by Jack Flacco
Ranger swallowed the last of his meal and threw the wrapper on the floor, “You can have the last one.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, walked passed Matty through the front door of the station.
Before long, Jon ran after his new hero. Matty tagged along, pulling her knapsack around her shoulders. Outside, she purposely fidgeted with the straps, not wanting to appear anxious of seeing what Ranger would do next.
As he packed his truck with fertilizer packages from the side of the pumps, Ranger took a moment and glanced over his shoulder at the dead corpse covered in green goo. A smile danced across his face in amusement. His handiwork.
“About your name?” Jon jumped on the side of the rusted truck and waved his tiny hand in his hero’s face.
Ranger picked Jon from his armpits and pried him from the truck, placing his small feet on the ground. “My momma called me that ‘cause she didn’t know whose I was—my daddy’s or the trailer park ranger’s.”
“I guess you weren’t your dad’s.” Matty answered.
Ranger grinned at Matty’s quick wit. Jon had a glazed look. Matty asked, “Jon, can you get me another chocolate and peanuts bar?”
“But you’re right there.”
“Jon?” she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.
“Fine.” He stomped away, disappearing into the station.
When Ranger finished organizing the fertilizer packages into the truck, he filled the six red plastic canisters he had on hand with gasoline from the pump. “Where are you kids from?”
With her hands still crossed over her chest, Matty stood her ground, “I would appreciate it if you kept your personal anecdotes to yourself. My brother doesn’t need any more drama in his life.”
Ranger hauled the gasoline canisters one at a time into the back of the truck, “I guess you didn’t mind when I blew away that thing that wanted to make your brother a meal,” he nodded his head to the green mess by the door.
She uncrossed her arms and bowed her head, “Thank you. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful for what you did. I’m only trying to keep Jon from growing up too soon. I know it’ll happen eventually and there’s not much I can do about it, but I would like for him to enjoy being a kid, at least for now.” She approached him. “We’re from the Boston area.”
“Oklahoma City.” He pointed to his RedHawks baseball cap and continued to load the truck with gas canisters.
She noticed the many packages of fertilizer in the back of the truck. “Are you planning on seeding a football field?”
“Something like that.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say I’m planning on making the world a better place to live.”
She smiled then tossed a glance over her shoulder to the front door of the station, “Jon should be here by now.”
Ranger turned pale and became as stone. The words seeped into his brain one at a time coming together in pieces.
They stared at each other and dropped everything to run into the station.
* * *
In the candy aisle of Peggy’s Gas Station, time had frozen. Jon stood in the middle as an ice sculpture caught in a pose with its hand on a chocolate bar. Twenty feet away, near the entrance to the restrooms, one of the undead rocked back and forth, seething at the mouth. Drool ran from its rotting jaw and dripped to the floor. Twenty feet in the opposite direction from Jon, Matty and Ranger stood by the front entrance, weapons at the ready. In the old west gunfighters had postured the same way hoping their stances would agitate their enemy enough to scare them off. In those days, one survived. One did not. Unlike gunfighters though, Ranger had a Mossberg 500 shotgun whose spread could cause a wide range of damage, including hurting or killing Jon.
“Stay here.” Ranger said to Matty, slowly pulling the fore-end of the shotgun until it snapped, loading a shell in the chamber.
The vile beast’s ears tingled at the sudden noises of Ranger’s gun. A sway set off its motion and propelled it forward, staggering in Jon’s direction. Jon trembled and sweat beaded from his scalp trickling along the side of his cheek. His stomach cramped and his feet felt glued to the floor. The beast had another ten feet before making Jon its predawn snack.
Death didn’t have to wait long. A gun blast tore through the zombie’s skull splashing its turquoise brain matter all over the floor behind it. The blast did not come from Ranger’s companion, but from Matty’s smoldering silver Colt .45 held firm in both hands. With the back of its head missing, the creature wafted for a moment then collapsed as a rag doll would in a playpen.
“Whoa.” Ranger holstered his shotgun as if he’d seen the most beautiful thing happen in the whole world.
“We’re even.” Matty announced, hiding her weapon from where it came.
“We’re even?” he laughed through his words at her declaration.
“You didn’t think you could hit it from where you stood, did you?”
Their conversation continued as they made their way to check on Jon.
“I could have hit it.” Ranger brushed his fingers through his hair and reseated his cap.
“What about the spread? You would have hit it and Jon at the same time.” She cradled her arm around Jon’s shoulders, bringing him in for a hug.
“I would have moved.” Jon said.
“You would not have!” She squeezed him.
“I would.”
“No way.”
Right when everything seemed to have settled down, Ranger spotted another of the undead growling from the doorway to the restrooms, the same area from where the first one had appeared. This one couldn’t wait. It charged toward them with a vengeance. Locomotive speed prompted Ranger to whip out his weapon, pull the trigger and let off a round into the oncoming evil. No effect. The gun’s blast spread too wide.
“See!” Matty hollered, still holding Jon in her arms.
“Damn.” Ranger pulled Matty’s gun from her back, aimed the weapon and discharged a round into the zombie’s vermin-filled head, dropping it on the spot.
“Are you okay?” Matty asked Jon.
“I don’t care what my sister says,” Jon looked up at his newfound idol, “I think you could have killed the first one from where you were standing.”
Chapter 3
A jolt coursed through his thin, emaciated body shocking the teen awake. He tossed his head from side to side as if he wanted to unscramble the contents of his brain. Where am I? Darkness surrounded him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Shivers ran from the bottom to the top of his spine. When he arose and attempted to find his balance, dizziness pushed him backward on his dilapidated bed. The dingy jail cell five did not forgive him. The bars laughed at him. He grimaced as he rose again holding the bedpost with his left hand. Once standing, he brought his shaking right hand to the back of his head. If he massaged it enough he believed the pounding headache would disappear. Silly boy, he had a lot to learn. The teen scanned the grimy walls, ceiling and floor. Light emanating from the corridor caught his attention.
He couldn’t remember how he got in the cell. Who am I? He wiped his nose with his sleeve. The stench of his clothes seeped into his nostrils. Panic flooded his brain making his throat tight to swallow. A cold sweat covered his forehead. He panted. Another whiff of the wretched stink penetrated his sinus cavities. It’s all it took. He dropped to his hands and knees and vomited into a corner of the cell. It stopped as fast as it’d started. He wiped his mouth with the front of his shirt. When he rose, he filled his lungs with air and pressed his face against the bars.
The empty, dank corridor tempted him with a smidgen of a light.
“Hello?” he shook the bars of the cell with his hands. “Is there anyone there?”
No one answered. The hair on his arms quivered from standing barefoot on the cold floor. He needed shoes and a fresh change of clothes. The corridor beckoned him to explore.
“Hello?” he called out again.
Still no answer. The stink of rotting flesh rolled in the air causing the tee
n to turn away and cup his nose in his hands. He leaned his back against the bars and examined the barren wall in front. It stared at him like an empty canvas. He wondered why his mind felt the same way. Blank. Vacant. And unfilled. He knew one thing: he needed to get out of there. No food, no water, he’d surely die. He swung around and jumped on the cross section of his cage. With his whole body he tugged at the bars but they would not budge. He rattled, shook, and pulled but they would not budge. He hopped to the floor, two feet from the bars and ground his teeth. With one last determined effort, he screamed, charged and pushed sideway at the door. His eyes burst from their sockets. The door slid open with ease. Freedom!
A dim light flickered from the end of the corridor and painted the surroundings with a green hue. The teen stepped from the doorway and hugged the side of the cold concrete wall opposite his cell. He crept left toward the light.
“Hello?” he called out a third time. A rustling above his head shook him. It sounded near and far away, like scratching. The teen shook the noises from his ears and concentrated on the goal ahead. Finding answers felt more real as he got closer to the light.
When he reached the end of the corridor, a solid metal door barred his entrance to the next area. The rustling above his head stopped. The flicker from the light reflected off the door and beckoned him to keep going. He froze, turning the handle slowly until the door creaked halfway. He snuck his head through the crack and his body followed. A slight sigh escaped his lips in a smooth stream. He was safe.
The room had functioned as a guard station at one time when prisoners were shuttled to and from their cells. Beside a stack of boxes on the left, a coffeemaker rested on a small table. The bowl had a dry, black crust caked on the inside. Papers and chairs lay strewn over the floor. Desks ran along the side of the four walls. Some broken, some toppled over. The lights flickered here too, rendering the room a pale green.
The boy inspected the room and found a rusty key on a hook screwed to a corkboard on the wall nearest the door. The key held secrets, he thought. He removed it and kept a tight fist around it. His posture suddenly changed from a slight hunch to a straight line. The teens blue eyes and brown hair regained some color. He needed to find out where the key belonged. For now, his attention diverted to the clothes he found on top of a desk in the corner of the room furthest from the door. He tried on a coat but the sleeves were too short. The boots didn’t fit him either; they were too large. His reflection from a standing mirror on the desk mocked him. He felt like an idiot. He dumped the clothes.
That’s when he noticed the panel of switches with numbers above the desk. It didn’t take him long to figure out the numbers corresponded with the cells in the corridor. A bank of compartments in the wall next to the panel also had assigned numbers. His head sank into his right hand as his brain tossed numbers around hoping to remember the cell he came from. The only memory he had, really. Five, five stuck in his mind. Scanning the compartments, he drifted to compartment number five. Grabbing hold of the wooden door, he pulled it to find clothes, shoes, and an envelope with other personal effects.
Shedding his torn jail rags, he dressed into jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of sneakers, which perfectly fit his lean body. He dropped the key he’d found into his front right pocket. The envelope remained. At first, he didn’t touch it. He concentrated on the nasty rumblings coming from his empty stomach instead. But he needed answers, and the envelope, he thought, contained those answers. He snatched the envelope from the compartment and read the label: Property of Katlyn County Jail. Good, now he knew his location, wherever Katlyn County is. He tore the lip, dug deep and fished out a snakeskin billfold. It contained a student card for Jessum High School with his face and name emblazoned over it, Randy Morrow. Randy. Morrow. Randy. His name was Randy. Hallelujah!
More rummaging through the wallet produced an Arizona state driver’s license and some cash. At most, Randy had a few bucks, not as much as he had hoped. He also found a photo of a white house in the middle of a neighborhood. It had a white fence and a car sat parked outside the garage. Unsure of the location, he slipped the photo back into the wallet and slid the wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. He patted it, feeling it belonged there. Next, there was the small matter of escaping. He had a good idea of what to do.
Randy slowly approached a large iron door in the far corner of the room, left of the compartments. He placed his right hand on the surface and quickly pulled it away. A shiver ran along his arm all the way up the back of his neck. After a moment of rubbing his hands together, he tried again. His right hand went on the door and his left jostled the handle. It wouldn’t move. The door remained secured from the inside with a deadbolt. He’d assumed the door would have been open like the door he used to enter the room.
At first Randy shook his head, but then slid his hand into his right front pocket to pull out the key he had protected for so long. Without even thinking, he inserted it into the deadbolt and it made a snug fit. Turning the lock, Randy pulled the door open to reveal a long hall. Drab, faded paint and a large grime-filled window provided the sullen look as another dim light glowed at the end of the hall.
Randy’s senses went up. He didn’t know what to make of it, but felt a sudden urge to lock the door. Perhaps the long hall had some meaning to him he hadn’t quite discovered yet. The rustling he once heard overhead the last time he called out “hello?” came again, this time louder. Murmurings drifted from the hall into Randy’s ears. They were the kind of murmurings that slowed his breathing and prevented him from moving. He had to move though. His body began to shake as he crept backward. At the mouth of the threshold, he allowed the door to creak in place and locked it, taking away the key.
As soon as it had shut, a subtle drag echoed from behind the solid iron entry. At first, it sounded soft. It grew louder as Randy edged his ear closer. The thrashing continued until it stopped. Randy’s heart raced, as terror filled his eyes. He leaned into the door.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
* * *
Ranger finished loading the gas canisters into the back of his pickup when he heard Matty calling Jon from the front door of Peggy’s Gas Station. “C’mon, we gotta go.”
“Where’re you kids headed?” Ranger pulled a rag from his right back pocket and wiped his hands clean.
“North.” Matty pointed to the empty, dark desert.
“That a fact? Where’s your ride?” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the dirty rag.
“Oh, any minute now,” she fumbled with her words and knocked on the window of the station. “Any minute—Jon, c’mon!”
They played the game. Matty and Jon needed a ride but she had too much pride to admit it, and Ranger wanted to see how long it would take before Matty asked.
When Jon burst through the door with his knapsack in hand, he knew where he belonged. His instinct pulled him to walk past Matty and hop into the passenger side of Ranger’s rusty ol’ pickup.
Matty turned bright red. She hid her face in her hands. After a moment, she marched to the truck. “Jon? What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m getting ready to leave.”
“We can’t go with him.”
“Why not?”
She popped her head into the truck and whispered while Ranger strained to listen in on the conversation. “We haven’t been asked.”
“He’s right over there, ask him.”
Ranger quickly turned and faced in the opposite direction. He pinched his lips to keep from snickering.
“I’m not going to ask him. It’s rude.”
“Hey, Ranger?” Jon poked his head from inside the cab, “Can we come with you?”
That did it. Ranger couldn’t hold on any longer. He let out a loud, bellowing laugh.
“Jon!” Matty scolded him.
“Are you kidding? No way would he leave us out here to die in the middle of nowhere. Isn’t that right, Ranger?”
He coughed his laugh away, plopped his left arm over the
edge of the truck and leaned against it. “Of course I wouldn’t. Someone had to save those maggot bags from Matty’s fury. Where are you headed anyway?”
“Where are you headed?” Jon asked.
Matty stood there shaking her head as if she didn’t exist.
“I’m heading north. You’re more than welcome to tag along. I’m sure your other ride will understand why you weren’t around for the pick up.”
“What other ride?”
Matty pushed Jon’s head into the cab. Caught in a lie, she came clean, “There is no ride.”
Ranger chuckled. “I know that.”
“So why did you want me to ask?”
“Now and again everyone needs to be honest.”
“This was a lesson in honesty?”
“No.” He smiled. “This was a lesson in humility.”
“I’m plenty humble.” She hauled the backpack from her shoulders and dumped it into the cab with Jon.
Ranger dusted off his jeans with the rag and let off a quick laugh. “Then why are you arguing with me?”
“I’m not—” The corner of Matty’s mouth curved upward. “Okay, maybe I should have been honest with you.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He tossed the used rag in the back of the truck and was about to open the passenger door for her.
“I can do that.” Matty wrestled the door handle from Ranger and hopped into the cab.
“For someone who doesn’t want to be rude, I’ll tell ya, you’re off to a spectacular start.”
Matty slammed the door. “Just don’t tell me what to do.”
* * *
Pound. Pound. Pound.
Randy stepped away from the hammering at the door. His face pale, he crept backwards. Whatever the entity needed from the other side, he wasn’t about to find out. He breathed heavier as the pounding got louder and more forceful. Three feet from the door, he stopped moving and stared blankly. The sweat from his hairline streamed down the side of his face soaking the collar of his t-shirt. He had to get out of there. His eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. He then scampered. Desk to desk, he pulled drawers and searched. Anything he could use as a weapon besides a stapler, an old coffee mug or an eraser. Near the door he came in by, the last desk he rummaged through had papers, folders and nothing else. It can’t be. His trembling hands covered his face. No stopping now. One last time, he searched the desk. Luck did shine on him. There, in the top drawer under the paper, he found a letter opener. Perfect. A deep gulp of air escaped him.