Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale (26 page)

Cara sincerely smiled at the young boy. “I’m not a ‘Miss’ or a ‘Mrs.’. I’m just a kid, too.” Just the day before, she would have vehemently argued that she was an adult, but at that moment, she realized that (despite her intellectual maturity) she still knew what it was to be a frightened child.

She checked her pistol and waved for him to lead the way. “Let’s go find a snack.” She walked through the doorway, gun drawn and surveyed the short, narrow hallway. The boy led the way and the girl made sure to stand a step behind Cara. The adolescent felt sure that the eight year old would be standing right beside her if the narrow passage had permitted it. She took a moment of pause to converse with the two children, halting the boy’s substantial lead. Squatting in a more comfortable position, she descended to the girl’s eye level.

“What is your name?” Cara tentatively began the introductions.

The girl curtsied like a noblewoman introducing herself at the king’s court. “I’m Sylvia.” Then she pointed at her brother. “That booger eater is Tommy.” The boy replied by sticking out his tongue.

Cara laughed. “Pleased to meet you both. By the way,” She cut her eyes over to the ten year old boy. “Do you really eat boogers?”

“No, but I do like peanut butter.”

“I think everyone likes peanut butter.” Cara took Sylvia’s hand while addressing Tommy. “Well, let’s get downstairs and see if they have some.” The trio descended the bare concrete stairs, which looked out of place in a church and more at home in an office building. One flight down, the passage ended in a wide expanse of carpet. Spread out in front of them was a kitchen with a counter forming the boundary to the massive (but empty) dining area. The majority of the tables and chairs had been used to block doors and windows.

Before she could stop them, Sylvia bolted away, chasing Tommy around the unobstructed floor. Cara sighed and decided to let them play. The situation was hard enough without making it worse for two children that could not fully grasp the desperation with which everyone else felt weighted down. “Besides, their childhood is going to be short enough” a mocking voice in her head sardonically commented. Instead, she searched through the remnants of an ill-equipped kitchen. She found silverware in a drawer, at the same time hearing plaintive cries of “give it back”. She wanted to call out scolding the children, but the question “What’s going on in there?” sounded like her mother. Frozen by the sudden thought and all the ugly thoughts it led to, she stood looking dumbly at the gleaming knives, forks, and spoons trying to get a grasp on her emotions. She felt as if she were standing on the beach and was caught by a tall, unexpected wave. Her legs developed a curious trembling feeling, as if her muscles were revolting against her mind. A strange, painful hollowness that stole her breath away blossomed in her chest and she reached out to steady herself on the counter top.

“Get your head together.” She commanded herself. The children did not notice, too enraptured in their games. Cara took long, cleansing breaths, exhaling the stale air in her lungs. After a brief moment, she could continue looking for food.

The first cabinet held a twelve pack of snack cakes which Cara pulled down. She waved the brightly colored box, hearing the cellophane wrappers inside make their squeaky noises as they brushed against each other. “I found Little Debbie.” She called in the most cheerful manner she could muster, and the children came running.

Tommy sprinted toward her with a book tucked under his arm. Sylvia vainly tried to catch up to him with arms stretched out. “Make him share.”

Cara opened the box quickly, then a clear wrapper containing two of the prized treats. “Why don’t you trade me the book for a snack cake?” She made the offer to Tommy who readily accepted. Cara took the tome in one hand and passed out the snacks to both children who sat on the floor seconds later. Cara crossed her legs, stretching out on the carpet with the book in her lap, examining the cover while the children greedily ate.

Cara thumbed through the pages, glancing at the illustrations. It was obvious that she held a children’s Bible of considerable age. One picture depicted a man hanging from a tree by his hair and another man brandishing a sword at the helpless victim. A turn of the page revealed a two-page spread of the ark floating in tumultuous waters under an overcast sky. On the top of a few rocks barely breaking the rising ocean’s surface, people held on, shouting with agonized expressions on their faces. Some young vandal had written in obscene dialogue above the image of a pregnant woman standing on a mountain top. The waves lapped at her sandal clad feet as she placed one hand on her full womb, longingly staring at the retreating ark. The words above her head, scrawled in black ink, read “Oops, I’m fucked.” Cara shuddered and closed the book.

The children finished their sugary meal and ran to the sink, washing the sticky residue from their fingers. When they returned, they both sat Indian-style facing Cara.

Sylvia spoke first. “Is your Daddy here, too? I heard you call that man ‘father‘.”

Cara shook her head and fought the urge to cry. Now, in the company of children, she felt like she had to give them some kind of hope but the question about her father brought the sick sensations flooding back into her. She managed to choke out a satisfactory answer. “No, I called him ‘father’ because in my church, that’s what you call a preacher.”

“Weird.” Tommy mumbled looking at his hands.

“Have you ever been to a Catholic church?” Cara asked while blinking back tears. The damn memories just wouldn’t leave. The dead, but oh so alive, eyes peering out of the closet were hungry for her. Not just behind the door of her parent’s closet, they were everywhere.

Both children shook their heads and Tommy replied with a soft ‘no’.

Cara looked up to keep the tears from spilling over the edge of her bottom eye lids. “That’s a shame. They are very beautiful.”

Sylvia spoke up then. “Daddy says that he feels sorry for everyone that doesn’t go to church here, because they don’t know that they are lost.”

“What difference does it make if you love Jesus here or at home or even on the playground? God is everywhere, so He knows if you love Jesus everywhere too.” Cara spat out disgusted at the way their father had tried to bring self-righteousness to his young children. A little voice in the back of her head urged her toward anger. Yes, get furious. The rage would dispel the sour-stomach and the shaky legs. Concentrate on that ignorant zealot.

“What about demons?” Tommy innocently asked. “Daddy said a demon made Mommy hate God and that’s why she tried to hurt us.”

Cara felt her skin grow cold. “What?”

Sylvia “shushed” him but he continued. “Mommy came inside with blood on her. Then she chased us and bit Daddy hard. He said that a demon made her do it.”

Cara remembered Daniel Rogers sitting motionless and speechless in the corner. Her heart plunged. He was about to come back as one of them. Just then, a muffled shot filtered down to them. Cara stood up so abruptly that the children jumped back in fright. She ran for the stairs and the confused children ran after her. The steep incline barely winded her when she reached the actual worship level.

Everyone was gathered near the windows, even Tommy and Sylvia’s father. Cara heard the rumbling of a motor, tires screeching, and another shot fired. Bryant felt her hand on his shoulder and faced her. His excited eyes gleamed as he tried to whisper, but the enthusiasm was too much. His voice came out louder than he had intended. “There are more survivors.”

Cara peeked through the window and saw an older Malibu plow over a zombie. After the tires crushed the head like a ripe melon placed in the path of a steamroller, the car stopped.

***

Martin hit the brakes and exited. He surveyed the ground with a quick side to side head motion and yelled “it’s okay”. However, it was far from okay. A girl that Cara scarcely recognized jumped out after him. They both reached in to the back seat and began tugging at (from Cara’s vantage point ) a large shape. The unidentified object in the back seat turned out to be an overweight man who stumbled trying to exit the vehicle. It was obvious that he could barely hold himself up. The noise caught the creatures’ attention and they converged on the car‘s newly departed occupants.

Martin looked at Stephanie and commanded. “Stay in front of us and shoot them if they get too close. I’ll carry Mark.” The full weight of the man slowed Martin down but Stephanie faithfully stayed only a few steps ahead. Except for directly in front, the new arrivals were surrounded. The normal quiet of the creatures shattered under their sheer numbers. The footsteps multiplied into the cacophony of an advancing army. Each moan produced by nonfunctional lungs rose up to join the other inarticulate vocalizations until the world filled with dead voices.

In this blanket of noise, a crack - signifying a bullet rocketing out of a barrel - managed to assault the ears of the three desperate souls entreating entry. Stephanie looked up at the door and saw a barrel recede back into the second floor window. Then something much more immediate caught her eye. One of the creatures had been camping by the door and now staggered down the steps, sizing her up. She aimed and fired. Despite never having shot a gun before, she scored a lucky hit. The bullet went in above the Adam’s apple and exited at the base of the brain (where eyesight is interpreted). The body rolled down the steps like a rag doll and stopped in a tangled, unnatural position at the base of the stairs.

In his peripheral vision, Martin saw them closing in. Any moment, he knew that the ones behind him would catch up. Stephanie mounted the first step and turned to urge him on. Instead of an encouraging cheer, her eyes widened and a scream ripped free from her throat.

Fingernails dug into his shoulder. He instinctively jerked forward and the beast lost its grip. Then it found purchase on the young man’s burden. Brother Mark let out a howl of pain as the monster bit into his neck. The flesh tore away, exposing veins and various organic tubes. Blood jetted out in squirts and the preacher fell to his knees, but not in prayer. Martin turned to drag the man with him when a bullet flew by several feet above his head. He glanced back to see Stephanie leveling the rifle again.

“Hurry! I’m not a good shot. I might hit you next time.”

Martin ran to the base of the stairs and took the rifle from her hands. He whipped around and aimed. Mark continued to blindly crawl forward with one of the creatures on his back, steadily tearing and biting at any exposed skin. Martin carefully lined up the open sights on the abomination’s head and fired. At the last second, his body betrayed him and the barrel dipped. He hit it in the chest knocking it off of the wounded man. When the monster tried to stand, Martin’s aim returned and he nailed it in the forehead, sending a spray out of the exit wound. He took aim at the next one but two had already started feeding on the preacher. Martin fired, splattering one skull and took aim at the next, but the mass of undead had encircled the unfortunate man. The preacher was strangely silent. Deep down, the young man hoped that the preacher had passed out from blood loss or shock, anything not to have to feel the excruciating end that was coming. Martin felt Stephanie pull at his arm.

When he reached the top step, the door opened. The screams started at the same instant, as did the sounds of fabric tearing and crunching as teeth bit down to the bone. Martin made it to safety. Mercifully, the screams of Brother Willis ended with the closing of the church door.

NIGHT

Four pews had not been used to barricade the main door inside the Fayette First Baptist church. They rested in their original positions facing the pulpit. One sat flush against a wall on the left side of the sanctuary. The other three sat in a row, one behind the other, on the right side of the room. Martin and Stephanie sat on the last pew. Bryant and Cara sat on the row in front and turned to look back at them. Everyone felt the awkward silence even though each had a different reason. Never coming face to face in a group such as that, no one knew what to expect. Stephanie could not bring herself to explain how she came to be there. The memory was too fresh and too painful. Given time, she possibly could detach or distance herself and tell it like a story that happened to someone else, but right now she couldn’t speak. Martin looked at the two lovebirds, trying to decide if he should still be pissed off or not. Bryant had the girl he had wanted, but he soon realized that he had not even been thinking about Cara in the last twenty-four hours - maybe longer if he counted them up. “I’ve been busy surviving.” he thought. He quickly started to rationalize it. His perspective had changed. He did not want Cara; he just wanted someone. “Besides, I wasn’t in love. It was a momentary crush. Small potatoes compared to life and death.” Cara felt the strain of not knowing Martin and Bryant’s reaction to coming face to face. She felt sure that Bryant was mature enough to not pick a fight, but Martin had exhibited some childish behavior when they first met. Of course, she had no way of knowing how much he’d grown up since he’d ridden out to the county line. Bryant just looked at the group, glad that more people were alive. He finally spoke to make peace with the boy. The last thing they needed was humans against humans.

“Are you alright?” Bryant watched his eyes.

“I’m fine.” Martin replied a little more curtly than he intended.

Cara shifted her gaze to Stephanie. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know yet.” She looked at Martin, her savior, with obvious pain in her eyes. She needed for them to know but did not have the strength to tell them at that moment. Part of her needed for everyone to know, to pity her, to console her. Transversely, she did not want them to find out. In some deep and irrational part of her mind, she knew that they would think that she had asked for it. She could still hear Rick’s mocking voice and the hint of a laugh in every hateful syllable. “You deserve it because you’re a nigger-lover!”

“I’m going to find a restroom.” She leaned in close and whispered, “You can tell them while I’m gone.” Martin started to protest but she ignored his opening mouth and walked away before she lost her nerve. The entire time she was exiting the room, her hands shook and her heart sped up to a frenzied pace. Just thinking about the animal that had violated her pushed her to the verge of a panic attack. Then she passed through the door into the dim hallway and leaned against the wall. Her breathing slowed and she just stood there waiting.