Swarm (Dead Ends) (20 page)

“Zombies?” Red said, his tone dripping with sarcasm and disbelief. “Like ‘Night of the Living Dead’ or somethin’? Christ. That movie was horrible. And you know what else it was?
Fiction
. I’ve been around too long to believe this shit.”

“Actually I’m pretty sure he’s still alive, or at least he was before… Look, that’s not the point, alright? This shit is happening. Maybe they’re not zombies but the way they’re acting, that’s the closest thing I can compare it to.”

“So you’re sayin’ that meth head in the crapper, he’s one of these things?”

“I’m not sure. I mean he’s clearly talking so he hasn’t turned yet but if he’s been bitten, it’s only a matter of time.”

“So… what, do we go back there and…” he glanced toward the gun in his hands, holding it up slightly to belabor the point.

“Well, it’s a lot easier to kill them before they turn. They get dangerous after that…” I thought about the hunter zombie taking down the deer. “Some more than others.”

Red shook his head and chuckled. “In all my years, I swear I’ve never…” his voice trailed off as he looked for something underneath the counter. After clearing away a bunch of dusty old papers and candy wrappers, he pulled out a decent sized pistol and handed it to me. “You know how this works? It’s got a bit of a kick.”

“Actually, I do” I said, deciding to leave out the part about my familiarity being limited to late-night stoner sessions playing first person shooters online against a bunch of snot-nosed punks half my age.

“It’ll get the job done” he said as I took the gun from him. “It’s full and the safety’s broken so it’s always live.” He handed me a small box of bullets that seemed much too heavy for its miniscule size. “Just in case” he smiled.

We both began the solemn walk to the back of the store. I couldn’t help but notice that the banging and yelling had stopped. I had to deal with the fact that “the easy way” might have just been eliminated as a possibility. Not that anything up to this point could really qualify as being easy.

Red loaded new shells into his shotgun and set it on the counter. “Hold on” he said as he went and opened the door behind the counter. I had always wondered what was behind that door. He was only in there for a second before coming out with what looked like a metal-barred screen door. “Gimme a hand will ya’?”

I grabbed the door while he went back into the room and grabbed a few bolts and a cordless screwdriver. “I figure we better lock this place up before we get any more visitors. If there are more of these things like you say? Well, better safe than sorry. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

“I appreciate that, Red. I have to say, I didn’t even think you had a lock for that old screen door.”

“Yeah, well I never had a reason for this baby” he said, rapping his knuckles on the iron bars, “but I guess times change, huh?” he said, a sorrowful smile crossing his face.

As I held the door in place for Red to drill the bolts in, the silence radiating from the back of the store filled me with dread. I thought back to the Sportsman’s Paradise and to the girl in the bathroom. Watching her turn right in front of me, even with everything else I’ve seen, that moment was still etched in my mind as the most disturbing and life-altering thing I had ever seen. And right now, thirty feet away locked in a bathroom, some unnamed man could be going through the exact same thing. I tried to remember how long it took for the girl to turn but I couldn’t quite remember. When it’s happening, everything seems to be going at triple speed, like the world had hit the fast-forward button and forgot to stop. But when I replay it in my head, it’s all in slow motion, every second dragging on as if stuck in molasses. It was impossible to figure out which version was truer to life.

Red solemnly drilled the last bolt into its place. The first time in this store’s history he probably ever had the need to protect it from something other than drunken celebrities. The end of an era and the start of something else that didn’t even have a name yet. I’m sure like every disaster it would be given a name for posterity just like the World Wars, 9/11, or The Great Famine. Maybe someday we’d be the victims, or if we were lucky the battle-hardened survivors of the The Great Dying or the End Times, or maybe even the more obvious Zombie Apocalypse. But right now, all it felt like was a never-ending Hell on Earth. We weren’t trying to make history, we just wanted to survive long enough to not become a part of it; a footnote in some revised history book or an unnamed grave in the middle of the wilderness. I’ve already witnessed four good people go down that road and I have no plans to follow their bloodied path.

We both tested the integrity of the iron door as best we could and when we were satisfied we turned our heads in unison towards the back of the store. I kept hoping to hear the man’s voice again but it never came. We reluctantly made our way towards the bathroom, each of us looking at one another for direction, for some sign as to how to proceed. Neither one of us willing to take the lead. After a few steps the freezer’s cooling unit kicked in causing us both to raise our guns momentarily before lowering them and exhaling sharply. Even Red seemed to be a stranger in his own store, a store he had run for most of his life. In an instant something so predictable and safe had become a prison of dangerous noises and bloodied walls. Our steps became lighter and more apprehensive the closer we got to the bathroom. The door was blocked by the old chest refrigerator that held all of the live bait. I was impressed that Red had managed to move it by himself but he always did seem pretty wiry and strong for his age. At the same time, I was confused slightly by the whole thing.

“Couldn’t he just open the door and climb over the fridge?” I said.

Red chuckled under his breath before saying “No, my idiot son-in-law put the door in so it swings out instead of in. I didn’t have the heart to tell him. My daughter would’ve never let me forget it.” Then a worried look came over his face, “Jesus, Jenny…” he said, his face turning white. He looked up at me, “My daughter. She lives downtown.”

“I’m sorry” was all I could manage. I felt bad but on the list of things that mattered to me right now, that didn’t make the top ten. “Red I need you here, okay? I’m sorry about your daughter but we’ve got other problems” I said as calmly as I could manage.

The old man tightened his grip on the shotgun and quickly steeled himself. “Okay, you clear the fridge and if I tell you to move, you
move
, you understand? You’ve seen what this thing can do.”

“Got it” I said as I pushed the fridge off to the side.

“I locked the door from the inside but I don’t know if he tried to unlock it yet” Red said.

I quietly pressed my ear up to the door, knowing full well how many times this happens in a horror movie with less than stellar results for the person who attempts it. I could hear slight movement and what sounded like vomiting. I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Slowly I attempted to jostle the handle.

“It’s still locked.”

“Back away” Red said, raising the shotgun.

“Whoa” I whispered, “Let’s not piss him or ‘it’ off any more than we have to. Isn’t there a key or something?”

“Nah, some kid ran off with it the other day, along with a six-pack of beer. Little shit. He’s one of
those
things now if there’s any justice in the world.”

“Okay” I said, “I’ll kick it in and you clear it”

Red nodded.

On the second attempt I got the door open. The fluorescent lighting eerily radiated on and off, adding to the palpable horror of the situation. I looked at Red with his shotgun raised and he looked back at me, apparently waiting for my next move.

“You alright in there?” I asked, my voice squeaking slightly as the fear rose from my belly up through my vocal chords. No response or movement.

“Looks like he’s draped over the toilet” Red said, his eyes straining through the undulating light. “He ain’t movin’”

“I’m coming in” I said, although it came out sounding more like a question than a statement. I leveled the revolver towards the toilet as I approached. The man’s skin was graying but taught, the fluorescent light making him look even worse than if he were out in the open. His head and arms were draped over the toilet, which was filled with a disturbing surplus of dark red bile and chunks of unidentifiable food. I glanced back at Red, “I think he’s already gone” I said.

Then a voice almost sent me flying through the roof like some cartoon cat. “Oh God, please help me. Please.” The man began heaving more, throwing up what looked like a chunk of a lung or some other important piece of anatomy that shouldn’t currently be in the process of being expelled from the body. I quickly stepped back and out behind the safety of Red and his shotgun.

Red stood in stunned silence, his gun still leveled and unwavering. The man clumsily wiped his mouth with one hand as the other hand clung mightily to the toilet, seemingly the only thing keeping him upright. “Jesus, what the fuck is this? What’s happening to me?” he whined through labored breaths.

Just as I was about to respond, the man clutched his stomach and keeled over to the side of the toilet so his face was obscured, the flickering light doing a horribly fantastic job of casting ominous shadows over his limp body and the blood and bile spattered toilet.

“He’s turning” I said.

“Stay back” Red responded, “I’ll finish him.” He walked into the bathroom and after a few steps the lights overhead made one last flicker and turned off for good. The next thing I heard was a scream and then a shotgun blast that hit the toilet, sending water and chunks of porcelain flying everywhere. I took a few steps back with my gun leveled, trying hard to see into the un-seeable. Then everything just went so fast. Red stumbled back slipping on the toilet water and as I reached out for him, the man latched into his chin, his fingers digging into Red’s neck like an eagle plucking a fish from a stream. Red let out a muffled scream before the silence of shock or death overtook him. I stumbled back slightly before regaining my balance and leveling the gun. Before I could aim, the gun went off once, putting a hole in the bait fridge. The thing’s attention quickly turned from what was left of Red’s face to me. The weapon in my hand and its hair-trigger scared me but the thought of succumbing to one these freaks scared me more.

As it slowly made its way upright, slipping on the water and blood, I unconsciously backpedaled, an instinctual move to hopefully insure my survival. For a little longer at least. Just enough light bled into the bathroom for me to see Red’s last gasp as he grabbed hard at the zombie’s legs, keeping it from getting up too quickly.

A raspy, pained voice pierced the darkness. “Shoot this fucker already!”

I calmly raised the gun, making sure to keep my finger clear of the trigger until I aimed. Red could only hold on for so long. I pulled the trigger and the bullet shredded through the monster’s neck severing the carotid artery and causing it to spurt blood like a wayward fire hose. The blast shredded enough of the supporting tendons and muscles in the neck to put the zombie’s head in a permanent forward tilt, making its lifeless gaze all the more cringe-worthy.

“Jesus Christ!” Red yelled, blood spurting from what was left of his chin. He suddenly let go of the zombie’s leg. The familiar cock of the shotgun followed a second later. “Clear outta the way, kid!” His voice strained to get out the words as I quickly removed myself from the line of fire. Suddenly freed from Red’s grip, the zombie shot out of the bathroom as if he were kicked in the butt. Before he got too far a shot rang out. The scattershot severed the man’s body at the waist, an amazing shot considering Red was on his back with the crown of his head facing out towards the store. Not to mention the fact that his chin just became an appetizer. The upper half of the man’s body sloppily clumped to the floor, his legs remaining upright for a few darkly comical seconds before collapsing at the knees and falling backwards.

Immune to pain or shock, the monster didn’t skip a beat. It began crawling along the floor towards me. And it wasn’t some slow stilting crawl like a baby still feeling out its limbs. This was like one of those spiders you find in your house that seems to have some sort of precognitive intuition combined with a freakish multi-directional speed that haunts nightmares. I fired a shot at its head as it scrambled quickly towards me and I swear to God it dodged the bullet. Or at least that’s what it seemed like to me. More likely, it just stumbled as it tried to maneuver on its new set of legs but the timing of it all led me to a sudden and near-immobilizing realization that the Devil is real and right now it just might be trying to eat me. If I see even the slightest Poltergeist-style head rotation, I just might be forced to turn this revolver on myself.

I continued bumbling backwards as if I’d just walked onto an ice rink with rollerblades on. The muscles in my legs seemed to be replaced by JELL-O, the bones becoming brittle pieces of chalk. I grabbed onto shelves trying to regain my balance. Boxes of Snickers and M&M’s rained down onto the floor followed by Milky Ways and Mr. Goodbars, Kit-Kats and Caramellos. Meanwhile, the undead spider-monkey kept gaining ground, traversing the mounds of sugar and trans fat with ease. And still I could not find my balance. Everything seemed to be coated with Teflon. I made it to the potato chips, the bags crinkling out of my grasp as cans of Pringles dropped from the shelves like fat-filled dominoes, one by one clanging to the floor, finally creating something that slowed down this freak’s advances. Just when I had created some safe distance and began to regain my balance, I slipped on one of those same Pringles cans and thudded to the floor, something in my neck popping, something that had no business doing so.

Weary of slipping over a frictionless array of delicious snack food, the zombie latched onto a shelf and began crawling sideways up the side of the aisle in what looked like a top-notch CGI achievement in some big budget summer blockbuster. Blood and chunks of what I could only assume were liver and kidneys fell out of its carcass as if it were shedding its skin, getting rid of what it no longer had any use for. A long string of its entrails got caught on the sharp corner of a shelf, giving me a few vital seconds to compose myself and hopefully finish this thing once and for all. The gun had dropped at my side but surprisingly hadn’t gone off. I attempted to turn my head but my neck radiated pain in protest forcing me to use my hands to search for it. I attempted and failed to create some kind of emotional distance from the nightmarish sight of this monster struggling to rip free from its own organs as I painfully searched for what I hoped would be its undoing. It reached further and further, grabbing onto the next shelf with a death grip. Its entrails finally gave way, a disturbingly wet ripping sound echoing through the store, telling me time was just about up. It lunged forward, missing its grip on the shelf and clumsily careening into the ground, blots of blood and guts peppering the aisle as it rolled to a stop.