Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale (31 page)

“I’m too old. I can’t move fast enough.” A hint of disappointment seeped into his voice. Truthfully, he wanted to help, to be part of the solution. Fighting evil in a spiritual realm grew tiring when one never saw the tangible results of the toils. However, fighting flesh and blood evil struck him as more glamorous.

Cara spoke up. “Tommy can’t go. There will be boxes of ammo that are too heavy for him.”

Eric looked up with bloodshot eyes. “I’m the doctor. If you lose me while hauling in groceries, who’ll keep you healthy or administer first aid?” He rubbed his temples and peered over at Bryant. “Besides, Bryant’s the best shot with the rifle. So, he needs to be covering who ever does it. Also, we need strong guys to move and restack the furniture.” He motioned at the pile of debris blocking the door.

Exasperated, Stephanie cried out. “Well, at this rate, who will be able to go?”

Cara stood before them with a fierce gaze. Her voice left little room for argument. “Bryant has the most experience with guns. He can get on the third floor or roof and be the lookout and pick off any approaching zombies. Martin and Eric can move the furniture with Father O’Brien and Stephanie. I’ll make the run.”

Bryant jumped away from the wall he had been leaning against. “No!”

Cara anticipated his objection and was ready to counter. “Cut the theatrics. You know it has to be me. The Father and Eric are right. Also, Stephanie can’t go, she’s in a fragile state of mind right now. We’ve all lost people we love, but she has suffered that as well as violation by a sick bastard.”

Bryant threw his hands up in the air. “Alright, you win. Go out there and die over groceries. I’m washing my hands of this.”

Cara turned on him with a sudden viciousness that no one expected. “I’m not your possession, so don’t treat me like one! We will starve to death if I don’t do this. Do you really think that we can walk to the store whenever we run out of bread? I’m sorry if my efforts hurt your masculine ego, but it has to stop! If I don’t take my share of risks, what good am I?” The rage dissipated in a series of whimpers as she fought back tears. She knew that he wanted to protect her out of a deep love and she could forgive that.

Bryant stepped forward and embraced her, burying his face in her hair. The tears that he was trying to hide rapidly absorbed into her brown locks. His hands slid over her back creating friction that warmed her chilled skin. He whispered into her ear in the softest voice manageable. “I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough to risk losing you.”

He abruptly broke their hug and turned away. His voice was choked and he sniffled in the middle of his next sentence. “Let’s get into our positions.” Without facing any of them, he grabbed his rifle and walked toward the stairwell.

Cara watched him go and felt remorse for the hell she put him through to establish her independence. In that way, she thought that she might take after her mother. Her heart filled with a mixture of melancholy and pleasure. Something of her family still survived within her.

***

The hungry creatures covered the doors on the bottom floor on three sides of the building. The front of the church did not fare any better. The staircase allowed limited access to the door, but the streets below were still choked with standing bodies milling around. How could Rick do it? He looked through the windshield at the horde. Flooring the gas and plowing through bodies would only take him so far. The deceased would slow the truck down and eventually start rocking it until it flipped. Suddenly an idea came to him.

During his late night drive, he had stopped for gas and happened to swipe a two-liter bottle. After pouring the cola out onto the ground, he had filled it with gasoline in order to not make as many dangerous stops. This plastic container full of combustible liquid formed the center of his plan. He parked the truck several blocks down from the congregating masses and stepped out to survey the cars parked at skewed angles. The young man’s beady eyes swept over the landscape watching for the cursed beasts to move toward him. As of yet, none of them noticed.

Rick placed his hand on the cooled hood of an inert Dodge Neon. “It’s pointed in the wrong direction, but that might not matter.” The gears of his brain turned, replaying the way the events should transpire. He needed to access the interior of the vehicle but feared that the noise would attract his countless enemies. Knowing that time was scarce, he reached back and slammed his elbow into the passenger window sending shards of glass tinkling down into the vinyl seats. Glancing around for approaching monsters, his fingers nimbly waded through a minefield of broken glass, trying to find the door lock. His finger hooked the small protruding plastic lock, sliding it to the side. Quickly swinging the door open, he reached over and looked at the gas gauge. The fluorescent orange needle rested on a large block-lettered E.

“Well, that’s only a minor setback.” Rick lowered the lever controlling the gear and placed the car in neutral. His steady, but rushed hands popped the lock on the driver’s side and he exited the vehicle, quickly running around to the newly opened door. One hand gripped the steering wheel and the other braced itself against the formed plastic covering the interior of the frame. His plan to push the vehicle into the street was proceeding smoothly. He gave thanks to the designers that changed the car’s body from metal to mostly fiberglass as his muscles flexed under his shirt. The strain wasn’t too bad but having to move it a great distance would probably break him physically and mentally.

Slowly adjusting the wheel as he pushed, he managed to line it up in front of his truck even though the car was facing the wrong way.

Letting go, he glanced around seeing slow-moving pursuers walking toward him. Rick knew that he had to move faster but had so much to do. He sprinted back to the truck and grabbed his bottle of gasoline. Quickly, he unscrewed the plastic cap and started dousing the Neon. Pulling out his cigarette lighter, he frantically flicked his thumb against the metal gear, sending a small orange and blue flame waving in the wind. Luckily, he had splurged on a good, windproof lighter. Losing all the dramatic flair of an action hero, he frantically flung it at the odorous automobile. In a flash of luminescence and a rush of heat, the car became a slowly rolling torch.

Rick laughed in sinister delight. “Now comes the fun part.” He jumped into the truck and eased onto the gas. He had to be careful. It would not do to get the bumper hung up on part of the car. The two fronts of the vehicles touched like a kiss between a large hulking man and a waif, the menacing front grill pressing against the petite fiberglass bumper. The slight contact accelerated the flaming car and, encouraged, Rick nudged it harder. The car took the second and even third rams with very little increase in speed, but the fourth sent the mobile pyrotechnics rolling backwards at the congested streets at close to thirty miles an hour. He let off the gas hearing the RPMs slide down to an acceptable level and surveyed his work.

The primal fear of fire - an instinctual response - rose in waves sending the gathered horde retreating, though not far enough to cease being a threat. The first creatures to notice the fire tried to move, but the close quarters prevented them from escaping too far. As more of the demons became aware, the street thinned enough for Rick to make his move.

His tires let out a hellish scream and his nose caught a brief wisp of smoke and burned rubber as he let off the brake. Building up speed like a steam engine, he had to slam on the pedal, grinding the brake shoes down as the truck went into a slide. When he came to a stop, he looked straight ahead at the dual staircase of the church and thought about his perfect maneuver.

To Rick’s surprise, the doors exploded open and the new girl from school came running out. He did not have the time to wonder; he just grabbed his shotgun and a box of shells and ran. He bounded up the steps just as she stepped off onto the ground. Behind him, he heard a shriek but did not slow down.

Cara thought it would be a piece of cake until reaching the bottom step and touching the sidewalk. She screamed as a walker seemed to spontaneously generate in front of her. As the cold hands stretched for her, the monster’s cranium exploded into red rain. She looked up briefly and saw her guardian angel with a rifle protruding from the lip of the roof. Randomly grabbing the handles of bags, she turned and fled back upstairs. Her thighs burned with exertion and she deposited the supplies at the top only to make another trip. As she ran down a second time, she was filled with the urge to halt and run back into the safety of the church when she spotted the army of flesh eaters shambling forward. She felt a steel rod replace her weak back-bone and continued on. The closest one to her jerked as a bullet splattered through its shoulder. A second shot followed, dropping the corpse. Rick followed behind, straining to carry several bags at once. His feet moved in short, quick steps as his balance shifted with the extra weight held close to his torso.

Cara grabbed the second set of bags. Lifting them and feeling the strain of canned goods, she suddenly worried that they were too tightly packed. If the bottom of the bag ripped in a quick unzipping motion, she would be unable to stop and save the cans as they rolled in various directions on the asphalt. Luckily, her fears did not materialize. Another shot sounded, causing her to jump, but still the stretching plastic held.

Cara heard the newest arrival growl into her ear. “Hurry, they’re already at the truck!”

Despite her better sense, she glanced back and saw the flood enveloping his still-idling vehicle. She snapped her head back to the front and continued her flight to safety. At the top of the stairs, her pumping legs carried her with so much speed that she could not stop running. The hard slaps of her footfalls became more spaced out as she slowed down enough to drop the bags and turn around. Rick plunged inside with his arms wrapped around boxes of ammunition in a death grip. The doors slammed shut behind him and the dead below mounted the stairs. Feverish sets of hands piled heavy item and large wooden beams across the front door. Just when everyone felt secured once again, Stephanie screamed.

Everything happened quickly after that. The exact order of events was confused by everyone present. However, everyone agreed that Rick and Martin went for their weapons almost immediately. Rick pointed the shotgun at the chubby boy who had bested him earlier. Martin stared back with a pistol in hand. The open sight danced around Rick’s torso, just waiting for the moment that it hovered over his heart. The survivors watched in horror as the newest arrival threatened to kill one of their brethren. Outside, a new sound started up - bodies entreating entry by throwing themselves against the door.

Rick smiled as he spoke, oblivious to the sounds of the hungry. “Not happy to see me? But I bring you gifts of gold, frankincense and canned tuna.”

Martin thrust the gun forward a few inches and said, “Let’s feed him to those things! The piece of shit deserves it!”

Bryant walked in through the stairwell and took action. In a fluid motion, he raised his rifle and ordered both weapons down. His face was neutral as he made sure that the barrel leaned toward Rick.

Martin shouted in indignation. “Me, drop the gun? Have you lost your damn mind? He is a violent rapist who’s only here to cause us more problems.”

With the door secured, Eric slowly crept around to Rick’s blind spot. The lunatic focused so intently on the drawn weapons that he did not notice one wiry middle aged doctor. In a flash, Eric leaped forward and slapped the top of the shotgun, causing it to discharge into the floor. Pain flared through his hand in a dull wave. As he staggered back in shock, the suffering became a throb that coincided with the rapid beating of his heart.

With the first move at disarmament made, more people found courage and before Rick could gather himself, he was held down by six pairs of hands. With his gun gone, he resorted to pleading. “Listen guys, I brought supplies. I’m with you. I’m a human.”

Martin punched the captive in the face and muttered, “That’s debatable”. He briefly shook his hand as if it would remove sting from it. Eric and the priest pulled Rick’s arms taut so that he could not continue to fight. Spread eagle on the floor, the rapist proved too easy a target for Martin to resist. Pulling his foot back and stepping forward, he punted Rick in the groin. The pain radiated through the helpless boy’s genitals up into his lower stomach and an immature grade school joke echoed in his head, “Looks like you’re on the slow boat to tummy ache town”. His cry came out as a muffled batch of syllables with no possible translation. Until that moment, he had never been in so much agony that he thought he might vomit.

Bryant had discarded his gun as soon as Rick was taken down. Sprinting over to help, he watched as the doctor and priest struggled with the full strength of the football player’s arms. Then he saw Martin assault the prone man. Bryant reached out and grabbed Martin’s shoulder as he raised his foot in preparation for stomping on Rick’s testicles. Before Bryant could act any further, Stephanie shouted, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Stop this. Stop hitting him!” All the eyes in the room focused on her after that. She could not explain it to them. She hated Rick. She wanted to see him hurt, but she felt sick watching her friends take sadistic delight in the pain. No, wait, it wasn’t everyone. The thing that had chilled her blood was the fury mixed with the satisfied smile on Martin’s face. That scared her more than anything outside - the idea that any one of them could use a pure motivation to justify a vicious action.

When she met Martin’s gaze again, she felt no comfort. He watched her with unbelief and disgust. His voice started out strong but quickly digressed into a throaty shout. “After what he did to you? He deserves more pain than we can possibly cause him!”

Stephanie quickly answered, not entirely formulating a response before she spoke. “Then let him suffer in the next world.”

This time Martin did not try to hide his rage. “No! I want him to suffer here!”