by Jack Flacco
“Other than Jon, it’s the only thing I have left of my family.” Her emotions seized her eyes for the first time in days. She tore them away and rubbed one with her shoulder. “I only have a couple of bullets left in my backpack. After that, I’m out.”
Wildside kept his eyes on the gun. He knew he had to do something. He couldn’t let her well up in front of him without a word. He took a step toward her. It felt right. Another step. Yeah, it did feel right. One arm wrapped around her followed by the other. For him, the hug came from months without affection. But he knew she needed the comfort as much as he did. Giving her back the gun, he smiled. “You keep that. Treasure it always. Nothing is more important than family.”
It was the corniest lines he could have said, but she appreciated it nonetheless, “Thanks.”
He dumped the water bottle in the trash then gave her a slight wave as he strode upstairs. “I’m going to bed. Make yourself at home. Good night.”
When Wildside disappeared, Matty sat on one of the folding chairs and placed her gun on the table. For a few moments, she stared straight without movement. Closing her eyes, the reflection of the day passed through her mind. Once she reopened them, she lifted up her shirt and gazed at her navel. A large bite mark protruded next to it. She traced it with her index finger. Wildside and Matty might have more in common than anyone thinks.
* * *
Making his way to the top of the ladder, Randy encountered a door leading to a lit stairwell to the prisoner courtyard. With a slow pace to his step, and after all the creature clashes, he stopped for a minute to regain his strength. Almost every turn, he thought, has led him to a fight with some entity with murder in its heart. He didn’t need another one. He had the hammer and screwdriver in his possession, but he’d rather utilize the tools to get out of jail, not jam them into another monster’s nostril. He’d rather have had the opportunity to wake up in a peaceful environment of sun and beaches than inside the murky depths of the earth.
Having rested, he trekked to the top of the stairwell. Rattling the doorknob, it didn’t budge. Locked. On either side ran a long corridor spanning the length of the courtyard. Randy remembered the last time he took a right turn. It brought him face to face with death. No use repeating that mistake. He veered left.
Traveling through the corridor, Randy didn’t see the yellow Under Construction sign. He had his mind focused on one thing—get out. Nothing else pressed harder in his brain than the illusive taste of freedom. He needed it. He wanted it. He could sense it. All of a sudden, the ground beneath him shook. He didn’t realize he had crossed a section under repair. As the floor collapsed, Randy lost his tools, his balance, and fell two stories to cling to an adjacent wall running parallel to the exit above. Residual debris poured on his head causing him to close his eyes tight until it ended with some leftover creaking and knocking from the sides.
Holding on with his life, Randy let go of a dust-filled cough. Shaking off the dirt from his head, he pried open his eyes to the darkness below. Nothing but emptiness. Tilting his head to the light above, the look of determination washed over his face. His first step proved challenging. He lost his footing to remain suspended by his hands. With a few quick steps, he drew every ounce of strength he could muster to pull his feet against the wall. His grip hurt. His eyes watered from pain. Randy had two stories to climb and his resolve led the way. One hand after another. One foot followed by another. He judged his progress. The inside of his hands peeled from the protruding stones he held. No blood. His feet grew numb holding his weight for long periods. With every step he rested his head on the stones, always keeping his gaze fixed to the light above.
In between the pulling, the pushing, and the resting, a sound below rattled his stomach. It sounded like dragging, heaving. The sound drew closer as he pulled further away. Randy did not have a clue as to what could produce such a dreadful eeriness. His instincts shouted at him to go faster. His body pleaded to slow down. With urgency, not listening to his body, Randy picked up the pace. One foot after another. One hand followed by another. He climbed. A story completed. The sound filled his ears while the light above filled his sight. Resting, he peeked below. Nothing. Taking in air, he continued his ascent until something brushed against his foot. Shooting a stare below, two white eyes shot the stare back. Another swipe at his foot revealed a monster climbing the wall after him.
Sudden terror coursed through Randy’s veins and pushed him to ignore the pain in his hands and legs so he could complete his last story climb. Not wanting to let its meal escape, the monster kept after the boy. Not this time, Randy thought. Not this time. He climbed all the way to the top to where the door led to the courtyard, leaving the flesh-churner behind. Randy crawled from the door and slammed it shut.
The courtyard lights mounted in the corners of the walls blinded him. He shriveled into a ball, protecting his eyes from the glare. Not having fully grasped his dire need to move again, he remained still. That is until the moans and the murmurs floated into his ears. In an instant, his head stretched. He had gone from the flames to hell itself. Before him stood the undead, each one pinning in lust for his flesh.
When Randy opened his eyes and saw the mess, he ran as hard as he could. Keeping to the sides of the courtyard, he ducked swipes, tripped undead and pushed what he could to make way for his life. Like a quarterback going for a game-winning touchdown, he zipped in and out of the crowd, crawling under them, diving and rolling until he made it to the bank of doors at the other end of the field.
Trying one door, it would not open. Trying the next, it would not open. The swarm closed ranks. One had to open. He couldn’t die this way, he thought. Not this way! A few feet away, the monsters screeched in hunger at the terrified boy who survived the jail obstacle course.
In one final act of desperation, Randy yanked on the handle to the last door and shouted as loud, as strong, and as piercing as he could.
“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!”
Chapter 7
“What’s going on?” Matty asked, strolling down the metal staircase in the midst of Wildside and Ranger packing the truck with an assortment of tools and material.
“Ranger’s heading out for a supply run.” Wildside answered.
“I thought you’d done that yesterday, Ranger.”
“He’s doing another one.”
Matty stood there thinking about the gas canisters and rags Wildside tossed in the back of the pickup.
“You checked the tires?” Ranger asked.
“I checked the tires, the gas, the oil, and all the other fluids. You’re good to go.”
“What’s going on?” Jon ambled down the stairs drying his hair from a shower.
“This doesn’t look like a supply run.” Matty strung her hair into a ponytail. “This looks more like a hit.”
“How many?” Ranger asked.
“A dozen.” Wildside responded.
Matty edged closer to the radar, noticing the clump of dots to the northwest of their location.
“You mean it’s those things?” Jon pitched the towel over his shoulder. “Can I come?”
“No!” Matty strode to the kitchen. “I’m going.”
“Oh, no your not, little dawlin’. You’re staying right where Wildside can look after the both of you.”
“And if you don’t come back?” Matty grabbed her backpack from the kitchen table and threw in a couple of cans of turkey, a water bottle, and some snack bars.
Ranger laughed, bent down, and became dead serious, “Wildside?”
“Ranger always comes back.”
Matty didn’t pay attention to Wildside because by the time he said it, she had already slipped into the cab with her backpack at the ready. “I’m going with you.”
“You’re some stubborn. Get your ass outta my cab!”
“No!”
“I swear, if you don’t—”
“No!”
“I can’t have you in my way, Matty.”
She pulled out
her weapon from her pants, cocked, and loaded the chamber with a bullet. “Does this look like anything will get in our way?”
Ranger mumbled something under his breath but no one understood a thing he said.
Jon ran to the truck where Matty sat at the passenger side. He pulled himself to the window. “I wanna come.”
“You’ll be safe here. Wildside will look after you.”
“But why can’t I come?”
“Look, I know Ranger’s your new superhero and all, but it’s too dangerous. I’ll be happier knowing you’re safe here with Wildside. He’ll take good care of you. We won’t be long. I promise I’ll be back.”
Wildside came from behind and laid his left hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Your sister’s right. You’ll be safe here. I have board games we can play, tons of pop and popcorn—”
“Maybe not so much the pop.” Matty poked her head from the cab. “You don’t want a bullet on your hands.”
“Right. No pop.”
“You’ll be okay here, Jon.”
He sighed long, and thought about it for a while. A smile then grew on his face. “Is it buttered popcorn?”
“Yeah. Only the best.” Wildside patted his shoulder.
“Well, I suppose it sounds like a good day.”
Wildside and Matty threw a couple of winks at each other. Jon raced back upstairs.
“Smooth move with the popcorn bit.” Matty said.
“Everyone loves popcorn.”
“How do you know I don’t like popcorn?”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s possible. Anyway, I have something for you.” He passed her two rectangular boxes. They weighed heavy in her hands.
“What are these?”
“Ammo for your grandfather’s gun.” He dug into his pocket. “And here are the clips.”
“Uh,” she moved her mouth but all she could say, “I’m...I’m...”
“Don’t worry about it.” He chuckled. “It’s on the house.”
“Thanks.” The word finally came out.
Ranger opened the door to his pickup, smirked and said. “All right, you two, we haven’t got all afternoon, you know. I want to get there before nightfall.”
“Right. Right.” The teens stammered like a pair of idiots.
Ranger shook his head and uttered, “Kids.”
* * *
The Katlyn County Jail’s solid iron gates squeaked open. Randy’s head peaked through the crack. Can it be? Did he make it all the way through? Is this freedom? The afternoon sun seared his vision. He draped his arm around his face. The thin teenager moved away from the gate to the parking area where many vehicles rested in their parking spaces. His hands pale, his face drawn, he cowered in the wall’s shade for relief from the beating heat. Attempting to focus, his head pounded from the drugs administered to him in jail, which kept him sedated for long periods. He clasped his head and rocked, squeezing the temples with his palms. Tilting his head from a crouched position, he pried his eyes to the sight of one of the cars. A straw hat lay on the dashboard with the window opened halfway. When he arose, he regained his strength to stagger to the vehicle. Slipping his hand through the crack of the tarnished car, he grabbed the hat and fit it snug on his head. The shade provided relief from the strong rays seeping into his brain, perpetuating the headache further.
With nothing but desert surrounding him and the ability to keep his eyes open longer, Randy searched from car to car. Maybe someone left the keys in an ignition. Maybe someone left a phone in there too. He couldn’t see himself walking to the next town. The lack of water alone would kill him, not to mention exposure to the elements. In one of the institution’s vans, he peered in with a hand shielding the glare from the sun. A CB radio hung from under the dash. Perfect. Grabbing on the door handle proved fruitless. As did pulling on all the other handles. No locked door would keep him from using that radio. His anger bubbled, and he lashed out in a slap to the roof of the vehicle. Not wasting any more time, he scoured the ground for something to open the door—a wire, a stick—a baseball bat would be convenient.
He found something better. A large rock the size of a football, sitting by the side of the jail wall. Grasping it in both hands, he hurled it toward the driver’s side window. It crashed in pieces. He unlocked the door from the inside, swung it open and bent over the glass mess on the seat to snatch the radio’s microphone.
Fiddling with the knobs, luck came to him. The device displayed channel three. It had enough of a charge to deliver his message to anyone listening.
“Hello?” he switched channels as he went.
“Hello?” It was the same hello he called out when he searched for help in jail.
The radio died. Randy popped from the van throwing the handset at the dashboard in frustration. Readjusting his brimmed hat, he didn’t give up. He kept searching other vehicles until his stomach churned, his eyes grew red, and his veins bulged from his neck. A determined pace brought him back to the van. He seized the rock from the driver’s seat and smashed it against the side of the vehicle, pounding and denting the van. All those hours in jail, running from the eaters, surviving one attack after another, starving. What did he do it for? To die in the middle of a lonely parking lot with no one there to acknowledge he lived? Had lived?
Once his anger faded, he dropped the rock to his feet. With his back turned away, a bucket of rotting flesh seethed and frothed at the mouth from the other side of the partially opened door of the van. Randy’s ears propped up. His chest stopped in terror. In a calm and controlled manner, his feet pivoted in an about-face. When their eyes met, the chase was on.
A sudden surge of strength poured from him. He smacked the open door into the crud-sucker and ran, losing his hat along the way. The eater quickly followed, keeping pace with the lean teen. Caught by parked cars against the jail wall, Randy could only hop the vehicles. From one car to the next, no matter where he fled, the beast blocked his escape. Drooling from the mouth, the undead screamed a bellow of hunger.
When Randy reached the end of the row, the screamer seized the boy by the shirt and pulled it off. Shirtless, Randy dropped and rolled under the cars. The screamer tossed the clothes and gave chase. Halfway through the line, it managed to grab Randy by his foot. It dragged and scraped his back on the ground, leaving a bloody trail along the way. The blood shook the screamer to an animalistic frenzy. It pounced on the boy, attempting to bite him on the chest. Randy beat it multiple times in the head. He’ll be damned if anything turns him into lunchmeat.
Its white eyes met with Randy’s in a dead stare and it screamed with hunger pangs. “Ahhhhhhhh!”
Randy stared right back and screamed. “Ahhhhhhhh!” And halfway through the cry, he plunged both his thumbs into the monster’s eyes, bursting the balls with his nails, spewing citrine pus all over his chest. The monster shrieked in agony.
Randy escaped its clutches to roll under the cars and back to the van. The bone-chilling sounds emanating from the beast seeped into his ear. He could swear he heard it spill its life force on to the empty parking spot. He ignored the shrieks, finding instead the rock he used to take out his frustrations on the van and sinking it into the fiend’s head, shattering its skull, bursting whatever remained of its existence into a massive pool of goo on the ground.
He stood over the corpse, panting. No use staring at the thing. After a few moments, he wandered to retrieve his shirt. He dabbed it on the wounds on his back to find they had already congealed. As he went back through the lot, he dressed himself passing the screamer’s body again. He stopped with a look of curiosity to his face. He backtracked a few feet, and knelt before the dead thing. Sweat soaked his hair as he slid his hands in the corpse’s pockets. Cringing, he searched. Left back pocket. Right back pocket. Left front pocket. Right. His eyes widened. In his grip he’d fished a set of keys.
Rising, his gaze fell on one of the key’s make and model. A Ford. What does he know about cars? All he knows is that he has a way out now. Hopping
to a run, Randy inserted the key into the first Ford he could find. Rattling it about, it did not move. Randy scanned the lot for others. He spotted another Ford next to a large, blue garbage bin.
At that point, from behind the bin, two of the undead dragged forth, smelling the air of Randy’s delicious blood. The same frenzy that piqued the interest of the first screamer, which lay on the pavement with a rock rammed through its skull, enticed the second and third. A wild shake gripped their bodies, and they heaved with a forceful vengeance toward the young man. Not as sturdy on his feet after his first encounter, Randy sprinted to the next Ford limping. Slipping the key into the door, again, it didn’t work. The monsters screeched in hunger for the young flesh.
Scrambling to the last Ford with the two marrow-suckers behind, his attempts to insert the key into the door failed. He dropped the set on the ground. Ever closer, the monsters screamed louder, alerting others to their find. Three of them jumped from around the corner of a wall, opposite the vehicle. Two more burst through the iron gates from where he had escaped the jail.
With only ten feet between them, Randy plunged to the ground to snatch the keys. As he made haste, the eaters closed in on him with only five feet to spare. When he inserted the key into the car, Randy’s mouth dropped. In one continuous move, he jumped in, locked the door, and fumbled with the keys again to the sound of slamming bodies outside the vehicle. Gurgling wails gushed from the beasts. Stabbing the ignition with the key, he started the car. With a forceful impact, one of the chewers crashed its head through the passenger side, and thrashed at the boy’s shirt. By now, Randy had had enough. He shifted to drive, and tore out of the parking space, veering right and crushing the creature’s body between cars, slicing it in two. The beast’s entrails ripped the torso out of the vehicle. It slammed to the pavement in a brutal pea soup-like mess.
While the car sped away, Randy clipped two other creatures on the way out of the parking lot. A trail of dust followed him when the two zombies arose from their collision.