Ranger Martin and the Zombie Apocalypse

by Jack Flacco

  Scurrying from the library, a series of shops and an apartment building came into Matty and Jon’s view. Her eyes lit. “It’s almost sunset. If we can get to the roof of that building, maybe we can hide until morning. We can then meet Ranger after we’ve rested.”

  “The building must be twelve stories tall. How are we going to get there?”

  “We’ll be okay.”

  “That’s what you said the last time.”

  “We’re here, aren’t we?”

  They sprang to the other side of the street, into the apartment building, and scaled the stairs. The siblings had had so many zombie encounters they didn’t think of what may have lurked beyond every corner. They only wanted a place where they could crash and not worry about waking up to the undead surrounding them. If the building provided that, they’d be fine for the night.

  Halfway up the stairs, Jon attempted to grab some air by stopping to bend over the railing and pant heavily. He wanted to go on but his legs ached so much he rubbed them. He climbed some more, then sat on the landing, leaning on his knees. He needed a few minutes. Matty nodded and stopped next to him.

  “Do you think Ranger made it, Matty? Do you think we’re going to be okay?”

  “I have no doubt he made it out of there. He’s a superhero. All superheroes have their strengths. One of his strengths is not giving up. He knows when to stay true to the cause and when to blaze ahead, even if all the odds are against him. That’s Ranger. It’s who he is.”

  “What about us? Are we going to be okay?”

  The sun peaked from the clouds and beamed its rays through the hall windows warming Matty’s face. She studied the stairs then closed her eyes. “We’ll be okay. Ranger knows what he’s doing. Tomorrow morning we’ll see him again and everything’s going to be fine.”

  Jon held his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees, like a miniature thinking man. “Do you think there’s a place out there for us? Is there a city that hasn’t been hit by the change? Because, if we’re the only ones left,” he paused to let the words sink into Matty’s head, “there is no hope.”

  * * *

  Then Randy and Wildside ran out of the church to find the street empty. They didn’t have time to theorize why more zombies hadn’t appeared. Their feet carried them out of there as soon as they could without worrying of another attack. Their guns led the way as they trotted the main intersection, which in the past would have been rush hour. What they saw made them stop to rub their eyes. Cars had collided with street signs and storefronts. The occupants had gone missing from their vehicles. Perhaps ran away. Perhaps taken. Litter covered the streets, the sidewalks and even inside the entryways to the shops.

  “The army must have been here.” Wildside said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Remember how many bodies we found in the suburbs, killed and mutilated?”

  Randy didn’t answer, but kept scanning the area as they ambled.

  “We don’t see any of that here. It looks like what that soldier, Private Thomas, had described in Nevada. After the change, the army came in and evacuated whoever was left.”

  “Ranger said they were more like death squads, rounding up victims to carry them to the military bases for processing. I happen to agree with him. The ships over the cities and towns must have been bigger than what we saw at Area 12.”

  They ducked into an alley and crept steadily along the walls of the buildings, looking over their shoulders, with their fingers ready on the trigger.

  Wildside laughed quietly and shook his head.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You know, the kid was right all along. Aliens came and made this mess.”

  Randy stopped. “I’m remembering something. I’m remembering the Romans.”

  “The Romans? You don’t remember your family, but you remember ancient history? You’re one strange dude.”

  “Listen now. Do you know why the Roman Empire was so successful at conquering other civilizations?”

  “Seriously, man, you’re freaking me out.”

  “The Romans were so successful at conquering other civilizations because when they took over other nations, they moved their women into the conquered cities to marry with the citizens. It was in their best interest to assimilate the population quickly, making that civilization part of the Roman Empire. Less likely a nation would rebel when the men had a family attachment to the Empire.”

  Wildside stopped and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “If I’m hearing you right, you’re saying aliens from another planet have taken over human bodies, turning them into zombies in order to conquer our planet?”

  “No. I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying once they conquer us, they’ll send in their kind to assimilate those who are immune to the change.” Randy pressed his head against the wall of the building and gazed to the sky. “Can you imagine what this means. All that planning the government took part in was nothing but a massive ploy by the aliens to trick us into believing they were our friends. They have no intention of saving us. They want us all dead so they can take over the earth.”

  “I don’t know, man. It sounds too fanciful to me. What about those who were eaten up instead?”

  Randy had an answer, “What better way to assimilate a society than for them to become food for the assimilated.”

  “Ugh, Matty’s right. You do gross her out.”

  As they rested, they spotted a cat in the middle of the alley. They raised their guns and waited for it to approach. When they saw its eyes hadn’t turned white, they eased their guns. The cat purred, rubbing its fur against their legs.

  “Hey there, kitty.” Wildside bent to pet the animal. “Where’s your home?”

  Randy stood at attention, shifting his gaze from one side of the alley to the other.

  “You like that, don’t you kitty?” Wildside stroked the cat. “You know what I don’t get? We have yet to encounter a zombie animal.”

  “I noticed that too. I guess their chemical composition is different from ours.”

  “I think all the aliens want is us.”

  “Not if Ranger has anything to say about it.”

  * * *

  As he sat with his back against the wall on the top floor of the abandon building, the one he had fled to with the fire escape ladder, Ranger’s mind raced with thoughts of the past. He remembered about the time he left the coffee shop with Darla, the woman he had met when he had found her stranded on the highway. The rain poured as he said good-bye to her.

  “You know,” Darla said, and flung open her umbrella, “You’re more than welcome to drop by my place to warm up for the night.”

  “I would, but where would I park my cab?” Ranger pointed at his empty semi-trailer.

  She winked. “I’ll leave that up to you.”

  He gulped then said. “All right, I’ll follow.”

  Hearing the moans of the undead as they drifted through the open window above his head resonated as sweet sounds in his ears. Mixed with his memories of Darla, he chuckled, bowing his head with a slight smile.

  In her apartment, she prepared him a soothing cup of hot java, an elixir to Ranger’s body. He sat in the middle of the couch, having removed his cap. It rested next to him.

  When she handed him the cup, Darla said, “Listen, I’m not in the habit of bringing home truck drivers. I mean, you’re nice and all, I just don’t do it.”

  “I kind of figured that. You didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d ask a guy like me for anything, really. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t make it a habit going to a woman’s apartment after a few hours of knowing her either.”

  They both smiled reaching a silent agreement they’d take things as it comes. No strings.

  “Any family around?” she asked.

  “In Oklahoma City. My momma lives there.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Yeah, sometimes. When the holidays come around, I’ll miss all my family.” He sipped
his coffee, set it on the plate in front of him and continued. “During the holidays, we’d have a large gathering with all my cousins, aunts and uncles. We’d have the turkey with all the fixin’s. Then after dinner, everyone would wander into the family room and we’d exchange gifts.” He laughed.

  “What?” she sat in an armchair on his right.

  “The weirdest present I’d ever received was a package of golf balls. I’ll never forget. When I unwrapped the present, I laughed.”

  “Why did you laugh?”

  “Golf is so unlike me. I could never see myself in those highbrow, stuffy country clubs, swinging a club.”

  In the building with the broken window behind him, Ranger grinned, remembering the last time he used a golf club was when he bashed the brains out of a gut-sucker in the trailer of a transport truck. How things change. What goes around comes around, he thought.

  Drifting back into the memory of her apartment, he continued. “Once everyone finished opening their presents, we’d sing carols. The carols sounded more like slurred nightmares. Everyone by that time had one too many and you can see the booze dripping from their glassy eyes.” He snickered, pulling another sip to his lips of the black liquid steaming into his nostrils. He set the cup back on the table. “Our carols were different too. We’d sing them with guitars. We all sounded like a rock band on meth.”

  Darla found that statement funny and laughed. “You sound close.”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, leaning his back on the sofa, he gazed at her as if he were studying her face to carry with him forever. Her big blue eyes, perfect teeth, and porcelain complexion comforted him.

  His thoughts returned to the building where he had made his escape from the zombies. He heard rustling like an echo. No getting rid of them, he thought.

  Five resilient limb-churners dragged through the door from the stairwell. Their noses sniffing for Ranger’s scent on the top floor. In an almost systematic way, they dispersed, taking to the aisles as individuals, combing for any sign of their brothers’ killer. Through a labyrinth of sewing machines they stalked their prey. At one time, the floor was the home to a clothing manufacturer. Boxes of clothes lay to the sides, unopened, in transit for delivery. When the undead arrived at the spot where Ranger had broken the window and entered the building, they didn’t see him anywhere. He wasn’t on the floor or near any of the furniture.

  Not until he popped from inside one of the boxes to the side, did shock suddenly penetrate their dead stares. He wound a plank embedded with nails around his shoulder and drove the instrument of death through one of the zombie skulls. The eater collapsed. One down, he thought, four to go. He hopped from the box, zigzagged then whipped out his shotgun and blasted the chest of another flesh-coveter. The impact tossed the zombie through the open window into the moaning crowd below. Two down. A third charged him from behind, throwing the shotgun from his hands. In one smooth motion, Ranger smashed it in the face with his elbow, seized it by the hair, rammed its head through a sewing machine arm, and kicked the unit to the ground, crushing the predator’s head into a lime, jellylike substance. That’s three. The fourth and fifth eater stormed after him together, but his fast reflexes unsheathing his knife and slicing through the neck of the fourth, saved him. As its head rolled, it dropped to its knees, and toppled over spilling green. That’s number four.

  The last of the eaters stopped in its tracks a few feet from the kill, and stood there after seeing the devastation Ranger had caused to its fellow brothers. It almost knew that if it went after Ranger it would certainly die a miserable death. In an act of surrender it stood its ground taking a step back.

  Spotting the zombie’s unwillingness to lose its life, Ranger cleaned the knife on his jeans and slipped it into its sheath on his leg. He then retrieved his shotgun all the while maintaining eye contact with the beast. Retreating as he searched for shells on his belt, he didn’t see the sharp edge of the sewing machine he had kicked over to kill the third eater. The edge sliced through his jeans, through his skin, and spilled blood through his pants. He clenched his teeth as pain shot through his leg. He quickly covered the wound with his hand, but it was too late. The zombie’s nostrils flared. It smelled his life source. Its body shook, its mouth drooled, and it frenzied toward Ranger. Not having time to reload or use his shotgun against the beast, Ranger holstered the weapon and ran.

  A frenzying zombie is a zombie to fear. It had powers beyond itself to destroy anything in its wake. It will not tire, stop or turn back until Ranger died and became a meal.

  Through the sewing machine aisles he trotted, spilling blood as he went. The zombie screamed straight for him, but dropped to its knees every so often to lick his crimson liquid off the floor. This bought Ranger some time, as he trapped himself in one of the glass encased offices, and locked the door. He took advantage of his head start by sliding his hand on his ammo belt, and slipping his fingers into empty holders. He had none left other than the shells in his gun.

  Once the eater caught up with Ranger, it gazed at him through the glass office. It rocked. It groaned. And it smacked the glass with open palms as it shrieked in utter hunger. Ranger’s eyes peered at the eater. He knew what came next. He prepared for the creature’s entrance, placing his shotgun to one side, on the desk behind him. His knife made an appearance.

  The eater didn’t waste time. With a sudden burst, it crashed through the office window. Ranger jumped away, but it shot to its feet and lunged at his brothers’ killer, knocking the knife from his hand. Clasping the beast by the chest, Ranger threw it across the room slamming it against the locked door. It was as if it didn’t even happen. The creature hopped on the desk, bore its teeth and punched the zombie slayer square on the jaw. The blow knocked him to the floor where the maggot bag pounced on Ranger’s leg, attempting to plunge its bite through his jeans. Ranger would not have it. Shaking the confusion from his head, he kicked the eater’s face, pounding and cracking it. Stunned by Ranger’s blows, the zombie fell to the floor. Ranger crawled backward into shards of glass. The creature regained its bearings, and jumped him, but Ranger held it at bay with both hands on its throat. Its teeth chomped in the air aiming to rip at the man’s flesh. Pushing back with his forearm on its neck, Ranger steadied the beast as he felt with his free hand for something, anything to use against the monster’s appetite. The forearm did not deter the beast. With another sudden lunge, it grazed Ranger’s nose by a finger. Pushing the monster back once more, Ranger grasped a broken piece of glass, three inches in length and plunged it into the zombie’s neck, spilling green blood all over his clothes. The monster shrieked and wailed. Ranger threw him off with little effort. He grabbed another shard, five inches long this time and thrust it into the zombie’s eye, ending the zombie’s struggle for life.

  Chapter 20

  It was in the evening, just when the sun was about to vanish beyond the horizon leaving only a trail of light to illuminate the cityscape that the boys came across Jay’s Sporting Goods where provisions and ammo lay stored on the walls and cabinets.

  When they strolled inside, they locked the door and drew the blinds for the night. No one was around to protest their entry. They scanned the store aisles, taking stock of the equipment they could lug on their journey to reunite with Ranger. Some of that equipment included backpacks they felt hard-pressed to take. Randy found a couple of flashlights and batteries that rested on a hook, next to the survival gear. He passed a set to Wildside.

  At the rear of the store, behind a glass case, they examined the shelves for ammo. As luck would have it, they found boxes belonging to their M16 rifles behind two small wall cabinets. Wildside didn’t even bother checking the cabinet door. He smashed the glass with the butt of his rifle. Randy took a different approach. On the far side of the second cabinet, he simply slid the glass door open, and reached for the ammo boxes.

  They grabbed a few empty clips resting in a box under the cabinets and transferred the whole assembly on a glass case next to them.
As they loaded their clips one bullet at a time, they piled the full ones to one side.

  “You like Matty, don’t you?” Wildside asked.

  “She’s all right.” Randy kept his eyes on his ammo.

  “She’s pretty incredible.” Wildside paused, placing another clip in his done pile. “Do you think she likes you?”

  “I don’t know.” Randy tried not to reveal too much of how he felt about Matty. He liked her, but he wouldn’t dare share that knowledge with Wildside, not with their history.

  “I think she likes you. I’m sure she thinks you like her too.” Wildside pressed him, even though Randy’s fingers remained in motion. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, man. She’s cool, you know. I’m good with that.”

  “Yeah, I guess she is cool. Cool Red.” Wildside laughed.

  A crack appeared on the opposite side of Randy’s face, like a secret he had and wouldn’t dare tell anyone.

  After they had loaded all the ammo clips and placed them in their backpacks, Wildside said in a sure and confident voice. “This is as good a place as any to crash for the night.”

  Randy nodded, and walked toward the men’s room, “Before then, I’ve got to go.”

  “I’ll have a look to see if there’s anything to eat around here,” Wildside said, heading to the camping area of the store where a number of outdoor tents stood on display.

  * * *

  Jay’s Sporting Goods’ men’s room featured green faded walls, which in any other circumstance would have provided enough ambiance for a dentist to perform root canal. In Randy’s case, it rendered his complexion puke-like and horrid. Looking at his reflection in the mirror didn’t help. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights made the room feel electrical, in turn distracting him from focusing. Behind him stood two toilets with their stall doors partway closed. He didn’t need a stall, but he did approach a urinal next to one.

  With his back facing the sink, he poured out the waste from his body. He stared ahead at the dirty tiles and noticed the scribbling of those who at one time in their life stood in the same spot. Musings, really, of the silly things people think about. Scrawled on the tiles were things like “Jesus Saves” and “The end of the world is at hand. Are you ready?” Randy snickered, shaking his head. The end of the world already came, he thought. He zipped but didn’t flush. No point. He ambled to the sink and turned on the water. It had a pale, yellow tinge to it much like the white of his eyes appeared jaundiced in the mirror. Inspecting the amber overhead lighting, he had no doubt it was the culprit for making him look sickly. When he glanced again at the mirror, an eater of violent decomposition appeared behind him. The face had dragged from its skull, giving it a sunken look.