Ranger Martin and the Zombie Apocalypse

by Jack Flacco

  “How can you have a haunting past?”

  Drawing air in her lungs, she took a chance with the emaciated young boy. “My dad drank all the time. He’d burn through hard liquor like water. My mom couldn’t stand it. He’d come home from the bar, smelling like the bar had fallen on him. He’d pass out in the middle of the living room and I’d find him the next morning. Sometimes vomit all over the floor, still dressed in his clothes from the night before.” Matty kept her gaze fixed in one place in front of her. “Some nights, he’d come home beating the hell out of my mom. The next day he’d say sorry and it’d happen again a few weeks later. Eventually, it was every day.”

  Randy’s eyes drifted to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

  Matty pursed her lips then continued. “It’s okay. Because of my dad, my brother Jon grew to depend on me. I guess I became the parents he never had.”

  * * *

  Ranger tore the length of Matthew Airbase, shotgun in hand. The steel-eyed zombie killer kept hidden among the rocks and hills. The simple idea to breach the base’s fence swam in his head. Approaching the furthest side of the base, he loped from the safety of the rocks. When the guard tower light had passed, he climbed the fence and dropped to the other side behind a parked jeep, just as he and Wildside had planned on the map back in the silo the night before.

  A truck obscured Ranger’s view preventing him from peeking over the hood of the vehicle. His instincts dragged him from jeep to jeep, always crouching, never fearing. He stopped for a moment in thought. Who controlled the guard towers? The lights had to shift somehow. Sliding along with his back against the truck, he quickly glanced at the entrance of a barrack. Ranger’s goal of entering the barrack undetected flooded his mind.

  Inspecting the area, the clearing drew his attention away from the barracks. A car stood parked under camouflage tarp. What would a fine vehicle be doing in a military base? Against the grain of his nature, Ranger nodded, deciding to check the car in more detail.

  With the windows rolled down, it made it easier for him to slide in and check the glove compartment for anything unusual. He came up empty. He searched the inside and under the seats, and in the trunk. His search turned up nothing. Once again he centered his interest on the barracks.

  * * *

  Clouds covered the night sky rendering the pair on the rock dark. “What was jail like?” Matty asked.

  “I don’t have anything to compare it with. It was cold. I was hungry. And I kept hearing thumping above my head. I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe the undead trying to send me a message I was next? I don’t know. What I do know is I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could without worrying about dying in the process.” He turned to her with one knee bent under him. “There was a time I thought I wasn’t going to make it. But in all of the chaos, the running and the death, I did. I don’t know how, but I did.”

  Her eyes met his. Even with the way he looked, rail thin as could be, she still found him a source of comfort. “Do you like music?” she asked without blinking.

  Randy smiled. “You’re not going to laugh, right?”

  “Why? Do you like kids’ show themes from the Saturday morning cartoons?”

  “No!” He stared at his feet. “You promise not to laugh?”

  “I promise not to laugh. Now, are you going to tell me?”

  “Yes, yes.” He hesitated, “I like Mozart.”

  “Really? I thought it was something serious.”

  “Liking Mozart is pretty serious.”

  “Not a chance. Beethoven is serious. Mozart is playful.”

  “I like Beethoven, too?”

  “Like I said, too serious for me.” She flipped her ponytail.

  “Same here. Note to self: no Beethoven.”

  They laughed. Who would have known classical music would have brought them together.

  * * *

  His shotgun at the ready, Ranger eased the door open to the barracks and slipped in. In a slow and smooth motion, he studied the room. For a moment, his weapon acted as his sight. The personal effects of soldiers, plates and utensils littered the top of tables where everyone had met to eat. Six bunk beds dominated a corner of the room. Three of the beds had disheveled sheets. He holstered his shotgun, drawing his attention to the contents of a soldier’s open locker at the foot of one of the bunks. He found shoes in the metal container. After pulling them from the locker he examined them. Whoever they belonged to had forgotten them when everyone had disappeared. The same eerie feeling he had when he exited the bus in the middle of the desert gripped him. He shook his head, not wanting to know what it meant.

  Without worrying about anyone spotting him, since he now knew no one occupied the base, he walked outside in full view of anything wanting to make him late-night dinner meat. His eyes wandered as he loosened his grip from his holstered firearm. He concentrated his gaze on the guard towers with the moving lights.

  * * *

  “He’s been gone for quite a while now.” Matty said, tying her shoelace.

  “I noticed.” Randy answered.

  “I know he said we should go ahead and leave without him, but I’m not about to do that.”

  “We have to do something.” He took a hold of his weapon as he rose from the boulder.

  Matty hopped to her feet. She unlatched the safety on her gun, slid the loading chamber, and cocked it. “Let’s go.”

  “What do you mean? We’re just going to leave him here?”

  “Nope. We’re going in after him.” She started her ascent on the side of the ridge, waving him to follow.

  Without hesitating, he hiked to the summit with her. She led them to cower below the edge of the ridge. Once she found a safe place to rest they crouched, shoulder-to-shoulder behind a bush, spying on the base. She whispered, “When the guard lights pass, we’ll run to the fence.”

  Her natural ability to lead made him smile. What kept this girl going? he thought. Had life dealt her a blow so treacherous that she had no sense to worry about the eaters? He worried about them all the time. When he falls asleep he never knows if he’ll awaken. How could she not worry about falling asleep? Whatever’s got her, it wasn’t letting go.

  On the count of three. One. Two. Three.

  They ran to the corner of the fence where Ranger had found the weak point. A quick step up, they scaled the fence. Halfway, they jumped, running for cover behind a jeep.

  “Where do you think he went?” Randy asked.

  Her gaze fell on the sand. “Let’s follow the tracks. It looks like only one set, so it has to be Ranger’s.”

  They kept low as they snuck from jeep to jeep. When they arrived at the side of the barracks where Ranger had stood, Matty’s eyes followed his tracks to the vehicle under the camouflage tarp and back to the barracks.

  “C’mon,” she said.

  Her gun always ahead of her, they traveled along the edge of the building, paying attention to everything around them.

  “Wait.” Randy whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “Have you noticed anything unusual?”

  “No. What?”

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s here. Other than Ranger’s tracks, we’re the only ones.”

  “What about the guard towers? The lights are still on and moving.”

  “That can be anything, it could be automated.”

  Pushing her back against the wall of the building, Matty had her own opinion, “I think Ranger scaled one of towers to see if anyone’s up there.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s what I would’ve done.”

  The teens followed the footprints into the cafeteria. The door slammed shut behind them. The noise reverberated through the area. Someone also had left the lights on. Empty tables and chairs stood undisturbed to the sides of the room. One of the chairs remained stationed at the entrance.

  “I’m not sure where to go next,” she said.

  “Follow the lights in that direction.” Ra
ndy pointed straight ahead.

  “Good idea.”

  As they made their way through the cafeteria, he couldn’t help but ask, “Matty, the lights are on?”

  “Haven’t we talked about this already?”

  “The barrack lights were on, too. Why would these be on a timer?”

  “I haven’t a clue. I just want to find Ranger and get out of here. But my gut tells me you’ve got something on your mind.”

  “Everyone’s gone at the same time. At night, when no one could see what was taking place. The change could have happened all at once.”

  She stopped and rubbed her eyes. He had a point.

  As they approached the exit doors at the other end of the cafeteria, a scratchy sound crept from the side hallway leading to the kitchen. They shot stares at one another. They knew any life would have peeked from that hallway without the need to sound cold and irritating.

  He whispered, “Maybe it’s Ranger.”

  She shook her head in a slow and precise fashion. With both hands holding her gun, she attempted to ease the exit doors open, ignoring the sounds from the hallway. No use, they wouldn’t budge. He tried himself, thinking something may have jammed them from the other side. They still wouldn’t move. Silence fell on the pair. The scratching turned louder. She looked over her shoulder to the entrance from where they came. The door seemed so far away, but they needed to get out. As quiet as they could, they snuck back to the entrance of the cafeteria without making a sound. The scratching turned even louder. They made it, now for the escape. As Randy’s hand inched for the handle, the door suddenly slammed into his head throwing him off his feet to land on his back. The eater stood at the entrance in full army uniform, its face drenched in apricot puss. It must have heard the door slam earlier when they walked into the cafeteria.

  Matty didn’t have to think twice. She shot it in the face, dropping its ooze-soaked body at the entrance. Two more burst in. She took one of them out while Randy slid to his feet firing at the other, hitting it in shoulder.

  “Aim for the head!” Matty screamed, taking her third one down.

  “What do you think I was doing? Playing tennis?” He grabbed the chair next to the door and jammed it under the handle to bar it shut. Sharp pounding echoed through the cafeteria as more of them attempted to barge in.

  “C’mon!” Matty scurried toward the side hallway leading to the kitchen.

  They stopped short of entering and looked at each other for a moment wondering if what they were about to do was a good idea. It felt like an eternity before they kicked in the door with guns cocked. Whatever the scratching was, ought to have feared. It originated from the fridge leaking water, which poured to an extension cable, shorting it as it lay in the puddle.

  They invaded the room. Randy flew past the window, drifting to the door next to the fridge. He pulled at it, but his attempts to open it failed. In the meantime, Matty checked the glass pane over the sink for another possible exit. Whatever she thought of doing had to wait. One of the undead crashed its head through the glass, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward it. She dropped her gun. Her screams filled the kitchen. In seconds, Randy darted to her side, pointed his gun at the abrasion in the fabric of humanity, and pulled the trigger spilling the beast’s brains from the back of its head. It fell backward through the broken pane, releasing Matty in the process.

  “Is that what you meant when you said, ‘aim for the head’?”

  “Perfect.” Matty dropped to the floor to retrieve her weapon as two more of the undead flailed their arms through the broken window. Randy ducked, and followed Matty from the kitchen back into the cafeteria where the pounding at the entrance door startled them. To the center of the room they went.

  “No matter what happens,” Matty panted, “don’t stop shooting.”

  “Why do I get the feeling we’re in trouble?”

  “Remember, don’t stop shooting.”

  The door burst open, tossing the chair that’d barred it into the middle of the cafeteria. A horde of eaters spilled in. At the same time, the kitchen doors ruptured as another pack of eaters flowed from the hallway. They all wore military uniforms. Torn, tattered and shredded as if weeks had gone by without a wash.

  “There are too many of them!” Randy’s memory of the jail poured from his eyes.

  At once, when the changed approached the teens with their paws extended forward, the doors to the exit behind them collapsed under the boot of one man, Ranger Martin.

  “A party? And you didn’t invite me?” Ranger chuckled, marching to Matty’s side. He let loose the first salvo, dropping several of the maggot bags with his shots.

  A few seconds later, they all opened fire into the crowd. Eaters dropped with every blast from their guns. One of the undead had its cheek blown apart from Ranger’s shotgun. Another had its ear clipped as Matty’s bullet whizzed by to splatter into yet another fly-producing brain in a flower-like pattern over the heads of the others.

  “I told you. This is about the same distance as the gas station. See how they went?” Ranger laughed.

  “It is not the same distance!” Matty’s voice carried above the blasting.

  The trio backed away, stepping through the exit to the clearing behind them. “Sure it is! Can’t you see how far it is from where I am to where those blood drinkers are?”

  When they stopped firing, a cluster of bodies lay before them like they had never seen. Ranger pulled them to sprint to one of the guard towers. Once in, he locked the door behind them. “I thought I told you two to leave if anything happened!”

  “Nothing was happening, Ranger!” Matty played with his words in frustration. Taking aim with her gun at the door, she estimated where the next zombie face might be. She pulled the trigger, detonating the head to explode in green chunks on the other side.

  “Next time, do what I say!”

  “So what’s this, the do-as-I-say-and-not-do-as-I do speech?” Matty loaded another clip in her Colt.

  Randy stomped his feet. “Ugh, can you two please get on with it!”

  “This way.” Ranger opened a door to the other side of the tower leading to a fenced off gate.

  Once out in the open they scaled the fence to the other side and ran.

  When they returned to the truck, Matty patted the dust from her clothes. “Well, that was a waste of time.”

  Ranger pulled out a file from underneath his shirt. “If you ask me, I think it was a pretty productive night.”

  Chapter 12

  The Arizona desert grew red with the sun’s rays beating down upon it. A breeze wafted against the rocks and crevices of the canyon like a divining rod searching for water.

  The mercury slowly crept higher as Ranger wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and reseated his baseball cap on his head. He threw his empty canteen into his backpack and began the long trek from the protection of the cave back to his truck.

  He’s done this many times before. He’d park the pickup a few miles from the highway, in the middle of nowhere, really, and head into the canyon to renew his strength. The desert treats the disrespectful with malice. In his case, he knew it on an intimate level. His desire for it burned deep within his heart as an unquenchable fire.

  As he hiked the path through the canyon, the faces of the sides stood stoic, jagged, and wretched. Boulders and other loose rocks could drop to the center at any time. Keeping to the side, he didn’t have to worry of flying projectiles dropping from the sky. Crags jutted from the top as a warning they would maim those who didn’t hold them in great esteem. He knew this, and took his time with an almost reverent walk. He could never understand what made others think they could enter the slow waste of the desert to conquer the elements. Only Ranger could do that. He’s done it before. He’ll do it again.

  With his water gone, he had a backpack filled with blankets, utensils, plates and other seemingly weightless items. He drew his strength from the sun’s rays. The stronger they radiated, the more ener
gy he gathered. At times, he felt like a superhero, someone with a gift others did not possess. Of all the gifts bestowed to him, he appreciated his gifts of endurance, perseverance and the strength he drew from knowing nothing could supersede his willingness to push harder than anyone he’s ever met. He’s endured worse than the desert.

  As he made his way around a bend, memories flooded his eyes.

  One time, ten zombies had cornered him in the middle of a wheat field. He had no shells. Only his empty shotgun, his wits and his resolve. He stood in the middle of the field as if waiting for them to come. One after another, he took them out with his bare hands. A zombie heading his way did not even see it coming. Ranger had taken the muzzle of his weapon and jammed it so far down its throat that he had broken its spinal column, rendering the zombie dead, and oozing green on the field. Another, Ranger had dropped it to the ground, crushing its head with his boot.

  Thinking back further, Ranger also remembered of the time when one nefarious zombie with a penchant for chewing fingers off its victims, had wrestled him to the ground by the front porch of his house in Oklahoma City. In an attempt to dig its teeth into his neck, it scratched, wailed, and shrieked. Well, he never had it in him to put up with silliness of this sort. He choked the zombie, spun it around to bring it under his straddling legs, and pounded its head on a rock. When he had finished with the cadaver, he rose from the slime-stained mess and never mentioned what he had done to anyone. The zombie was his brother, Sam. Who would understand?

  To Ranger, killing zombies didn’t weigh on his conscience. To him, the creatures had given up their souls long ago. When he killed one of them, he felt pleasure to rid the earth of an evil force that could have otherwise harmed other human beings. The shotgun kills meant nothing to him. Those kills had no intimacy attached to them, so it didn’t affect him in any way. However, when he killed one of the beasts with his bare hands, it seeped into his subconscious, delivering nightmares at times. He took it as a personal achievement to have thrown away another of life’s threats.