APOCALYCIOUS: Satire of the Dead (44 page)

              “John…Walker.”

             
“Hi John; I’m Annie and the little, mean girl is Juanita.”

             
“Woman,” corrected Juanita. “Little, mean woman.”

             
“I appreciate the…kindness. Thank you,” he said.

             
“Do you want some water?”

             
He nodded weakly “And a blanket. I’m freezing.” The last word was said through chattering teeth. Annie could smell the infection upon Walker’s breath.

             
Annie looked at ‘Nita who rolled her eyes, and went to the bedroom. She returned with two patchwork quilts and draped them over his quivering form.

             
“Thanks.”

             
“You’re welcome, John.” Annie’s eyes were tender and Juanita knew that her friend’s heart was in the right place, but sometimes not in her right mind.

             
There was a moment of awkward silence then John said, “When I turn… will you…you know?”

             
“Let’s not think about that,” Annie said tearing up.

             
“I don’t want to be one of …
them
,” he pleaded.

             
Juanita knew what he meant because she had the same view for herself. She brandished her machete that was nearly half as tall as she was. “Yeah, I can do that.”

             
Annie glared at her friend “’Nita put that away and get John some food,” she scolded.

             
John wriggled uncomfortably beneath the quilts “No…food. I can’t keep it down.”

             
“Can’t keep it down, huh?” Juanita said mischievously. “Sounds like your kinda man, Annie.”

             
“’Nita,
really
?” Annie said in disbelief.

             
“Fine,” Juanita said grumpily. “I’ll go secure the door.”

             
John began coughing, blood spraying onto his lips and chin. Annie recoiled instantly, then composed herself and put a palm to his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

             
“Doesn’t feel like it,” John whispered hoarsely

             
“Shhh…relax. Rest now,” Annie said then rose from her kneeling position beside the couch.

             
Annie walked to the kitchen and found Juanita standing on a milk crate in front of the sink, washing her hands.

             
“He’s not going to last long,” Annie said solemnly.

             
“No shit, you think?”

             
“”Nita….”

             
“Don’t ‘Nita me, Annie. I’m twenty-eight years old. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that is nine years older than you. I’ve been around a lot longer than you have. I may be small, but I am far from being a child.”

             
“I didn’t mean…”

             
“Nita held up a stubby index finger. “I’m not finished.” she said, then continued, deliberately dulling the edge of her tone. “Listen…I am thankful for you coming back for me and I would give my life to repay you, but you need to start listening to me.”

             
Annie looked down at her feet ashamed. “I know that.” She looked up and leveled her eyes on Juanita’s. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.

             
“Besides, I’ve seen enough of these freakin’ zombie bites to know that there is no saving them.” ‘Nita said putting her hands on her hips defiantly.

             
“So what do you want to do?” asked Annie, walking around her short friend to wash her own hands. Juanita turned back to Annie and felt her anger dissipating.

             
“We’ll wait, I guess. That’s all we can do now. But when that dude starts groaning then I’m gonna cut off his damn head…no matter how much you like that couch.” 

             
Annie dried her hands on the dish towel. “Fine, just let me know before you do it so I don’t have to watch.”

             
“Have you lost your mind? I know that you’ve killed zombies…and people for that matter, what’s one more?” Juanita walked to the archway that divided the kitchen from living room and turned again to face Annie at the sink.

             
“He seems nice. That’s all,” Annie said with a slight pout.

             
Juanita was becoming exasperated. “He’s not a puppy.”

             
Annie turned back to her friend and ‘Nita saw her eyes become wide. “Oh shit…”

             
Juanita sighed heavily. “He’s right behind me isn’t he?”

             
Annie nodded and with her closest hand, began clamoring for a knife or other cooking utensil to use as a weapon. The next few seconds seemed as if they were in slow motion to Annie as she watched the action unfold before her eyes.

             
Juanita lunged to her right and leapt upon one of the kitchen chairs. From there she instantly sprang up from it, spinning one hundred and eighty degrees while in the air. As she did this, in one fluid movement she drew the machete from its sheath and slashed the blade across John’s neck.

             
John’s head hit the floor at the same moment that ‘Nita’s feet touched down. The Latina landed in a crouch, one hand steadying her, and then she looked up in time to watch as John’s decapitated body fell sideways against the doorway to the kitchen and slid down, his bones cracking violently against the hardwood floors.

             
Annie was speechless for a moment then finally said, “What was
that
?”

             
Juanita grabbed the dish towel from the counter and wiped the blade off. “Not something a little person is proud of.”

             
“What’s not to be proud of? That was incredible.”

             
Juanita gave her friend a chagrined look. “I did a stint as a midget wrestler a few years ago, OK?” she slammed the blade back into its canvas sheath. “The Doctor knew that; why do you think they always kept me tied up?”

             
Annie looked sheepishly and shrugged. “I guess I just thought that you liked being tied up. You know like bondage or something.”

             
Juanita looked crossly at Annie for a moment then her face broke into a grin that was as beautiful as any model in a magazine and shook her head. “You astound me sometimes, Annie. You really do.”

                                                 
Chapter 51 - We’re rolling back prices

Dixton
, Ohio 

             
“Hito, wait. I know him! The one with the bandana around his neck,” Shere exclaimed.

             
Hito glanced up at her from behind the scope of the Springfield .308 and squinted. “Did you serve with him or something?”

             
Shere felt her blood pressure rise and could hear her pulse throb in her ears as she remembered Cincinnati. “I wouldn’t call it that.” She watched as Riley pulled his bandana up over his chin, through her binoculars.

             
Hito noticed the way her lips tightened in a grimace and knew instinctively that whatever it was, this wasn’t anything good. “Does he think he’s a train robber or something?”

             
Shere didn’t respond; her attention was wholly set on Dwight Riley.

             
She lowered the binoculars and remained silent. Hito didn’t press her.

Shere had never told Hito about
Riley.  She didn’t want anyone to think of her as a victim; especially Hito.  Being a victim was for the weak. She had taken the worst that Private Dwight Riley could give her and now she thought that it was time to see if he was as resilient. It was time to see if he could take the worst that she had to give him. Her heart swam in the murky black pit of vengeance and it beat like a war drum in anticipation.

             
She put the binoculars to her eyes again. There were six others with him as they entered the front entrance to the Wal-Mart. She expected Givens, Dawson, Greer and Mason to be numbered among his squad, but from this distance she didn’t believe it to be them. If not, then Riley would have to be the sole beneficiary of today’s revenge.

             
“Want me to take any of them?” asked Hito, peering back into the scope and resting the crosshairs on the back of the straggler at the rear.

             
“I want the one wearing the black bandana. I want him to know
who
is killing him and I want to do it slow,” Shere said coldly, with a hardness of heart that Hito understood all too well.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked.

              “Just watch them for now. If these men are with him, then it stands to reason that they are just as bad as he is and they deserve to die too.”

             
“Works for me,” agreed Hito.

             
The Wal-Mart was situated at the western end of Dixton, Ohio, a town of about twenty-eight thousand. Most, if not all, of that native population was dead and walking around the thoroughfares of the city limits hateful and very hungry. Smaller towns were generally overpopulated with the dead because they normally had small police departments and the National Guard and Reserves would have been sent to larger cities to better the odds of finding survivors.

             
“They are probably scavenging for supplies,” he said

             
“Yeah,” she agreed distractedly.

             
“We could disable their vehicle, which would leave them on foot. It’d be easier to track them that way without being spotted,” Hito ventured.

             
“Did they leave anyone at the doors to watch the entrance?” Shere asked.

             
Hito adjusted the scope slightly and took another look. “No... I don’t see anyone.”

             
“Stay here and cover me. I’ll do it.”

             
Hito had grown to trust the Marine and recognized that she was better trained, more knowledgeable and more capable than he was himself in many instances. She had always had his back when he took the lead, and she deserved the same respect. “Be careful,” Hito said looking back at her.

             
She stopped, turned back to him and leaned down and kissed him firmly. “Thanks, Old Man.”

             
He smiled up at her and she returned it, but hers was brief and he could see the anger raging just beneath the surface. “I got you covered,” he said.

             
“I know you do,” Shere said quietly, then left him in the third story window, shutting the door behind her.

              From his vantage point, Hito watched her dart and weave through the abandoned cars. She steered clear of any vehicle that she could see contained one of the dead who were trapped in the confines of their seat belts. They might not be able to reach her but they could easily call for reinforcements.

             
As she reached the side of the main entrance to the megastore Hito saw from his vantage point that a large herd of the dead had emerged from the opposite side of the large Wal-Mart building. His trigger finger twitched and he rested it on the trigger guard to keep from unintentionally firing the weapon.

             
To shoot would kill some of the dead, but also draw them to his position. That was acceptable as he would be able to evade them. He had a knack for that, but the shot would also draw out the man that wore his black bandana over his chin like a train robber from a Roy Rogers movie. That might give Shere’s position away and that was most definitely
not
acceptable.

             
Nervous perspiration beaded on Hito’s brow. He could not shoot, would not shoot until he was absolutely sure that it was his last resort.

             
Shere had slung the M4 across her back and held her sidearm, a Berretta 9mm in her right hand and a Marine K-bar in her left.

             
The men had arrived in a pair of black civilian Hummers. They were H-2’s, the second generation that was less militaristic and more status symbol. She peered into the side window of the one parked at the rear of the first. As she was debating on the best course of action to take a loud tinny metallic voice emanated from the vehicle.

             
You are standing too close to the vehicle. An alarm will sound in three seconds if you do not move away!

             
Shere did not hesitate. She was aware that the pre-alarm was loud enough in the silence of the ghost town to alert both the living and the dead. She heard a chorus of groans erupt from not far away and slammed the blade into the nearest tire. The alarm began to wail.

             
The tire did not go flat. As she yanked the blade back out of the rubber, it sealed itself.

             
Run flats,
Shere thought and cursed to herself under her breath.

             
“Get out of there, Shere,” Hito urged nervously through clenched teeth. He watched her as she put her knife in its sheath and scrabbled back through the maze of wrecked, abandoned and burnt up hulks of cars.

             
Hito saw the camouflaged men emerge from the store just in time to confront the herd of growling and snapping dead. The men in digital camouflage began to spray bullets into the herd of corpses.

             
Hito scowled. Even though the men below were engaged with the dead, there was still a chance that they might catch a glimpse of Shere returning to this building. Shere had said that she wanted to kill them herself, but she hadn’t said anything about wounding them. His finger settled lightly on the trigger. He exhaled, held his breath and squeezed the trigger between heart beats. There was always something in that act that made him feel so powerful and it amazed him that he held so much power in one finger. Just the simple act of curling that finger back could unleash such wrath.

             
The explosion was deafening as the lead H-2 rocketed upward off the pavement in a mushroom of smoke and fire. He shot the second, but it didn’t explode. He squinted through the scope and saw that gas poured from the punctured tank and ran in a gently curving river toward the burning chunk of metal in front of it. A smile touched just one corner of his mouth as he watched the flames leap toward the gasoline, igniting it.

             
The men retreated into the shadows of the store as the second H-2 combusted into flames and the gas tank exploded, rocking the vehicle and slamming it over on its side. Shrapnel peppered the huge smiley face on the sign above the doors.

             
He did not bask in the glory of his easy carnage for long though. The explosions would not only bring more of the dead to this location, but it would also alert the men in the store that they were not the only living people vying for this chunk of land. The good thing was that the fires burning the tires of the H-2s had created an impenetrable smoke screen to block Shere’s retreat from their sight.

A few minutes later Shere returned covered in sweat; her deep brown skin glistening. “You didn’t shoot them, did you?” Shere demanded, sounding angry.

              “No, they’re yours. Remember?”

             
She let out a sigh of relief and said, “As long as the dead don’t get to them first.”

             
“They won’t,” Hito assured her.

             
“You can’t know that.”

             
“Yes I can,” he said peering through the scope. “Look,” he said and nodded toward the direction of the Wal-Mart. Shere grabbed her binoculars from the floor and focused in.

             
“I just see a bunch of corpses running into the store, Hito,” she said impatiently.

             
“Not there. The roof,” Hito said, pointing with a nod of his head.

             
Shere shifted the binoculars up a few degrees and Hito watched as her clenched jaw relaxed and a smile creased her cheek. “Hito, you are a wonderful, wonderful man.”

             
Hito folded the bi-pod against the barrel of his Springfield and policed his brass. “I do what I can,” he said grandly.

             
“Can we get over there from the sewers?”

             
“I doubt it, but I suppose we could try.”

             
Suddenly aware of the way that she’d been talking to Hito she softened her tone. “Before you close up shop do you want to plink some varmints?”

             
He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

             
“Just don’t shoot the one with the bandana.”

             
“The one that looks like he is holding up a bank?” he said knowing full well which one she was referring to.

             
“That’s the one,” Shere agreed.

             
“He’s yours?”

             
Shere nodded her head. “Yeah, he’s mine alright.”

             
Shere brought the M4 up as she lay in a prone position. “They’re looking over the edge of the building. I think they are going to try to snipe some of the dead in the parking lot. Wait!
What is that
?” Shere asked excitedly.

             
“Where?” Hito asked, swinging the barrel back into position.

             
“That white cage to the left of the main entrance.”

             
Hito uncapped his scope again and closed his left eye as he panned the crosshairs. “Ahh…I see.”

             
“What do you think?” Shere asked.

             
“It’ll be big.”

             
“How big?”

             
Hito scanned the rooftop and located the man in the bandana’s location. “I think
he’ll
be fine.”

             
“Mind if I do the honors?” Shere asked politely.

             
“It was your idea after all. I’ll just kick back and enjoy the show,” he side easing the rifle to its side.

             
“You’re a bit of alright, you know that Mr. Takahashi?” Shere said, with a twinkle in her eye. She snugged the butt of the stock into her shoulder. Hito would have offered her the use of his Springfield, but he knew she was more than capable of hitting the contents of the large white crate with the open sights of the carbine. He heard her exhale slowly. It sounded almost sexual to him; she made the same sound as they lay together, covered in sweat, as she fought to regain her composure. It was a sweet sound. He heard the report, it was loud and sharp, but was instantly eclipsed by the tremendous explosion that followed. He felt the whole building shake on its foundation. The white cage that contained the pressurized tanks for propane gas grills had blown the entire front half of the building to rubble. Chunks of concrete, wood, glass and metal studs rained down on the parking lot like the wrath of God upon Sodom and Gomorrah.

             
They had to wait for the smoke and dust to clear to make out the damage.

             
As the echoes of the explosion and debris died down they could hear coughing and cursing and someone sobbing from the rooftop. It was a satisfying sound, but disconcertingly they also heard angry groans coming from every direction. The massive cacophony of the sounds of war would bring every dead man, woman and child within a five mile radius.

             
“He’s limping, but still kicking,” Hito said.

             
“How many of his buddies are left?”

             
“Two. Wait! No, one of them just fell through the roof. Bandana and one other man are all that are left.”

             
“They must have figured out we’re over here. They’ve hunkered down behind that big air conditioning unit,” Shere said.

             
“I think it’s a good time to relocate before we get swarmed. We’ve been here too long,” Hito said.

             
“Where to?” Shere asked. “I don’t want to lose them.”

             
Hito grinned, “What about the roof of the Home Depot?”

             
“It won’t be easy,” Shere said apprehensively as she watched the dead emerging from every quarter.

             
“Nothing worthwhile ever is,” he agreed. “We might as well try the sewers.”

                                                       
Chapter 52 - Fireball Twilight

Dixton
, Ohio 

              Darkness had fallen slowly and solemnly over the town of Dixton like a funeral shroud. It was as if God, the great mortician, had been readying the body of the land for its nightly burial ritual.

             
Annie and Juanita had watched the blasts light up the night from the house and knew something big was happening. Explosions like that had greatly diminished since the first couple weeks of the infection and although not unheard of, it was still a rare occurrence.

             
Explosions usually meant that
men
were at work, not the dead. It was always a crap shoot as to whether the people were friendly or not. With the enhancements of the plastic surgery the doctor had performed on the two women, they had to be more cautious than other women. Men were still men, after all, and without laws and police to enforce those laws the possibility of them becoming sex slaves again was more than a possibility.

             
Both Annie and Juanita had a desire to find other people, good people because they knew there was safety in numbers; at the very least
relative
safety in numbers. Juanita had known how it felt to be a minority, not that being Latina was always hard, but being a little person was never an easy road. People laughed at her, mocked her or tried to intimidate her. Juanita was capable of defending herself and holding her own, but she was also acutely aware that normal sized people were almost invariably stronger and faster than she. The doctor’s house had been a testament to that fact, and she didn’t intend to have the events repeat if she had anything to say about it.

              Morning dawned and excitement built within the two women. A shower, although cold, had invigorated Juanita, and now as she dried herself in front of the mirror, she examined the diminutive body that faced her from the glass. She was tall for a dwarf, standing at an even 4’ 4” tall and although her legs and arms were disproportionately short, she didn’t share the enlarged forehead that most dwarfs had. Her head was perfectly proportionate for her size and her face was that of a goddess. Also rare for a dwarf was her thin waist, her hips although slightly big for her stature wasn’t as extreme as most females of her condition due in part to the lipo-suction and party because she had always been an athlete. Saline implants had been added, giving her a large d-cup size and although smaller in size than the surgery that Annie had; because of her short stature they looked much larger than they actually were. Permanent makeup had been tattooed around her eyes and lips. She had to admit that the doctor, although one sick little piggy, had done good work. If this had been the real world, Juanita would have undoubtedly become the star attraction of the wrestling circuit with her over-endowed curves on display for horned-up, middle-aged men the world round. But the real world application of disproportionately large breasts and short arms were a nuisance. Finding clothes that fit over them without them hanging to her shins was impossible. She always kept scissors in her pack for just such a use.