Summer Of 68: A Zombie Novel (14 page)

Jake shot a glance over his shoulder, by now the dead were reaching the ten foot mark. Their faces mangled and bloodied, peeled back like feral dogs. The two that were the closest, both wore Police uniforms. Slivers of flesh dangled from their cheeks, running down to a hallow gap and revealed the inner workings of their throats. They eyed the boys hungrily as their persistent shamble brought them closer.
 

Jake acknowledged the corpses with a nod of his head and threw the rock once more. This time, he packed the throw with all the strength he could muster. It hit with the crash of thunder and numerous explosions as the glass fell, breaking on impact. For a moment, the dead fell dully behind as Milton’s screams crested into an unrelenting wave of obscenities.

***

The children were gone, running the very second that the glass began to fall. Out of the dozens of corpses, only a handful followed the two as they fled. The remaining lot continued onward until they reached their final destination. It was a destination flagged by the whimpers and cries, which reached their dead ears through the jagged hole in the barbershop window.

Between heaves, the old man heard the crunch of glass as death invaded his sanctuary. He had never felt so dirty and unclean as he did then. He had cursed the boys to Hell, but knew it would be him that reached it first. It was wrong to treat the boys as he had, Milton knew. He didn’t deserve this, not by a long shot, but the boys were acting on impulse and doing what they thought was right. Given the scenario, Milton might’ve done the same,  if hadn’t a lifetime separated the two.

As the first couple of zombies rounded the counter, drooling happily, they spied their prey. Milton no longer cared. He whimpered once and caught his breath. Milton never screamed and refused to cry, even as their cold and clammy hands tore unforgivingly through his wrinkled flesh. A warm sheet of blood cascaded to the floor, washing away the pain and replaced it with a numbing tingle that spread throughout his writhing appendages.

The only time Milton screamed as the first corpse liberated his intestines and began to shove it, inch after inch, between its grinding jaws. After that, everything went fuzzy.

Chapter Seventeen

The chunk of concrete hadn’t hit the window yet, but Jake knew what would happen, call it a gut-feeling, and grabbing Russell by the shirt collar in a mad dash away from the scene of the crime. Jake was well aware of his crimes and knew without a doubt, his actions had sentenced the old man to death. He mauled it over, considered the sickness of guilt and pushed it aside. They did what they had to do and as he dragged Russell along, were thankful that they got out alive.

The boys zigzagged through the dead, weaving through their ranks like fog. The dead hissed, reaching out with slashing hands but couldn’t move fast enough to catch either morsel.

Rounding the corner, Jake glanced back. Beyond his crying brother, he saw that the amount of ghouls had thinned and reduced to a small number, as the greater whole who were unable to match their pace. After another minute, only a couple remained. 

“Jake,” Russell coughed. His face was flushed as he wheezed his words. His speed dropped sluggishly and wavered, reduced to a jog. “Jake…
hold on…”

Not wishing to risk his brother’s life any more than he already had, Jake slowed and doubled back, snagging a corner of Russell’s shirt. Russell yelped and was unwillingly dragged along, down the road.

“Hey, let me go!”

“We’ve had fun,” Jake said with a hint of impatience, “this is getting silly—I wanna get to the Sheriff’s and get to mom.”

Russell dug his heels in the pavement, trying to stop. It caused the two of them to stumble. “I do, too. I need to catch my breath, Jake. Please, my chest hurts…”

Jake considered it, but they were so close…a couple of minutes from the Sheriff’s station, maybe a little less. Then, after they’d got there and were safe,
then
they could rest. There was a time and a place for everything. Out here, in ghoul infested neighborhoods, it wasn’t the time or the place.

Finally, Russell had enough. “Jake, I mean it—STOP IT.”

His voice carried through the empty street, soliciting a moan from a lonesome ghoul, a couple of blocks away. Jake stared at Russell with a look of surprise and was about to speak, but Russell yanked his shirt free from his brother. His shoulders and chest heaved as he caught his breath, doubling down onto his knees.

In between lungful’s of air, he spoke. “I can’t keep up…my knees hurt, my feet hurt…my head, and my chest…this is too much, I just need a minute to rest.”

A short burst of gunshots rang out, somewhere across town. The boy’s flinched. They heard sounds in the short time they had been running. Small snippets of civilization: gunshots, screams and the low rumble of engines—reminders that they weren’t alone, yet always out of reach. At the sound of gunshots, they tensed, dropping on their haunches and looked quickly around.

For a moment, Jake considered yelling, calling for help but another moan, somewhere close by, told him it would be a bad idea. 

“We have to keep moving, we’re too close to stop now.”

Russell shook his head. “We’re not stopping, we’re resting,” he corrected.

Behind a nearby building, an aluminum trashcan spilt, ringing out as it rolled across the pavement, its contents erupting on impact as it came to a rest.

Russell coughed, spitting a wad of phlegm to the road. “Another second,” he said.

Across the street, a dull thud tapped against a shop window. They turned in time to see a corpse pressed against the glass, pawing feverishly as its unblinking eyes watched the youth with envious rage. It groaned, a beckoning cry as it reeled back and head-butted the glass. It left a bloodied smear across its polished surface and readied itself for another blow.

“Another second and that nasty thing will be out here with us,” Jake warned. His previous
surge of adrenaline had left him fatigued, and while he wanted nothing more than to follow his brother’s lead, he knew that they’d be worse off once relaxation kicked in and their muscles relaxed.

“Fine,” Russell said, wheezing for air. He rose on rickety knees as the ghoul hit the window once more. The sound triggered a chain reaction, a cacophony of cries filtered from the streets. They were all around with no telling which was the closest in the lot. A few more seconds and the whole rotting swarm would be on them.

“Let’s go—”

The corpse head-butted the window and tumbled to the street, amidst a hail of broken glass. Glittering shards peppered its flesh as it stood, wasting no time.

“Oh, no…” Jake muttered as the corpse moved towards them. It moved at a quick pace, staggering across the debris laced ground with outstretched arms. Behind it by less than a dozen feet, a handful of cadavers, all of varying degrees of death galloped along, lured by the troublesome sounds.

“That’s right,” Russell added, “when the time comes,
do what’cha gotta do.”

Before Jake could ask what he meant, Russell took off. He charged the ghouls head on, waving his arms wildly overhead. “Hey,” he screamed, “you bucket of pus—come on and get me!”

“Russell! Are you friggin’ stupid?”

It was no use; his voice was a mere whisper amongst their excited cries. It was here, that the dead broke into two. One followed Russell, galloping steadily behind as he ran. The others moved towards Jake as he stood idly by. Surprise and fear rendered his legs immobile. It wasn’t until Russell’s heroic tones became screams that he regained control.

“Jake!”

It was all he needed. Like his brother, Jake charged the dead. Those that approached were nothing but bowling pins—ragdolls to be tossed around. Without resistance, Jake prowled through their ranks.
Hitting them unexpectedly low, mainly in the abdomen and groin, with enough force to send them aside.

He tore around the corner, arms swinging, ready to hit any unwanted visitors and was surprised to find none. The sidewalk around him was void of ghouls, with a strong congregation of them bunched around an alleyway some fifty feet away. They paid him no mind as they fumbled blindly with a large dumpster. From its confines, Jake heard his brother scream. A panicked rush coursed through his veins and with reassurance, he knew Russell was safe, even if it was momentary.

He looked around, searching for a means of rescue. Behind him, the ghouls began to pull themselves up. He had to move fast. Across the street, he spied an automobile. A bulky old pickup truck and ran to it. The driver side door was wide open. A spatter of blood soiled its glass. He dove, sliding across the seats and sprang up, long enough to slam the door shut behind him.

The corpses across the way didn’t seem to notice the loud bang, it was nothing compared to their own racket.

From the dumpster, Russell’s cries fell to the backdrop. Jake sat up, looking around and was lucky enough to find the keys in the ignition.

“Perfect,” he smiled, cranking down the window and smearing the blood.

With a flick of the wrist, the truck grumbled to life. He watched the ghouls as they tensed, standing rigid, and turned. A damnable groan rose above the engine as they moved. His heart raced, a rush of blood dulled the sounds. Turning on the radio, he heard nothing but static. It didn’t matter, anyhow. He turned the volume as loud as it would go and looked around.

Corpses were heading his way, coming from every direction and blocked the streets with their bulk.

“I don’t want to die,” he said, realizing he lacked an escape plan of his own. He considered the passenger door, but a young girl lacking skin on her face proved it be futile. Her exposed teeth clacked together as she pressed her wide eyes against the glass. It was a horrible sight that stole the air from his chest.

He repeated his previous statement, before jimmying
open the back window. It worked like a breeze, but left him exposed. Still, it was better than being trapped inside the truck with nowhere to go.

“Russell,” he screamed, competing against static and the clamoring dead, he crawled through the narrow window and fell into the truck bed, landing atop a discarded batch of tools. By now, the dead had all but forgotten about the dumpster and his brother and fixated solely on him.

“Get ready to run!”

Cold fingers caressed his skin with a sinister desire, as he kicked aside work tools and pulled himself onto top of the cabin. Corpses surrounded the truck on all sides. Up here, he was safe and as long as he stayed in the center, they couldn’t drag him down.

Across the way, he watched as the lid of the dumpster cracked open. His brother’s flushed red face peered out. He had been crying... balling hysterically, for a death he thought was sure to come. Fear flashed across his eyes once he saw Jake’s predicament.

He yelled something, but the combination of static and groans drowned his voice.

“Get out of there,” Jake screamed, cupping his hands to amplify his voice.

Russell seemed to hear him just fine this time, and after a quick look around, slowly eased his way out of the dumpster. Bits of trash and old newspaper scrapes clung to his grimy clothes.

“Get to the Sheriff’s and bring help!”

Jake was shocked to see Russell shake his head. Did he not hear him, or did he disagree? Jake was about to repeat himself, when Russell moved. He grabbed something from the ground and froze. It was a severed arm, complete with hand and cut off at the shoulder. Russell must not have known what it was, because when he held it high, he stopped dead in his tracks. His beet-red face paled white.

“Don’t do it,” Jake whispered as more corpses crowded around the truck and oblivious to what was happening behind them. Instead, they chose what was overhead and out of reach.

As if he had heard Jake’s whispered command, Russell shook his head out of defiance and swung the severed arm around, brandishing it like a club.

“Over here you pieces of shit!” Russell shouted, banging the dumpster like a gong. The sound was dull as blood spattered its face with every whack. The dead took notice and reached a crossroad. Who or where would they attack? Like before, their ranks splintered into two and thinned greatly. Grasping the opportunity, Jake screamed as he leapt from the cabin, over the heads of some and onto the backs of others.

He hit hard, burying his knees into the neck of one and rode him all the way down. The ghoul hit the pavement with such force, a geyser of blood and brain shot vertically along the street. Jake jumped to his feet, the corpse didn’t. In seconds, he was surrounded.

Jake screamed with a banshee-like cry and swung his arms in a wide arch, knocking the ghouls aside as he charged the dumpster. By now, Russell had discarded his morbid drumstick and was more than accepting when Jake grabbed him by his arm.

“We have to move,” Jake said in a series of breaths. “And we have to move now!”

The crowds swelled behind them as they ran, leaving behind a mass of death and the static of the radio. In seconds, they were gone. The corpses lumbered about, until they had forgotten of the boys and returned their attention back to the noxious sounds coming from the pickup truck.

***

Two blocks away and the streets were relatively empty. Periodically, the boys would stop and find somewhere to hide. Neither of them acknowledged their close brush with death and that was fine, as they had both made some grave mistakes that put the other in harm’s way. They wore their guilt silently. They remained on edge, more than ever. Their only reminder was the sound of static a few blocks behind. 

A lone figure shambled from the darkened mouth of a grocery store. Acting before they could’ve been spotted, Jake shoved Russell towards a trashcan, leaving them concealed in the front, but exposed in the rear. From the safety of the trashcan, they watched as the ghoul staggered through the doorway, oblivious to their presence.

Jake recognized the corpse as belonging to Miss Marshall. Judging from the surprised gasp, Russell had also made the connection. Marshall was a friend of their mothers, who would stop by on nights to play cards with their mother, when their mother’s sadness seemed the most extreme. She was nice in ways but a mean old biddy once she poured herself a couple drinks. Now she was reduced to nothing more than a withered corpse in a blood caked sundress. The delicate flesh around her throat had been gnawed away. Streamers of skin, and sinewy fibers dangled from her exposed trachea, revealing her vertebra from the inside out.

Her head bobbled back and forth, wobbling like some morbid bobble head, and unable to hold its own, beneath the weight of her own head. She mustered a wet wheeze, which sounded more like a breathy sigh, escaping the gash in her throat. She stopped. Her eyes scanned the street. She was searching for something—anything. It was as though she could smell them, hiding nearby. 

Miss Marshall groaned again, billowing a wet cry and threw her arms in a circular arch as if frustrated by her inability to communicate with the others. The sudden thrashing of her limbs caused the woman to lose her balance. Under the off kilter weight of her head, Miss Marshall toppled. While still in motion, she struggled to correct herself. Reaching for any support, her clumsy movements provided her with little aid in bedding her fall.

She hit the sidewalk with a dull thump, and struggled to her feet only to fall for a second time. This time, she took out a large crate of red apples, which sat along the sidewalk against the side of the store. The resulting crash triggered a train reaction as hundreds of apples bounced across the sidewalk, rolling neglected into the gutter. At first around, Miss Marshall was confused, and swatted the apples but quickly lost interest, realizing they posed no threat.