistance, the valve spun open and the hose filled with gasoline. I charged back around the corner and into the house once more, ready to finish this.

  The nozzle on this hose wouldn’t dispense without being first hooked into something. Keeping my lighter steady, I took aim at the hose and fired three rounds. It ruptured, spraying gas everywhere, even onto my shirt. I released the lighter button immediately and stepped back from the fountain.

  My shirt tore as I pulled it off, but I didn’t care. I didn’t need it anymore. Holding the lighter’s flame to the fibers, the sleeve caught fire and burned on the floor as the hose continued dumping gas on the floor and counters. I marched out the back door for the last time, and into the blue SUV.

  Chloe and I said nothing, only looking forward into the eastern sky as bright orange and yellows began to light the sky. Chloe sipped on a jug of water, and then offered it to me. I took it and drank greedily, soaking in the familiar taste of the iron-tinged well water. It had never been more delicious.

  We pulled out of the driveway as the fire began to consume the house, the flames licking the sky as they tore through the wreckage of death and destruction. We left with the house in our rearview mirror, not knowing where to go next.

  “I can’t believe I found you,” I said. “Chloe, I’m so sorry I couldn’t come for you—“

  “Don’t,” she interrupted. “You had no control over this.” Looking back, she was right… but I still wondered if I could have tried to go to her. Not let her go Washington in the first place. Not just waited for her to arrive.

  “We’re ok, right?” I asked.

  “Your beard isn’t,” she joked. I smiled, tears forming around my eyes.

  “Ok, ok. First thing we do is find me a razor,” I quipped back. Her eyes were bloodshot and barely open. “Baby, you look exhausted.”

  “I am exhausted,” she replied. Her eyelids fluttered, and she took another big swig of the water jug. I took a swig when she was finished, leaving it nearly half-empty.

  No, no. Half-full.

  “Goodnight, baby… wake me when we get there,” Chloe said, trailing into a yawn.

  “Goodnight,” I whispered, unable to stop the infectious yawn. The seat felt suddenly comfortable like no other car seat had. As much as I wanted to run from the farm, I now wanted to sleep, especially with her.

  Within two miles, I could feel myself slipping. It wasn’t just tired—something was nagging in my head, like I’d forgotten something. Something important. I needed to stop, or we would crash. The car settled slowly, and I put it in park and killed the engine. The lock switch clicked loudly, and my head flopped back into the cushy seat.

  The midday sun glared into the windows, the inside of the car roasting. I gasped for air, starting the engine and cranking the AC. Chloe, though drenched in sweat, seemed not to notice, and continued snoring softly. The cool air rushing through the vents soothed my feverish skin, and the rest made me feel more awake and alert than I had in a while. I lifted the jug from the floor and pulled a deep guzzle from it.

  I looked over at Chloe. She was smiling, even in her sleep. Her porcelain skin was vibrant white under her dark hair, exposing every last vein in her neck and face. Her eyes moved under the lids, and her hands were folded between her crossed legs as her head rested against the door. Even now, covered in dirt, blood, and sweat, I’d never seen something so beautiful.

  My hand found its way to her hip, rousing her gently from her sleep. Her skin was burning hot to the touch; each of her muscles flexed hard. She adjusted her hips to sit more upright, unclenching her hands from her thighs. Her arms wavered, trying to catch her balance. I reached out to her, feeling her burning skin once more.

  “Chloe?”

  She murmured back, but her voice was raspy and unintelligible.

  “Chloe!” I shouted. Her eyes blinked open, exposing the yellow crusted corners. She looked confused. Disoriented.

  Infected.

  Her arms flopped down to the seat, and her left fist released. A small, bright red lid sat plainly in her thinly veined palm. The jug, still in my hand, sloshed as my hand shook. I lifted it to my face, gazing into it. Clouded and riddled with sediment, the water swirled within.

  I remembered what I’d forgotten earlier. “Red is dead,” Harry had told me.

  Harry asked me what I would do in this situation. There I was, thinking I’d never have to answer him.

  Chloe slumped, unconscious. I looked carefully at her, studying her movement. The color she had left pulsed with her heart, gradually slowing. My breath felt hot against my hand as I covered my mouth, unable to stop the building sobs in my chest.

  I wiped my eyes and face, smearing around the disgusting fluids my face produced.

  The other gun had seven rounds before it was empty. I’d already shot six times. I looked from my gun to her chest, slowly rising and falling with what looked like too much exertion. As if pulled by some invisible string, she convulsed forward at her collar bone. Her ribcage quivered and shook with her.

  I pressed the barrel deep into her temple, pinning her to the door to keep her head still amid her trembling body.

  “It’s going to be ok,” I said. I think I actually believed it, this time. She never heard the gun fire.