Tandem of Terror (7 page)

"
Ginny, where's my
tea?"

"
Oh it's coming." she
mumbled.

She left the kitchen and walked down the
hall. Into her bathroom she strolled and opened the vanity mirror
before her. She avoided looking at her own reflection.

She grasped the prescription sleeping pills
in her palm, she'd been using them for months now. Along with
everything else she was having trouble sleeping as well.

She dropped the white powder into the tall
glass, watching it dissolve. Grinding the pills actually took
effort and she was surprised by this. Had she really grown so
weak?

Handing Richard the glass she watched him
grin that sickening, mocking grin of his and returned to her chair.
She waited, studying his face, his hands, every line and wrinkle on
him.

The moments passed and she watched as his
eyes grew heavy and his head bobbed slightly.

Her chair rocked back and forth rhythmically,
it seemed like an eternity before the pills took full affect but
eventually they did.

The glass tumbled to the floor, half melted
ice cubes rolling across the rug. His body slumped down in the
chair, his head lobbing to one side.

She smiled. For the first time in so long she
smiled. For a few minutes she sat there, without saying a word. She
stopped rocking and stared at her slumbering husband. Even in his
sleep he was totally aggravating.

Getting up she walked back to the kitchen,
catching the backyard furnace in the corner of her eye, and stepped
out onto the back porch. There was time now.

She basked in the gentle breeze that stirred,
watching the wheat ripple. No rush, take everything slow. "Now it's
my turn to live," she said.

"
No one will ever know. All
I have to do is drag him over to it."

Returning to the kitchen she searched the
junk drawer in the far corner, finally discovering the box of long
matches she'd been looking for.

She made her way towards the fireplace,
clutching the matches tightly and looked down, its sooty opening
like an ashen mouth yawning at her. They had only used it once,
Richard insisted on roasting hotdogs in it. Just to see what it
would be like. "No more orders, no more demands. It's my time
now."

Bending, she began tossing pieces of wood
into the furnace from the pile on the ground. From the indented
shelf at waist level she grabbed the small can of charcoal fluid
and squirt it generously over the wood.

With one strike the match ignited and without
hesitation she launched it into the furnace.

A dull poof resounded in her ears. "I'll just
say he had a heart attack. Died in his sleep. Of course officer you
know the law, I had to get him into the fire as soon as possible.
No one will ever know."

Another smile drew on her face. It felt good.
"My life again. Mine." The fatigue was not as bad as before. Hope
was returning. She could not wait to begin her new life. For the
first time in years she was actually excited about something.

As the fire roared to its start, the scent of
rot drifted in the breeze, filling her nostrils.

Virginia watched the hot ash sail past her
face as she heard the thrashing of the grass behind her. She turned
ever so slowly-- -

And he was on top of her!

The undead man lunged on top of her and the
two hit the ground hard.

A scream escaped her as she struggled to get
out from under the undead stranger. His cold hands reached around
her throat, the flesh hanging off in leathery ribbons as he gnashed
at her with yellow and black teeth.

Many times he tried to bite into her throat
or face but she had managed to swerve away from his snapping jaws,
his torn lips twisted in some perverse smile. Bracing one arm
against his head, she searched the ground. She eyed the woodpile
beside her and with some luck felt one slip into her hand.

With one hard swing she connected with his
head, splinters shattering, fragments of flesh with them. Managing
to roll him off she stood up as he squirmed on the ground.

Her breath heavy, pulse racing, she tried to
regain her composure while searching for something to aid her. A
single pitchfork stood on the left side of the furnace. Grabbing it
with both hands she waited for him to get up. She couldn't believe
it; she was actually fighting to stay alive. It felt wonderful.

The undead man stumbled to his feet, a low
moan rising from him. Stammering for her, he raised his arms, his
fingers wiggling like an infant begging for food.

The pitchfork plunged into his stomach, dark
blood soaking his already torn clothes.

With one thrust she hurled him into the fire,
letting the pitchfork fall to the ground. She ran her jittery
fingers through her hair and untied it, letting it caress her
shoulders.

Utterly proud of herself, Virginia began her
trip back to the house. "It's time Richard, time for things to
begin again, fresh and new."

The TV still buzzed in the distance, as if
nothing had changed. Leaning against the counter for a moment, she
caught her breath. Pulling open the fridge she poured herself a
glass of iced tea. Taking hearty gulps, she sighed. "Would you like
some tea babe." she mocked then laughed aloud. Her palm quickly
covered her lips. "Shame on you, Ginny," she giggled.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror,
after having taken a good hot shower, drying the beads of water
from her flesh. This was going to be difficult. Richard outweighed
her and was taller too. Physically and mentally she needed to
prepare herself.

"
Don't wait too long," she
said. "Those pills won't last forever."

After dressing and pacing for a bit she
decided to get it over with. Walking into the parlor, the first
thing she did was turn the freaking TV off. What a TV addict he
was, day and night, my shows, my shows!

"
Well Richard, thanks for
all the years of boredom and misery. Don't worry about me, I'll be
just fine. Don't be concerned with the shell of a woman that you
created. Just keep watching your shows and thinking about yourself.
Yes, and thank you too for opting not to have kids, so thoughtful
of you. I'm so glad I could be your drone all these
years."

"
You shit," she gave him one
quick slap across the face. How liberating that was.

"
Well here goes, this isn't
going to be easy." She took hold of his feet and prepared to pull
when she noticed something. Virginia gazed at his chest. Why wasn't
it rising?

Richard seemed not to be breathing. She knew
he was a very heavy sleeper but this was ridiculous.

She let his feet drop to the floor with a
thud and drew herself up to his face. She placed her hands on his
chest and felt nothing. Moving to his face she noticed that it was
slightly cold.

Did it really happen? No, it wasn't the right
time. "I must have overdosed him or something." she said. "I don't
believe it. Richard, are you really dead?" She leaned her face down
onto his chest and listened for a heart beat.

Nothing.

"
I really did it," she said,
her ear still to his chest. "Well no matter, I still have to get
you in the fire. Then it's done. How long ago did you die? Wait, Oh
God, how long--"

She glanced up at the clock to see how much
time had passed since his death and just then Richard's eyes
opened.

There was a glassy look in them, a
lifelessness that permeated them as he lifted his head and bit into
his wife's throat.

Her warm blood splattered his face, gushing
into his mouth. Virginia's wails filled the house until dwindling
away to silence.

The two tumbled out of the chair and to the
floor, Richard scrambled over her body, devouring bits and pieces
of her and pulling her innards out like a kid playing in the
mud.

Moments later Richard shuffled out onto the
back porch. His dead eyes glanced at the fire burning in the
furnace at the end of the yard. Moaning softly, he turned and
started towards the main street away from his home.

After an hour the quiet of the house was
broken by the stirrings of clumsy movement. The porch door flung
open and the undead Virginia stepped out. Finally she was able to
start her new life, even if it was in death.

Messenger

Eric S Brown

Gun smoke hung heavily in the air. Daniel
pumped the lever action of his Winchester, chambering another
round. His aim was rushed and desperate but the bullet still
managed to strike home. It slammed into the dead man's forehead.
The man dropped to the ground and lay unmoving as blood and brain
matter seeped from the hole where the round had entered. Daniel
counted five more left in the pack of creatures as they came
sprinting out of the woods towards his camp. His horse bucked and
strained against the rope which held it tied to a tree on the other
side of the camp behind him. Between the stink of the dead and the
gunfire, it was determined to get free and bolt if it could.

The fastest of the dead was almost on top of
him. Not even the speed of his new rifle, with its rapid rate of
fire, could stop them all in time. The fact that he'd already sent
four of the monsters back to Hell did nothing to deter the others.
Their snarls were angry, loud, and filled with hunger. Daniel was
neither stubborn nor stupid enough to keep trying to hold his
ground in the face of certain death. He leapt out of his bent knee
firing position and whirled about, running for his horse. Cutting
the rope with a deft flick of the knife he drew from his boot, he
hopped onto the animal's back and they took off, leaving the
rotting abominations behind them.

When Daniel thought he'd put a safe distance
between them and the dead, he slowed his horse and tried to take
stock of his situation. It wasn't hard to figure out where he was.
He'd rode through this area so many times, he knew it like the back
of his hand. Daniel was down to his last handful of rounds for his
Winchester and had no desire to face the dead with only the Colt
strapped to his side. He'd never been much good with pistols. Thank
the Lord, he was close now. The fort should only be a few more
hours ride to the west. If luck was with him, he should be able
reach its gates before the sun fell out of the sky and the moon
rose.

Daniel reached the fort with little light
left to spare. Strangely there were no sentries posted to challenge
his approach. His heart sunk as he saw that the massive gates were
partially open. As he drew closer, the smell of rotting flesh
reached him on the wind. His instincts told him to turn around and
steer clear of this place but his sense of duty drove him on.
Daniel's orders required him to inform the men stationed here to
withdraw and join the forces gathering on the other side of the
Mississippi. He'd never failed to deliver a message before and he
had no intention of failing now. If there was anyone left alive,
they likely needed all the help they could get. Besides he needed
rations and more bullets if he was to have any real hope of making
it back himself.

He pulled his Winchester from the holster
strapped to his horse's side and checked it, reloading with the
last of his bullets. With the rifle held ready in his right hand
and the horse's reigns in his left, he prompted the animal on
slowly towards the gates.

Bodies lay all around the fort's wall. The
largest number of these corpses were clustered in front of the
partially open gate. Daniel didn't bother to count them. Their
number didn't matter, the only thing that did was whether they were
really dead. His eyes scanned over each corpse he passed as he
neared it making sure it had a head wound. It was the only way to
know for sure and he wasn't taking any chances. He'd seen the dead
play possum before and many good men lose their lives to the
trick.

The fort was in shambles. Parts of its
interior had burnt to the ground and spent shell casings lay
everywhere. Daniel dismounted but kept a tight hold on his horse.
There was nothing to be found here unless it was to be taken from
the bodies of the dead themselves, a task he did not look forward
to. The sun was setting in sky and the shadows growing longer. If
there were any of the creatures left here, they would be waiting
for him inside the remaining buildings. Staying in the open and
looting the dead was much safer than going in search of the things
he needed. He could forgo the rations if he could find ammo. Daniel
was well used to hunting for food when the need demanded it. He
poked the closest corpse that wore a uniform with the tip of his
rifle. After what seemed like an eternity of searching the dead,
he'd collected over a hundred bullets. It was too dark to keep
searching so he gathered his loot and left the fort behind him,
riding off the way he'd came.

The idea that so many men had died alone out
here in vain haunted him. He felt an irrational guilt for not
arriving sooner with their "withdrawal" orders. He did his best to
shake off the feeling and focused on finding a spot to camp for the
night. He was well past the point of exhaustion and knew that
pushing on in the dark would only lead to mistakes and trouble.
With the chance of the dead still in the area, a fire was out of
the question. It would draw them to him like flies. Sleeping on the
ground was out too. Taking a bundle of rope and his Winchester with
him, after securing his horse, he found the most comfortable
looking tree he could and climbed up into it. He found a wide
branch to serve as his "bed" and tired himself to the tree's trunk
as he settled in for the night. He sat with his back against the
roughness of the tree's bark and closed his tired eyes.

Daniel awoke to the sound of shuffling noises
at the base of the tree. His groggy eyes opened staring down into
the hungry face of a dead man in a soldier's uniform scurrying up
the tree towards him. The man growled as he saw Daniel's fear and
began to climb faster. Daniel jerked up his Winchester from where
it rested in his lap only to have it slip from his fingers. He
watched it plummet through the darkness to land with a thud on the
dirt below.