Phoenix (22 page)

"Shut that fucking thing up!" Mort hissed. He
stood in his own doorway, pointing back the way they’d come.

"What?" Brad asked. He pushed Adams harder,
making the man stumble up the porch steps and fall past Mort, into
the house.

Mort stopped Brad with a hand firmly planted
on his chest. "I said you get over there and shut that fucking
thing up. That noise is going to draw more." He gave Brad a shove
for emphasis. "
Do
it
!"

Brad stumbled down the steps and stared up at
Mort. He staggered further down the sidewalk, snapping his eyes
back and forth between his mentor and the dead man across the
street. Finally, Brad clenched his fists, spun around, and strode
away. The zombie had just made it down from the house and was
teetering on the curb. Its mouth hung open and a raspy groan rushed
from it. Brad had never met the guy, but he remembered Mort talking
about him after the stranger had first moved into the
neighborhood.

"He’s got a very pedo-feel to him," Mort had
said.

"Hey now. That’s profiling. And not very
nice," Brad had replied.

"I’m sorry, but it’s true. I want to take a
shower every time I read him."

"So stop reading him then. And maybe start
locking your doors. You’re short. He might mistake you for a
teenage boy."

"Funny."

Brad couldn’t remember what the guy had
looked like back then, but death probably hadn’t changed him much
if Mort’s description had any merit. His shaggy hair was still
shaggy, except now there was a patch missing from the right side
and the rest was streaked with blood. His left cheek was missing.
Someone had bitten down over the flesh covering the bone and ripped
it away, causing the skin and muscle left on that side to tear and
flap.

Brad stopped and backed up a step. "I can’t
do this."

It groaned and the flap of meat
fluttered.

Brad looked over his shoulder, took another
step back, then fixed his eyes on the zombie again. "He was a
pervert. Hurt little kids," he said to himself. He took a few
quick, deep breaths and planted his feet. "Now he’s a dead pervert
who’s going to eat you. And it’s not like you’ve never killed
before. So do something about it, Lincoln."

Brad lashed out with a foot and connected
with the thing’s knee. The joint snapped and buckled inward, toward
the other leg. Brad cringed. "Oh, shit, sorry."

The zombie pitched forward and Brad jumped
out of the way. As soon as the thing hit the pavement, Brad lifted
the same foot but hesitated. The dead man reached out with one arm
and tried pulling itself closer. Brad backed off, out of reach. He
cursed himself and beat his fists against his thighs. The zombie
crawled closer.

"Come on, come on, come
on
. Stop being
a pussy and kill that fucking pedophile!" Brad yelled. He brought
his boot up again and stomped down on the back of the zombie’s
head.

Caving in a human skull was harder than he
thought it’d be.

Brad stomped and kicked. The man’s teeth and
weaker facial bones gave way first. Still, the thing moaned. Brad
switched feet and kept stomping. He growled under his breath, bared
his teeth, his foot screaming in pain after so many kicks. Finally
he heard a loud crack. The next stomp, his foot went straight
through into the brain. The zombie stopped moving as though a
switch had been flipped. Panting, Brad yanked his boot free and
stumbled back. He bent over and braced himself with his hands on
his knees. He heard a noise and snapped his head around. There was
nothing behind him.

Then he realized the moaning was coming from
him.

Gray matter seeped through jagged pieces of
skull. It looked like a giant, broken egg. Brad dry-heaved. He
straightened and wiped his hands on his pant legs. He couldn’t take
his eyes off the brain running out of that ruined skull.
He
had done that. Not with a weapon or a tool. With his own
feet
.

"Jesus…"

Brad ran his hands through his hair and
glanced around. He wiped his mouth and looked down the street
toward town. He could actually see the fire now; it had finally
spread into the ‘burbs.

A wave of corpses shambled ahead of it.

Brad’s hand fell away from his mouth and he
stared. This was more than what had passed by the house the day
before. Much,
much
more. Were they afraid of the fire?

No
.
Some
of
them
are
on
fire
.

He looked over to where Mort still stood on
the porch. His mentor saw them, too. The others were already
carrying bags to the cars and stuffing them in the trunks.

He
must
have
felt
them
coming
.

No
,
that’s
not
right
.
My
radar
isn’t
locking
on
to
these
things
.
It
totally
missed
that
one
in
the
house
…

Can
we
even
sense
these
things
?

Mort waved his hand, gesturing to the car.
Brad took one more look at the crowd heading toward them and
relented. Around the vehicles, tensions were high but everyone
stayed quiet. The only person talking was Mort.

"Drive mine. Laura is driving hers." He gave
Brad the keys. "I’ll ride with her. I want you to take Izzy and
Adams."

Brad nodded.

Mort grabbed and held Brad by the upper arms.
"I’ve got Laura. She’ll be able to guide us through this mess—"

"No, wait, I don’t think she can."

"We don’t have time for this, Bradley."

"Listen to me! I don’t think we can sense the
dead!"

"Shiiiit…" Mort pushed Brad toward the car.
"Here they come. We have to go."

Brad looked back down the street and saw that
the horde had arrived.

Rakburn strode down the sidewalk, his
formerly-polished shoes clacking along the cement. He looked
straight ahead. The street was bereft of life, though it was strewn
with things that once breathed it, or symbolized it.

So
quickly
society
devolves
.

Behind came a steady
click
-
drag
,
click
-
drag
.

He’d had to leave his car some miles back.
The suburbs had become as crowded with vehicles trying to get away
as the freeway. Rakburn made sure, though, that he locked it up
tight before setting out on foot. True, if some survivor wanted his
car badly enough, he or she could simply break out a window and
perhaps hotwire the engine. He somehow doubted this would happen,
though.

He knew it wasn’t wise, maneuvering the
streets on foot while the undead prowled. He’d been left with
little choice. He
had
to find Isabel.

Rakburn’s destination came into view toward
the end of the street. The houses just down from it were burning. A
slow fire had made its way from the city. There was a car in the
driveway. It seemed there were people still there, but that would
be insane. Surely they knew how close the flames were to them now?
His chances of finding her there were very low, he realized.

Rakburn stopped at the intersection and
looked both ways. Another old habit he needed to break; there was
no traffic and probably never would be again. He stepped off the
curb and into a small puddle of blood. His right shoe left burgundy
prints on the asphalt.

Click
-
drag
.
Click
-
drag
.

Instead of continuing on his way, Rakburn
reached inside his jacket and pulled out his long knife. He didn’t
turn around. His hand gripped the handle, the blade pointing back.
As he waited, he happened to notice the rear end of a car sticking
out of the house to his right.

Click
-
drag
.
Click
-
drag
.

Rakburn turned on his heel and drove the
blade of his knife down through the top of a woman’s skull. He
jerked it free and she wilted to the ground.

She was dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and one
high heel. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost the other. The
shoeless leg was broken and twisted at the knee. Slivers of muscle,
tendon, and ligament were exposed and frayed, as though the upper
and lower halves of her leg had been wrenched in opposite
directions. Her clothes were of varying shades and textures of red,
though a clean patch on her back revealed her top had been
green.

He bent and wiped his knife on her pants,
slipped it back in its sheath, and straightened. He took a deep
breath and looked all around. A slight breeze ruffled his hair and
carried smoke past his nose. Rakburn nodded to himself and
continued on down the sidewalk. He
had
to make it to that
house before the fire consumed it. If so, he might be able to pick
up Isabel’s trail.

Rakburn jogged the last block as well as he
was able considering his age. He ran his fingertips along the
vehicle left in the driveway. A slight tingle indicated she had
brushed up against it sometime in the last twenty-four hours. He
slowed to a walk and straightened his suit jacket. Reaching out
with one hand, he grabbed the doorknob.

It didn’t turn. It was
locked
.

He chuckled. The fact someone would lock
their door before making their escape amused him. Then again, he’d
locked his car before leaving it.

That told him something about his…what?
Prey?

Perhaps they were.

He ran his hand over the door, absorbing a
variety of sensations emanating from it. Only a small amount
belonged to her, the rest to her companions: Fear, uncertainty,
weight. Many voices filled his ears, faded with time.

There
she
is
.

Rakburn caught a few of her words. The others
drowned her out. She was afraid and wondering why he hadn’t come
for her. He dropped his head, his hand pressed to the door.

"I tried, my dear. I tried."

He took a breath and turned away. He would
make his way back to his car and follow her trail.

He would find her.

* * *

"Would you please stop that?"

Adams peered at Izzy from the corner if his
eye. "No."

"You’re driving me insane. Brad tell him to
stop before I—"

"Kids," Brad said over his shoulder.

Adams had been banned to the backseat shortly
after leaving Mort’s. Since then, Izzy and Adams had bickered about
the very thing Brad had put him in the back for.

Adams smirked and started tapping his finger
against his thigh instead.

They’d had to take several detours on their
way out of the ‘burbs. The group of vehicles that sped by during
the mass exodus ended in a multicar pileup just before hitting the
interstate. They backtracked, went around this block, that block,
weaved around a few cars stalled out in the middle of the street.
Most of the cars, including those in the pileup, were swarmed by
the dead. Brad had wondered about this until he noticed that those
vehicles still had living people inside.

Trapped.

One car in particular had three kids in the
backseat, pounding on the rear glass.

They didn’t stop to help any of them.

Brad let off the gas each time, thinking
Laura’s car would be stopping. He wasn’t sure what they could do;
they only had two shotguns and hardly any ammunition. But each
time, Laura simply swerved around and kept going. So Brad did the
same. He kept a car-length between them, in case Laura
would
have to come to a sudden stop.

Their detour caused them to miss the onramp
to the interstate, but Brad was very relieved. The outbound lanes
would be packed, and even driving on the other side of the divide,
they’d hit a massive clog on the other end of town of folks trying
to escape in that direction. This forced them onto a lesser used
county road, one Brad was not familiar with. He wasn’t even sure
which direction they were headed.

Men
are
supposed
to
have
a
superior
sense
of
direction
, Brad mused.
Apparently
I
am
not
one
of
those
men
.

They saw fewer and fewer cars the farther
they drove, and they hadn’t seen any dead for the last several
miles. The road rose and fell, the curves grew sharper. Once thick
vegetation finally started replacing the houses that lined either
side, Laura’s brake lights lit up.

Brad slowed and pulled off onto a wide spot
behind her. Both cars shut down and everyone spilled out to stretch
their legs and relieve themselves behind trees a few feet away.
Izzy rummaged around in the trunk of Mort’s car and started passing
out bottled water and granola bars to everyone.

"So what’s the plan?" Brad asked, stepping
out from behind a tree and zipping his pants.

Mort and Laura unfolded and smoothed out a
map on the hood of her car. Neither answered right away.

"Seems now would be a good time to figure out
what we’re doing." Brad twisted the cap off his water and took a
long swallow. "Got a little breathing room. We should take
advantage of it."

"What do you think we’re doing?" Laura didn’t
look up from the map.

Mort spoke and kept his eyes on the map as
well. "And it’s not as safe out here as we think. Is it?" he asked
Adams.

"Nope."

The three gathered around Mort and Laura. It
seemed everyone except Brad and Izzy were in on some big secret.
Brad figured it was due to their similar viewing abilities, except
for Mort, but even he was able to read situations and people over
great distances. It was just a different type of viewing. Brad
waited for them to fill him in on what was happening. They
didn’t.