by Jack Flacco
Fear filled Randy’s eyes. He had placed his rifle on the waste disposal bin. The waste disposal bin was located near the entrance of the bathroom, ten feet away. With a sudden hundred and eighty degree twist, he faced the zombie’s attacking arms and bellowed, “Wildside!” just before it seized the boy by the throat. The zombie’s mandibles drew closer to Randy’s face. The rotting teeth protruded to a wide bite.
About an inch from Randy’s mouth, the door burst open. Wildside brandished a machete. Randy let his body fall limp, allowing him to slip from the eater’s grip and his weight to carry him to the floor. He crawled to the corner closest to him. This gave Wildside a clear shot to plunge the machete into the zombie’s gut and spill emerald body matter over the blade. He then withdrew the weapon and sliced the neck in one quick motion. The head dropped backward, rolling under the toilet from where it came. The body then buckled from the knees and crumpled to the floor, spilling more blood, collecting in a pool in front of Randy’s feet.
“Are you okay?” Wildside asked.
“Yeah.” Randy shot to his feet gazing at the zombie’s blood flowing in his direction. He then frisked himself, patting his chest, arms, legs and head. He hadn’t died at the hands of the undead. Wildside saved him. Wildside could have let him die, but he save him. He owed him his life. “Thanks.”
“Hey, you would have done the same for me.” Wildside offered his hand to help him over the body. Then before opening the door, he reached for Randy’s gun and tossed it to him. “Always keep your weapon with you at all times.”
* * *
Jumping from the sound of barking that had reached the top of the water tower where he had spent the night, Ranger tipped his cap from his eyes, and dragged the palm of his hand across his weary face. In a shower of rich morning light, he yawned, stretched, and scratched the slumber from his torn body. The dressing on his leg held firm. He remembered how the day before he’d found a box of clothes he’d torn to pieces on the top floor of the clothing manufacturer, the same place he slew five overzealous zombies. How he used the pieces as dressing for his wound from the cut on the edge of a collapsed sewing machine stand. And how he found an empty backpack in one of the boxes to fill with dry food from the kitchen he happen to come across on his way to leaving the building from the rear exit.
The train yards came to life with activity on the tracks by dogs scrounging their snouts on the beams, hunting for anything they could ingest.
After having broken open a box of crackers for breakfast, he ate a few, but found he wasn’t as hungry as he’d thought. The idea of returning to the truck and finding the zombie crowd had taken it apart, made him queasy. All his plans would have been for nothing. His mind drifted on the kids as well. Are they safe? Did they have anything to eat? Did they—survive the night? He rose overlooking the track, slipped his shotgun in his holster, tipped his cap forward and swung his backpack with his supplies over one shoulder.
Climbing down the ladder that led from the top of the water tower to the ground, Ranger took care not to slip. The rungs were small and water from the previous day’s rainfall made them slippery. Halfway down, his jacket caught on a protruding edge of one of the rungs. At the same time, the smell of food from his backpack attracted a seagull. It beat its wings closer until it clawed at the backpack, pecking at it. Waving his arm, Ranger grazed one of the bird’s flapping wings to shoo it away. Thinking it had left him for good, he played with freeing his jacket from the rung. It returned, this time bringing a flock. One, two, three, four seagulls attempted to peck at the contents of the backpack to get to the food. They flapped, pecked, soared and repeated. Ranger flailed his free arm behind him, but they would not surrender. They wanted the food. They haven’t eaten in days, and they’ll do anything to get at it. If he’d drop the pack, he thought, at the foot of the ladder, he could fight the birds on his terms instead of beating the air senseless and not making any progress. So he loosened the strap, allowing the pack to slip to the ground. He descended the ladder quickly, but to no avail, the seagulls kept pecking, clawing and moving the backpack until it reached a manhole a few feet away. When he dropped to the ground, he sprinted and dove for his supplies, but the backpack plummeted to the bottom of the sewers just as he made a grab for it.
He pounded at the edge of the manhole with his fist, grimaced, and screamed, “Damn!”
Nothing survived. All of it went in. While he stared into the pit, another problem surfaced—the dogs, a pack of three. Thirty feet away, they licked their chops, and drooled. They growled gazing at Ranger as if he looked like a side of ham dressed for Christmas dinner. Now, his natural instincts in this situation told him to back away slowly. He could do that, but other thoughts bounced in his brain. His gaze floated to the ladder that stood halfway between him and the dogs. Make a run for it. He wouldn’t make it. They have him in pieces before he’d even take a step. The other idea had him using his shotgun, but that might alert a crowd of eaters. He didn’t want to go through that again. He needed to get out of there, fast. Behind him stood a ten-foot fence, twenty feet away.
The dogs’ paws thrust them forward, beginning their assault. Ranger snapped to his feet and sprinted as hard as he could toward the fence. In their push to get to Ranger, the canines did not see the manhole ahead. Pumping one arm after another, sweat pearling on his forehead, his legs pushing hard, he could see the fence getting closer. The pack suddenly turned to two when one of the dogs fell to its death in an agonizing yelp down the manhole. A few moments later, Ranger leapt to the fence with one of the dogs doing the same and catching him from the cuff of his pant leg. He attempted to shake it off but the dog’s jaw locked on his leg and it had no intention of letting go.
Smashing the hanging dog on the fence, as its mate jumped wanting to clamp on his other leg, Ranger grew more frustrated. What a way to start the morning! Shaking his fist, he pulled out his shotgun, aimed it at the dog’s head. Before he could pull the trigger though, a zip cut through the air, hitting the dog on its side, causing blood to explode. It loosened its lock and fell lifeless to the ground. The other dog dashed from the scene, scared it would lose its life also. Still hanging from the fence, Ranger scanned the area. The shot that had killed the dog had to have come from one of the surrounding buildings.
Leaping from the fence, shaking the strain from his leg, he retraced his steps to the manhole. Peering down, he could see where the dog that had fallen. It lay dead, having smacked its head on a pile of bricks. The backpack lay underneath its body covered in blood and sewage grime. He sat at the edge of the opening, shook his head and ground his fist into his thigh for having been so careless with losing his supplies.
Without losing a moment, he rose, and scanned the buildings again. Three of them stood in a row, six floors high. Whoever had saved him from the dogs may also help him with supplies. Better still, they may provide him and the kids some manpower. He began to amble toward the middle building in hopes of seeing if he could find the origin of the bullet. He didn’t get very far. Another shot rang out, this time exploding a pile of dust before Ranger’s feet.
He froze. “Okay, you don’t want me coming in. I got that. Can I at least thank you for helping me?”
No answer.
The desire to flush the shooter from his or her hiding place ran through Ranger’s mind as he gazed at the ground ahead, but he didn’t know how many had taken residence in the dilapidated tenement with the broken windows and overgrown shrubs. He’d surely die if he attempted to charge the front doors. Instead, he raised his head to show his eyes to those in the shadows. Then, his arms floated above his head as he turned in a complete circle. Facing the building, he slowly reached for his knife. He thought if he had gone for the shotgun first, who knows if he’d live to see another minute. He tossed the knife on the gravel, three feet away. Next, with an open palm, keeping his eyes fixed on the building, he gently pulled his gun from the holster and dropped it two feet from where he stood. He raised his arms over his
head, and said, “I need your help. I have a package we’re delivering to Worship Square. It’s important it gets there.”
Still, no answer came.
“Look, I know you’re being careful. We all have trust issues. I’m not asking you to trust me. I’d like—I humbly request to see the person who saved my life so I can personally thank them. It’s the least I can do.”
The building remained still and quiet.
With his hands still raised, Ranger took a step. The bullet sliced through the air and landed in a puff, an inch from his foot. It was the closest one yet. “I’m not leaving.” He said, and bent to his knees placing his hands behind his head. “There. You want to humiliate me, you’ve done it. Now how about some courtesy so I can win back my pride.”
A few moments of silence, and the building’s front door rattled open. Stepping from the doorway, a child who was no older than Jon zigzagged from the entry. Her short, black hair fell over her ears. Her face was beautiful, although a faint layer of dirt covered it. She seemed to have memorized a path through the yard to stand four feet in front of Ranger. She wasn’t armed, but why would she be, the accuracy of the shooter kept her safe.
“Rather young, aren’t you?” Ranger gazed at her shifting his weight from one knee to the other. “If it’s okay with you, I’m gonna stand up.”
Not a word escaped her lips. She just stared at him with dark, bottomless eyes.
Having risen to his feet, he asked, “Do you understand English?”
“Which is it?”
“Obviously, you do. Which is what?”
“Are you here to ask for help or to be thankful you’re still alive?”
“Huh, you’re a lively one. Both.”
“You’re welcome. As for the help, what are you delivering to Worship Square?”
“It’s a care package to make sure the eaters won’t bother anyone again.”
“And what do you want from us?”
“How about some manpower?”
“No.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“You haven’t even heard my plan.”
“Don’t need to. If it ends in a massive explosion, someone’s going to die. And it won’t be anyone of us. We’ve lost too many to sacrifice. Now, you’re more than welcome to join us, otherwise I suggest you leave.”
“Look,” Ranger raised his foot to step forward, but in an instant, assault rifles emerged from every window taking aim at him, twenty-four in all.
“Don’t take that step.”
Ranger dropped his foot back in place. “I understand now. You rigged this whole yard with landmines. You didn’t shoot at me because I was a threat; you shot at me because if I took a wrong step I’d explode in pieces. Who are you people? Are you part of the rebel faction, the army within the army?”
Her gaze fell to the ground. “Take your gun and knife and leave.”
“You can’t just quit.” He snarled.
The girl turned her back on Ranger and zigzagged through the yard again to the front door. “Walk straight behind you and don’t look back. Watch your step.” She vanished with a click to the door. The guns in every window disappeared into the shadows.
Ranger threw his arms in the air, and smacked them to his sides while shaking his head. He then retrieved his weapons, mumbling. He couldn’t understand their reason for not helping. Everyone’s lost someone in their lives, including him. That is no excuse for anyone to turn their back on others.
Making his way to the fence, he scaled it, and hopped to the other side. He had to get the truck with the hitch moved and ready to pick up the kids. He disappeared through the alleys.
* * *
That same morning, Randy and Wildside exited the hotel across the street from the sporting goods store. Randy didn’t like the idea of sleeping in a gun shop with a dead zombie around. By chance, they had found the hotel after leaving the store the night before.
“We have a long way to go before meeting up with Ranger at Michigan Avenue.” Randy said.
“We’ll be okay on supplies. We have enough food and drink to last a while.”
Some time later, as the boys drifted in and out of alleyways, against walls and between parked cars, Randy asked, “What’s it like? What’s it like having memories?”
“Do you remember last night?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how it’s like. You just remember and it’s there.”
“What about the long past—years ago.”
“It’s the same thing, except some details may have disappeared, and you only remember the key points. Sometimes,” He paused, wanting to make a point, “you remember what you want to remember. That’s called selective memories. At least, that’s what I call it.”
“I guess, people eventually remember what they want to remember.”
“Yeah, that’s true too. I think we want to protect ourselves from past hurt, so we remember only the good things and try to push away the bad. As humans we only can deal with so much before the body shuts down.” He stopped in his tracks, scratched the back of his head and continued. “I guess that’s why before the world went crazy, so many people had so many issues. They dwelt on the bad and it caused all sorts of problems with their mind. You know, schizophrenia, narcissism, delusions. Mental institutions were filled with them.”
“We’re the lucky ones, I suppose.”
“You’re the lucky one. You don’t have to deal with any of that.”
Randy nodded as they slipped into a side street.
Chapter 21
“It’s here.” Matty said.
“Well, let’s go.” Jon rose from behind the corner of the alleyway.
“Wait.” Matty grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
“Why?” He gave her a giant stare.
“Remember how I get when I think something’s not right?”
“Yeah.”
“Now is one of those times.”
They kept watch from across the street on the truck and hitch Ranger had parked on Michigan Avenue. The same truck Randy and Matty had driven in when they were headed south on Porter Street and ran over the spike strips more than a day ago. When things didn’t seem right to Matty, the palms of her hands would sweat and her knees would go weak. Seeing the eaters stagger from around the far opposite corner didn’t make it any less relaxing. She drew Jon into the alleyway to peak over a dumpster. What happened next made their eyes pop and their jaws drop. The five undead first stood facing the passenger side of the truck, and in one smooth motion they swung around to face the wall, as if they had the same message delivered to their brain.
Matty whispered to Jon who stared at the undead. “That’s weird.”
“What are they doing?”
“It looks like they're staring at the wall.”
“Well, I can see that. But why?”
“If I knew, do you think we’d be having this conversation?”
“I don’t see Ranger.”
“Yeah, neither do I.”
“Why don’t you shoot the crap out of them?”
“I only have a few bullets left.”
“Yeah, yeah. You only want to use them if necessary.”
“Right. Let’s swing around them to see if we can find Ranger.”
* * *
From the other side of the building, Wildside and Randy remained hidden in the alley around the corner.
“Do you see them?” Wildside asked.
“Yeah, I see them. They’re just standing there.”
“It’s weird, like they were told to stare at the wall.”
“What do you want to do?”
Wildside checked his ammo. “Wait to see if Ranger comes.”
“If he doesn’t show up in ten minutes, let’s blast the guts out of ’em.” Randy said, taking an aggressive approach against the meat consuming creatures.
Wildside lowered Randy’s weapon that he’d had pointed on the undead. “Why don’t
we try to find a place to rest? We don’t want any stray bullets flying near that hitch.”
They retreated into the side door of the building next to them, through a gymnasium, climbing to the second floor where they kept watch from a window overlooking the street. The teens didn’t notice anything unusual to want to make the eaters stare at the wall.
“Do you think they’re sleeping?” Wildside asked.
“I’ve seen this when I was in county jail. One of the zombies I killed stood in one spot for a long time. It rocked back and forth like these ones. It’s as if they’re standing guard.”
In unison, they bent under the windows with their backs against the wall. They sat in silence until Randy rubbed his eyes and said, “You could have left me to die in that bathroom with that zombie’s hands wrapped around my neck. Why did you come back?”
“I came back because I’m human.”
“It wasn’t because you forgave me?”
“It was the right thing to do.” Wildside paused choosing his next set of words. “You’re human and I forgave you.”
Randy’s mouth cracked a slight smile.
* * *
Matty and Jon hid inside the second floor of a tailor shop, unaware Randy and Wildside hid next door, above a gymnasium. Matty kept her eye on Ranger’s truck while Jon played with the deck of cards he had taken from the silo before leaving for their journey on the city.