by Glen Krisch
“You weren’t kidding, were you?” she continued.
“No, Mom, we weren’t.”
“So … my parents, you’re grandparents, they’re …”
Charlie nodded slowly.
She blinked several times and subconsciously mimicked his reply. She sucked in a breath and started to cry.
“How can the Lord do this to us? To them? They were good Christians, and they raised good Christian children.” She wiped her cheeks, but her tears flowed freely despite her best efforts to thwart them.
Billy looked helplessly at Charlie. Neither knew what to say, and while she had tried to instill her beliefs into them, neither had followed her path, choosing instead their dad’s laidback latter-day hippie vibe.
She started to pray under her breath, turned on her heel, and went back to packing.
“I feel so bad for her,” Billy whispered.
“You and me, both,” Charlie said, clearing his dishes.
Billy followed him into the living room. Thin bands of light shining through the window shutters lined the furniture and floor. It was gloomy and dark. Specks of dust flickered through the wan light. They stared at the suitcases and moving boxes already stacked by the front door.
“I wonder if it’s even safe to be on the road,” Charlie said.
“What,” Billy said, “you want to stay here?”
“No, not really. But if the flu hit all over the country, that means there are zombies everywhere.”
Billy pictured Dad driving the station wagon down the hilly highway heading south. A valley filled shoulder-to-shoulder with the undead, all seeking the flesh of the living. Their flesh.
“And if it’s that bad, you know the military will be called in to clean up the mess.”
In Billy’s mind, that ambling horde of zombies became shredded with automatic weapons’ fire, exploded with mortar rounds, crushed under an advancing tank tread. He shook his head and said, “It’s still hard for me to believe. How did we not know anything about it?”
“What if there was nothing to know?” Charlie said with a wry grin.
“You lost me.”
“The people who died from flu, they all didn’t die on the same day, right?”
“Your point?”
“Let’s say that the people who died, they all died over of period of, like, a month. What if they were all buried, all set and ready to rise at the same time? You know, like the cicadas.”
“What do you mean?” Billy said, confused.
“You know how we had a crazy amount of cicadas last year?”
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. They drove me nuts.”
“Well, Mom had me read up on them last year for part of my science homework. Turns out all those cicadas come out at the same time for a reason: survival.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Geez, Billy,” Charlie said, exasperated. “Okay, think of the cicadas. What keeps them alive? Do they have poison? Do they bite? Are they super-fast?”
“Uh … I don’t think so.”
“Right. Their only defense, the only way they make sure their species continues, is if they all come out of hibernation at the same time. Their sheer number is their defense. There’s no way they can all be eaten by other animals.”
“You’re saying the zombies did that? That they all rose at the same time on purpose?”
“I don’t know, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Charlie said.
Billy nodded and shuddered. It did make sense, but it was certainly unsettling. If they all rose at the same time, the undead were now set to spread their contagion, to survive as only the undead can.
A car pulled up, and two car doors opened and closed. Billy went to the front door and checked the peephole.
“Is that Tanner and Kendra?” Charlie asked.
“No. It’s Dad. And some skinny, bearded guy,” he said and gasped. “It’s the guy from earlier. The creeper dude.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“See for yourself.” Billy ceded access to the peephole.
“Great,” Charlie said, backing away.
Their dad opened the door, throwing golden light across the entryway carpet.
“Boys,” Dad said, stepping inside, the bearded man close behind. “I don’t know how to tell you this. It’s crazy. Unbelievable.”
“Let me guess,” Charlie said and folded his arms. “Zombies, right?”
“Yeah, how did you know?” Dad said.
“We saw them,” Billy said.
“So, it’s true?” Mom said, entering the living room. She carried her battered brown vinyl suitcase, which was bulging at the seams. “The dead have risen?”
Dad wrapped his arms around her, kissed her head and then said, “Well, you boys just confirmed what I heard on the radio. It’d been on the fritz all morning, but I caught the tail end of a news bulletin before it cut out on me. And Mr. Primrose here, he witnessed some curious activity out near the fence line, too. Lucky thing I drove by when I did. His car just broke down on the outer service road.”
“It’s the flu,” Primrose said. “It changes the dead. Doesn’t let them rest until you destroy their brains.”
Their mom gasped, covering her face with her hands as she looked away.
“What did I say?” Primrose said.
“Norma’s parents died recently,” Dad replied in a quiet voice.
“Flu?”
All three Upton men nodded.
“I’m sorry for being so insensitive. That wasn’t my intention.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Primrose,” Dad said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You didn’t know.”
“Please, call me Dylan.”
Dylan Primrose smiled, first to their dad, then to each of the boys. His missing eye tooth left a gaping blackness in his lecherous face.
“Well, Dylan, do you mind staying here, keeping an eye on things? I still need to round up our eldest from her boyfriend’s.”
“Dad!” Charlie blurted. “No!”
“What is it?”
“We’ll be fine,” Charlie said, glancing at Dylan. “I’ll watch over things.”
“Under normal circumstances I’d agree with you, son, but these aren’t normal circumstances.”
“But, Dad—”
“That’s enough, Charlie. I’ll be back soon.”
“I’d be more than happy to look after your family, Mark.” Dylan Primrose looked from one member of the Upton family to the next, his expression unguarded and carnal. “Now’s the time for having your family close.”
Billy wondered how their dad hadn’t seen what had been so obvious to both he and Charlie. Dylan Primrose was a creeper.
“Thanks so much. I won’t be gone longer than ten-twenty minutes,” Dad said, pulling his car keys from his pocket. “I hate to ask, Dylan, but do you know how to handle a gun?”
“Of course,” he replied, sounding offended.
Dad went to the closet, pulled out his hunting rifle from inside. “Normally I have this under lock and key, but since things are so … hectic, I thought I should have it close at hand.”
“I understand completely,” Dylan said. He took the weapon and held it up to look down the sight. He sucked air through the gap in his teeth and nodded.
“It’s unloaded,” Dad said, but the shells are on the top shelf of the closet. The boys have hunting rifles of their own. They can handle themselves, but it’s always good to know there’s another adult in the mix.”
“Bring her back, Mark,” Mom said, her voice tight in her throat. “Go get our daughter.”
“You know I will,” he said, and again planted a kiss on her head. She couldn’t stand to see him leave, so she went to the bathroom and grabbed a tissue. “All right. I’ll be back in a bit. I don’t want anyone leavin
g—and I mean, not for anything—until I get back. Hear?”
“Yes, Dad,” Charlie said.
Billy nodded.
Their mom sobbed audibly from the bathroom.
“Don’t you worry,” Dylan said with a salute. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”
When the door closed, Dylan stepped in front of it. He folded his arms across his chest and leered at Billy. “Now, let’s see where we stand, boys. One of you called me ‘dickweed.’ I’m trying to remember which one of you sweet things has such a filthy mouth.”
CHAPTER 24
Mom returned to the living room moments after the door closed. With her tears dried, she folded a tissue and put it in her pocket. Everyone looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow, not understanding Billy and Charlie’s apprehension.
“Mrs. Upton, can I trouble you for a glass of water?” Primrose said.
“Why, certainly.” She smiled, happy to have a mundane, familiar task. “Follow me.”
Billy and Charlie exchanged worried looks, and followed as well.
“So, Mr. Primrose,” she said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard, “have you heard from your family? Any word from the outside? We’re pretty much cut off at this time of year.”
She awaited his reply through several tense seconds.
He shook his head, as if disappointed, sucked air through his teeth again. He set the unloaded rifle on the kitchen table, and without a word lunged at her lightning-quick, cupped a hand over her ear before slamming her head into the refrigerator. Magnets and Polaroids fell from the impact.
“Mom!” Charlie cried.
Billy remained mute, paralyzed by fear, his voice caught in his throat.
Primrose grinned as he caught her unconscious body before it hit the floor, somehow managing it with a chivalrous flourish. He hooked an arm across her chest and dragged her across the kitchen.
“Let her go!” Billy said, finally regaining his voice.
“I wouldn’t try anything stupid, son,” he said to Charlie, who was angling for the knife block.
Charlie stopped in his tracks.
“That the pantry?” Primrose asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Yeah, what’s it to you?” Charlie said.
“It’s a good place for storage,” Primrose said and the pantry door. “Yeah, this’ll do real nice,” he said, and tossed her inside. Her body fell heavily, but she didn’t make a sound.
“Wait!” Charlie said. “Let me make sure she’s okay.”
“Wait, nothing. You’re lucky I haven’t gutted her yet.” He closed the pantry door, then grabbed a kitchen chair and wedged it under the handle. “Now, we can put off me causing your poor ol’ ma any more pain. How does that sound? Now, let’s just get a move on. We ain’t got much time.”
“What are you talking about?” Charlie said.
“A negotiation, of course.” He smiled, vile and oily, rubbed his hands together. “I won’t hurt your momma, for now, but I need a volunteer.”
“For what?” Billy asked.
Charlie elbowed him.
Primrose guffawed and clapped his hands together. “Oh, Billy, I think you just forfeited your right to negotiate. You’re just too damn sweet for your own good.” He took hold of his elbow, started walking him out of the kitchen. “I’ll be back for you before you know it, Charlie!”
Billy struggled in his grasp, but Primrose was surprisingly strong for being so wiry.
“Hey, just …” Billy muttered. “You’re hurting me!”
“Ain’t no pleasure without a little pain,” Primrose said, and hauled him down the hallway.
Billy’s mind reeled. He tried to brace his feet from having to take another step, but it did little to slow Primrose.
“Lemme guess, your bedroom’s somewhere down this hall, right? I’d love to see your collections. Your action figures and comics. See what makes you tick.”
Billy stopped fighting, loosening all his muscles until he was a puddle of goo Primrose had to drag through the thick carpeting.
“That’s okay, I don’t mind a little fight,” Primrose said, tugging on his arm until it felt like his shoulder joint would pull apart.
Looking over his shoulder, Billy watched as Charlie grabbed their mom’s favorite vase from the entryway table. He ran up to Primrose and clobbered him in the side of the head.
“You leave him alone!”
The vase shattered. Stagnant water, flower blossoms past their peak, and glass shards showered down on Billy.
Primrose released his grip and shook off the blow, and after a flash of unadulterated rage, his expression turned amused. He touched his scalp, rubbed his bloody fingertips together.
Freed, Billy crab-walked away as fast as he could.
“Aw, Charlie, you shouldn’t have done that.”
Charlie took a flailing punch at Primrose, who easily swept the blow aside with the back of his hand. Before Charlie could regain his balance, Primrose slapped him across the face so hard it sounded like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. Charlie staggered back, stunned.
Billy got to his feet and said, “Come on, Charlie, let’s move!”
He grabbed his brother’s elbow, and they backed away.
“Boys, boys,” Primrose said. Blood streamed down his temple and cheek before droplets spilled from his chin. He stepped closer, shaking his head as if trying to chase away a persistent song niggling at his brain. “We’re going to have so much fun. Just the three of us.”
“The kitchen door,” Charlie said under his breath.
“But Mom—”
“I know. I don’t know what else to do.”
They backed into the kitchen and Primrose charged, his heavy strides resounding through the narrow hallway.
As soon as they cleared the kitchen table, both were shoved aside; their mother now stood in their place.
Charlie caught himself by bracing against the countertop.
Billy stumbled, and as he fell onto his backside, admired the gleam of the blade as Primrose impaled himself on the knife held belly-high by their mother.
“Wha—” Primrose said, stunned. He grabbed her hands, but couldn’t loosen them.
“How dare you lay a finger on my family?” Her voice trembled with hysterics.
Primrose smashed a fist into her face.
“Mom!” Billy cried.
Charlie hurried to his feet.
A low groan escaped her lips, but she barely moved. Instead of falling away, she leaned forward until her forehead rested on Primrose’s sternum.
Billy feared he’d knocked her out, and didn’t want to know what would happen if that were the case, but as Primrose reared back a fist for another blow, she let out an agonized scream and pulled up hard on the blade. His insides spilled to the floor and all fight immediately went out of him as she stepped away from what she’d done.
Primrose tried in vain to hold his guts in place, but the bloody gore slipped through his fingers and he collapsed face-first, as if his body just now realized his fatal predicament.
Charlie rushed to her side, and Billy a second later.
The blade fell from her grip with a sticky clatter, and she sobbed as she turned away from the awful sight of the quickly pooling blood.
Charlie caught her in his arms, and Billy joined them.
All three hugged one another, shaken, a shared feeling like they never wanted to let go.
“My babies,” Mom said, and that’s all they needed to hear to know they would be okay. “My babies …”
~
Mom stood at the sink, scrubbing her hands with dish soap and hot water like a surgeon preparing for the operating room. “I can’t believe I …” she said and trailed off. “I just … and then he was right there. And it just … happened.”
Charlie patted
her shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Mom. It’s over.”
The front door opened and from the next room over their dad shouted. “Honey, I got her! You wouldn’t believe what I just did!”
“Oh, my God, I can’t see your dad … can’t let him see me,” she said in a near-panic as she continued to scrub her hands. “What would he think?”
“He’d think you did a very brave thing, Mom,” Billy said.
“I better go, you know …” Charlie hooked a thumb to the living room and went out to greet him.
Billy and his mom locked eyes as they listened to the murmured whispers.
“He did what?” Dad yelled, his footsteps storming down the hallway.
When he saw the gore on the kitchen floor, he paused, and then took in the sight of the blood covering his wife, his legs wobbling. “Dear, God … Norma.” He hugged her to him, then held her at arm’s length. “Are you hurt?” He checked her over, noticed the damage to her face. “Oh, my God, that asshole did this?”
“H— h— he was going to hurt our boys, Mark. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I shouldn’t have left you alone with him. I should’ve realized …”
“Oh, Mom,” Kendra said from the doorway. She held a hand to her mouth as if to stifle a sob. She sported a raised welt on her own eye, and her lip was swollen.
“What happened at Tanner’s?” Billy said.
“We’re having quite the rough day, aren’t we?” Dad said and chuckled cynically.
“Yeah, the worst day ever,” Charlie said.
“That son of a bitch Tanner thought it was okay to slap around our daughter.”
“You didn’t … did you?” Mom asked.
“When he wouldn’t open the cabin door,” Dad said, I kicked it in. He tried to punch me, so I kicked him in the balls. That’s when I noticed Kendra here …”
“He’s not dead, is he?” Mom pressed.
“No, I chased him off. Or at least I thought I did. But then he came back inside with this in his hand.” He removed an old handgun stashed in his belt.
Mom gasped and said, “Mark …”
“I wound up taking it from him. I pointed it at him, but then he pissed himself and ran outside. He would’ve driven off, but he’d left his keys on the kitchen counter.”