by Jack Flacco
* * *
Half-an-hour later that same evening, after having escaped the hungry beasts of Douglas Cartage, Ranger stuck his arm from his weary vehicle giving the “all clear” signal to stop. Under ordinary circumstances, when people inhabited the neighborhoods, seeing two trucks and a hitch pulled over next to a curb would have raised alarm bells and the residents would have called the police. That’s what would have happened during the days when humans lived in homes.
Under the amber glow of the streetlights, Ranger leapt from his truck, and darted to open the passenger door. When he did, Wildside slumped over bleeding into Ranger’s arms. The bandana didn’t help stop the flow.
Randy, Matty and Jon poured from their truck. Matty grabbed the First Aid kit from the trunk and whisked it over to Ranger.
“Hold on, Wildside. Hold on, buddy.” Ranger said, pulling the boy from the truck to the lawn. Ranger shook his head blaming himself for the bite. If only he had paid more attention. If only he had seen what evil lurked in the darkness. He would have taken precautions. He would have stopped the sadistic entity from taking a chunk from his charge.
Matty placed her hand on Ranger’s shoulder and said, “It’s not your fault.” She knew what it felt like battling side by side with him. No one can blame themselves for the zombies’ unpredictable nature. Humans tend to do that. Try to find blame where there is none. She then reached for the antiseptic, cracked open the bottle, and drenched the wound with the liquid. She dried the access with a clean cloth she had taken from the kit. Next, she placed fresh gauze on the opening and wrapped it around his neck. She fastened it with a clip designed for maintaining the bundle in place.
“Is he asleep?” Jon asked.
Ranger shook Wildside, calling out his name. He didn’t wake up. He pounded the kid’s chest a few times hoping, wishing, it wasn’t too late. Please, Wildside, please, wake up. He still wouldn’t wake up. Ranger’s eyes floated to Matty’s. They said, “What have I done?”
Matty’s never seen Ranger this way. Fragile. Vulnerable. She wanted to hold him to make it all better, but she didn’t have it in her to be petite and sentimental. She couldn’t see herself doing that. She would have preferred punching him in the arm for a job well done. How could she do that, though, when a friend is either dead or dying right in front of her? All she could muster was a slow shrug of her shoulders. It’s not that she didn’t care, she didn’t know what else to do.
With everyone’s attention on Wildside, Randy had his mind on other things, the First Aid Kit. “Hold on a minute.” He bent to the box filled with medical supplies. His fist wrapped around something. Anything. Anything to bring life back to the young man. Then he approached Wildside, lifting his head and delivering a few potent strokes of smelling salt into his nostrils. Amazing how quick life flourishes from death. Wildside’s eyes popped open as he avoided the fumes of the offending stench.
A collective sigh of relief passed through the crowd. Wildside came back.
“Why’s everyone looking at me? What did I do?”
“We were about to douse you in kerosene and set you ablaze.” Ranger said.
“We thought you were dead.” Jon added.
His hand went to the appendage on his neck. He managed to find some humor in the whole ordeal. “Well, at least I didn’t get bit by some love struck vampire.”
“C’mon.” Ranger rose and offered his hand to him. “We’ve go work to do.”
Chapter 17
It had rained all morning traveling through Temple City’s downtown core. The streets glistened and the water flowed into the sewers. A misty fog settled where once should have been traffic for a commute to work. Shops had all their merchandise intact. No sign anyone had looted the area. More to the point, no sign of anyone found anywhere.
The wheels spun wildly, racing from the top of Porter Street, the business district, to the bottom near Lakeshore Boulevard. Ranger drove Wildside in the first truck while Randy drove Matty in the second, about the distance of three car lengths in between. Randy glanced at the speedometer then at the mirror checking the hitch to make sure it remained intact.
“Why is Ranger going so fast?” Matty asked, securing her seatbelt tightly around her waist.
Randy held a tight grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “I guess he figures he’s wasted too much time getting here that he wants the job over and done with. Whatever his reason, if he doesn’t slow down, we’re going to end up in that lake up ahead.”
“Stay well back. We don’t want to rear end him if he suddenly slams his brakes.”
Even Wildside sitting in the front seat of Ranger’s vehicle pressed his feet into the floor mats. “Ranger, don’t you think you should slow down? What’s the rush?”
Ranger pressed on the gas even more. “How’s the bite on the back of the neck?”
“I think I’m due for a change in dressing. It feels soaked.”
“When we get to the end of this street, on Lakeshore Boulevard, we’ll stop.”
“You can ease up on the pedal now. We’ll get there, the roads are slippery.”
He rolled his eyes, loosed his grip on the wheel, and pulled his foot from the accelerator. “I want vengeance on the knuckle-draggers that did this to you, Wildside. All of them. I want to rip their intestines out, and string them up on a tree. I don’t want to walk the city streets at night knowing I could have done something. I’m going to kill them all.”
Listening to Ranger’s rant, Jon hopped from the backseat and asked, “What do zombie guts look like? Are they as pale as the ones we saw on Maple Road in the suburbs?”
The seasoned undead killer turned to Jon biting his lip, “I forgot you were there, buddy. Listen, whatever I said, I meant for Wildside’s benefit. Don’t take me seriously. Okay?” still looking at Jon as the vehicle splashed water into the streets not slowing down, “And another thing. Vengeance is a scary thing. It’s never a good idea to—”
“Ranger, look out!” Jon pointed at the road.
Both of Ranger’s feet slammed on the pedal. The brakes squealed hard. Water from under the tires sloshed everywhere. It had too much inertia. The truck couldn’t stop. It headed straight for the police spike strips placed on the road to prevent vehicle access to the lake. Both Jon and Wildside held on to their seats, bracing themselves for the explosions.
“Stop!” Matty’s eyes popped from her skull, her mouth dropped and her fingernails ground into her thighs. “Stop this thing, Randy! Stop it!”
“I’m trying! The wheels have locked on me!”
“Oh, God! We’re going to slam into them.”
The first truck flew over the police spike strips, blowing all four tires in the process. Ranger held on to the wheel as it trembled and vibrated in his hand screaming toward the lake. His head leaned back as he tried his best not to steer the vehicle into anything. The wheels bled air rapidly until the truck stopped in the middle of the Porter Street, a fair distance away from the lake, not even crossing Lakeshore.
The other truck Randy drove coming from behind, kept squealing the length of the street. The pavement acted as if ice had formed on it. Matty’s eyes gawked at the oncoming spike strips the first truck ran over. They needed a miracle to avoid the destructive instruments from slashing their tires. Perhaps a miracle is all they had left. The rear of the first truck came closer and closer, and as they approached, the truck lost speed. Randy couldn’t bear to watch. He closed his eyes and held his breath. Their vehicle carrying the hitch slowed further. It inched with the spike strips five feet away. Four feet, the hitch pushed the vehicle forward. Three feet, Matty braced for impact. Two feet, almost stopped. One, the wheels ground into the pavement.
Over the spike strips it went slashing the front tires, stopping a few inches before it did the same to the back ones. Randy opened his eyes, let the air pass from his lungs and put the truck in park, turning off the engine then cranking the parking brake. Matty shook away the confusion and they both sat
and stared. First, at the truck a few feet in front of them, then at the hitch behind. Elation sparked in both their faces after realizing they still had their lives. Without thinking, they reached over from their seats and hugged tightly. Matty wouldn’t have draped her arms around his neck like she did in any other circumstance. The truck stopping the way it did made them believe in miracles.
That’s when Matty pushed Randy away with death in her eyes. Her lips tightened, her eyebrows curled downward and a scowl not seen on her since before leaving for Temple City appeared.
“Now, Matty, calm down. I’m sure he has a reasonable explanation.” Randy raised his hands with his palms facing her. “Maybe the brakes went on him. Maybe he didn’t know how slippery the water made the roads. Maybe—”
Matty bolted from her seat, slammed the door and marched toward Ranger with fire in her eyes. Her crimson hair seemed brighter even with the cloud covering overhead.
Stepping from his vehicle, Ranger couldn’t miss her heading straight toward him. If he had an inkling of what ran through her mind, he would have dove back into his seat. Instead, he took a few steps away from the vehicle and stood there with a goofy smirk on his face, almost wanting her to take him on.
Everyone else remained in their vehicles. They were smart.
She didn’t waste time. Slamming into him with both hands on his chest, Matty pushed Ranger several feet backward. “You sonofabitch! What the hell’s wrong with you? We were screaming down this hill, and in your infinite wisdom decide to push it further to see how close we’d get to the lake without diving into it. Are you all there? You could have gotten all of us killed! That bomb we’re carrying could have crashed with all of us, and leveled this whole block. We wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. You can have all the fun you want now, since you find this amusing, but I swear to God, once this thing’s over, Jon and I are leaving you behind.” For a brief moment she turned her back on him, her whole body shaking as if it wanted to explode. Swinging around, she faced him again, tearing at her hair. “I mean, really, Ranger. Is there any sense in you at all?”
By this time, the smirk had disappeared. Was it his turn to speak? He didn’t know. She did a good job tearing into him that she had given him nothing left to say. For several seconds he chewed on his lip and looked at his boots. When his focus fell on her once again, the petite girl with the spark of dynamite, he could have crushed her. In its place he mumbled a few words. Not because he felt threatened, on the contrary, because she owned his ass. “You’re right.” The words assembled together from the tip of his tongue. “You’re right. I should have slowed down. I should have paid more attention to the road conditions. And I should have thought about everybody’s safety.”
The anger melted from Matty’s face and a subtle calm returned. Did Ranger just apologize? She didn’t hear an apology. He said he agreed with her. That counts as an apology, right?
“Do you understand me yet, Matty?”
“I’m trying to.”
“I want them all dead. All of them. And I want whatever created them destroyed.”
“You don’t think I know that, Ranger? I’ve seen how you look at them when you’re about to pull the trigger. It’s not pretty.”
“Then you should know nothing will stop me.”
“I understand that.” She stepped forward. “I can take care of myself. It’s the others who I worry about. Without you, they wouldn’t have anyone to look up to. Every day Jon tells me how you’re his hero. You can’t disappoint them by plowing headlong on your own road. Look at what happens.” Her index finger extended to his truck’s tires.
With no other vehicles anywhere in the area other than a few parked cars whose wheels didn’t match those of any of the trucks’, he accepted the fact he made a mess of things. “We have two spares. One in each truck. The boys can help me push your truck off the spike strips. We can then jack it to get the two tires on. It shouldn’t take more than half-an-hour.”
“You’re going to have to do without Wildside for a while.” She had a willingness to make amends, “I need to change his dressing on his wound. You’ll be fine until then, right?”
“We’ll be okay.” He nodded.
A curl formed on the right side of her mouth as she studied him. Would he hold a grudge against her for calling him out? “Sorry for pushing you.”
“Yeah well, I probably deserved it.” Rubbing his chest with an open palm, “You have quite a pair of arms there. I should ask you to jack the truck while I enjoy a nice stroll along the lake.”
“How about getting the job done?” She chuckled. Her nose lifted upward pointing toward the lake. The smell of the seaweed, the sound of the water lapping against the shoreline, and the cold air from the wind gusting up Porter Street hitting her face may prove too much of a temptation for Matty. “Now that I think about it, a walk by the shore is something we probably all need. A picnic by the pier sounds even better.”
* * *
Cradling the crowbar in his hands, a swift crank and Ranger removed the last nail that held the spike strips in place. On the opposite side of Porter Street, Randy pulled the strips from underneath the truck carrying the hitch, and bundled the police weapon to one side, away from harming any more vehicles. They didn’t have to push the vehicle backward after all. The way they did it made more sense.
As Ranger and Randy worked on getting the tires changed on the truck, Matty tended to Wildside’s wound while they sat on a park bench near the lake. She could see Jon in the distance skipping rocks on the water, being a kid doing kid things. The memory of him enjoying the freedom to do what he wanted had faded when her mother shipped them both to Las Vegas. She understood now it was for their protection, but that act also stole Jon’s childhood. It was good he skipped rocks.
“You’re one lucky guy, Wildside. Had that thing bitten you deeper, it would have taken a massive chunk from your spinal column. The way your neck looks, it didn’t have time to finish what it’d started. Two huge gashes, pretty deep, is where all the blood’s coming from.”
“Can you stitch them?”
She didn’t answer. Her right hand searched for a needle and thread in the First Aid kit lying on the grass while she held a white cloth against his neck with her left.
“You don’t have to. I know how squeamish you get sometimes.”
“I don’t get squeamish. I’m a girl, talking about bodily fluids disgusts me. Most girls my age would agree. Then again, no way of verifying that, considering most girls are dead.”
He sees Jon’s rock had skipped four times on the surface of the water. The idea popped into his head to join him once she’d finished with her minor operation.
“Okay, I have a needle and thread. Give me your right hand.” She grabbed it by the wrist and rested it on the new gauze. “Now, hold it tight. I have to thread this needle.”
“It’s not going anywhere.”
Anyone who knows anything about threading a needle knows it takes skill and patience to accomplish such a feat. It’s not something an amateur ought to attempt in their spare time. Years of trial and error cannot prepare someone to thread a needle outside, in the middle of blowing wind, when the sky’s about to explode again with rain. Matty did it, though. She managed to achieve the impossible. Of course, not after a litany of failed attempts, staring at the needle, and the wind blowing in many directions did she succeed. Her trick of dabbing the end of the thread in her mouth proved helpful. It went through the eye like butter.
After exchanging his right with his left hand holding the gauze in place as Matty had instructed him to do, Wildside shook his right hand to get the circulation going again. “I think my hand fell asleep. It’s all tingly.”
“Do you always complain this way?”
“I tell you I couldn’t feel my hand and you think I’m complaining?”
“Be a man, Wildside. Suck it up.” Her eyebrows closed over her eyes and her chin disappeared into her neck making her voice sound de
eper like a man.
“Whoa, Matty. Where’s this coming from?”
“The only good zombie is a dead zombie.” A chortle escaped her lips while she prepped the needle in a small container of antiseptic solution.
Wildside laughed. “You don’t sound at all like Ranger.”
“I think, in fact, I did a pretty good job. You knew right away who I was.” She poured alcohol into another cloth. Bending with her other hand she retrieved the needle from the antiseptic solution. “All right Wildside, I’m ready. When I tell you, remove the gauze. Got that?”
“Got it.”
“This is going to hurt.”
His gaze did not leave Jon’s antics of hunting on the pier for flat rocks.
* * *
Twisting the last nut on the front-right wheel, Ranger lowered the jack on the Rover. The shirtsleeve hanging from his free arm came in handy for wiping the accumulated sweat from his forehead. “There, that should take care of this one.”
They worked together like a well-choreographed tag team. Randy dashed along the front-left side, bent to the level of the next tire, positioned the scissor jack under the metal plate covering the axel, and pumped. He didn’t have to worry about the vehicle slipping since Ranger had placed bricks from a nearby construction site under the back wheels to prevent it from moving forward.
Lifting himself full height with the lug wrench still in hand, Ranger caught a glimpse of Matty fixing Wildside while sitting on a park bench by the edge of the lake, with Jon not far from his sister’s watchful eye.
“I have something to ask you, Ranger.” Randy pushed slowly on the jack.
Ranger didn’t answer, but walked nearby, keeping his eyes fixed on the kids at the lake.
“Do you—” he stopped jacking to massage the palms of his hands of the knots in his muscles, “I mean, did you have family?”
The undead killer looked at his feet. Somehow, Randy’s question unlocked memories Ranger had stored carefully never wanting to reflect on again. He stayed silent.