Bowie V. Ibarra (18 page)

…don’t fail.

“Why?” asked George. “What happened to her, really?”

“I wanted her to work for me. I wanted to give her a better opportunity, so to speak, than she had -Both with her work and with you.”

George growled.

“She could have had it all,” Alphonso went on, “More than you could ever give her. A lame school teacher. Who respects teachers in America anymore? You’re a dying breed.”

Frasier and Richardson giggled at the comment.

“So she didn’t quite enjoy my colleague’s company and chose to attack them. She took their faces. She took my eye.”

Please…

Alphonso paused and took another drag.

“I took her life. I shot her. It was easy to cover up. These two guys were in on a drug bust gone bad. They were injured. They got medals. She had coke in her blood. We’re in the clear.”

Please don’t fail.

George was sizing up the situation. His arms were tied, he knew, but he still had his legs. But just what could he do with them?

“I had to kill her, George. She was like Misty here. She hurt my friends too -Hurt their feelings. They asked nicely for their blowjobs, the kind they watched her give you last night. And it’s only fair. After all, this is my kingdom. This is my castle. It’s only fair that she pay restitution for being allowed to stay here.” Alphonso took another drag, letting the comment sink in, then continued, “They were polite.

They were gentlemen. They didn’t deserve to be mistreated, George. They had no choice but to threaten her. But it turns out her blowjobs suck anyway. Literally. Not in a good way. After all, nothing’s good if it’sforced.”

Alphonso was laughing as Misty screamed through her gag. Her cries came through as nothing more than a muffle. Tears continued to flow from her eyes.

George was seething. Alphonso’s arrogance was burning him up inside, giving him tunnel vision. He was helpless, his hands tied behind his back, leaving only a slim chance to do anything. He wasn’t ready to take that chance yet, but his anger was pushing him to do something stupid.

Alphonso looked away from Misty and focused his eyes on George again. He said, “How ironic is it that you should stumble into this place and your woman should hurt my men again?” He took a drag off the cigarette and pulled it from his mouth. He breathed out the smoke and sucked it back up again through his nostrils. “Anyway, that’s how we end up in this predicament. Some things change, but I don’t. I’m the same old me.”

George was sick of it. He shouted, “Enough of this shit! Fuck you and your speech! You think you’re such a badass for shooting a woman?! Why don’t you fucking shoot me!”

Alphonso burst into laughter. “You foolish dolt! I need you alive!”

George looked into Misty’s eyes. Misty, teary eyed and horrified, looked back.

“I need you alive, dear George. I need you alive to see this!”

With a simple shove, Alphonso sent Misty over the edge of the building, her legs flailing and her scream muted by the gag. She came down hard against the pavement ten feet below with an audible thud, shattering an elbow and twisting an ankle. Blood flowed like a running faucet from a large gash on her forehead, little chunks of gravel pockmarking the wound.

Zombies began to swarm around her.

George screamed, “NO!” as he lunged forward out of the grasp of the two former policemen.

Alphonso was still laughing.

People in the plaza -sitting in corners in psychedelic mindsets -all looked up when they heard the yells over the Mexican music coming from Mi Destino. They heard several more screams then, emanating from outside the building.

Misty tried crawling away at first, pushing herself along the ground with her good leg, but soon collapsed onto her back from the dizziness of blood loss. Her eyes fluttered, yet she remained conscious. She struggled to yank her hands free from her restraints so she could bring them out from behind her back and at least attempt to defend herself, but the restraints wouldn’t budge. She was helpless.

The first zombie fell on top of her and bit into her cheek, then pulled away with a large chunk of stringy flesh between its teeth.

Two shots rang out.

Heads in the plaza turned.

A creature bit into Misty’s leg.

A bullet penetrated Richardson’s neck.

A bullet penetrated Frasier’s head.

George’s face was suddenly peppered with blood. A splash of crimson stained Alphonso’s gray sports coat.

The thugs loosened their grip on George as they fell.

George noticed. So did Alphonso.

George was free to move.

A creature bit into Misty’s shoulder. She was screaming through the gag still in her mouth, her muffled pleas a futile cry.

Alphonso’s eyes were bulging as he reached into his jacket pocket for his gun.

George charged Alphonso, yelling nonsensical obscenities.

As Alphonso grabbed the grip of his gun, George delivered a forceful front kick to Alphonso’s chest, sending the drug dealer flying over the edge of the building in one fell swoop.

George fell to the edge of the roof. He looked over, his hands still tied behind his back.

Misty was being eaten alive. He could hear her softened cries. George shut his eyes and turned away.

A voice called out, “The cops, George! Get the cops!”

George looked to the roof of Mi Destino. Alex and Red were standing there, smoke still billowing from the barrels of their handguns.

A creature finished ripping open Misty’s shirt and sunk its teeth into one of her exposed breasts. Blood pooled around its lips. She was weeping less now, her crying stifled.

Alphonso had fallen hard and awkwardly on his back, but the fall was broken by two of the zombies who were staggering towards Misty. The crowd of zombies continued to gather. Though Alphonso’s back was still throbbing in pain, he tried to get to his feet.

George turned away from the sight of his friends and turned back to the cops. George picked himself up and brought his tied hands under his feet and to the front of his body. Richardson was trying to hold together what was left of his neck. Blood soaked his shirt, his hands trying to keep his head on his shoulders. His spine was the only support.

Frasier was convulsing, the headshot sparking nerves and synapses to try and find a desperate way to reconnect.

George methodically kicked Richardson in the groin, spit on his face, then soccer-kicked him in the head, snapping his neck.

He then approached Frasier. He dragged the convulsing body to the edge and pushed it over. It swirled and twirled and came down on Alphonso, who was just now up on his feet. He fell under the weight of his dead colleague.

“Take his legs out!” yelled George to Red and Alex.

As Alphonso rose to his feet again, he drew his weapon and fired on two zombies, trying to clear a path for himself. He made ready to sprint.

A shot rang out. It missed Alphonso as he continued to run away from the Mercado.

George looked at Richardson, who was done, then turned to look at Alphonso, who was running.

Another shot rang out, another miss.

George picked up Frasier’s gun and aimed at Alphonso, who was moving further and further away, gun blazing.

I love you, George.

“I love you, Esparanza,” mouthed George as he let an aimed shot go.

It caught Alphonso in the hamstring.

Alphonso screamed, grabbed the back of his right leg, and fell. He began to whimper as he lay on his back. A crowd of flesh-eaters gathered around him.

Alphonso took out one. Two. Three. He missed with one, but got the fourth. Fifth.

Desperate, he put the gun in his mouth.

A click.

No bullet.

He had lost track of how many bullets were in his weapon.

He tried to crawl away, but was surrounded. He fell to his back and began to cry hysterically.

A creature tore at his face. Another tore off his shirt, grabbed the flesh on his stomach, and bit. Another tore off a portion of his pant leg and bit into the meaty area above his knee. Another joined, biting and tearing at the thigh. Another did the same with the arm and sunk its teeth in. One bit into his neck. Yet another on the other leg, tearing the pant leg and biting. Another began to tug on his left leg. Another gouged out his good eye and pulled. Another bit into the neck, weakening the connection and allowing the head-puller to yank the head away from the spine, severing the connection to the brain, the remainder of the spine slithering along the ground like a snake.

More creatures began to yank at his limbs. An arm came off. Three zombies began to fight over the limb. The leg finally gave in after some twisting and gnawing. Another group was digging into his torso, removing innards and chewing on bloody organs.

Within minutes, Alphonso was devoured.

George continued to stare at the crowd gathered around the gore that was now Alphonso. A kind of satisfaction touched George -A sad satisfaction. Though Alphonso was dead, so still was Esparanza.

He looked down at Misty’s remains. She had been yanked apart and torn to ribbons as well. Creatures were still tearing out organs and gristle from her torso as they splashed around in a dark puddle of crimson.

George looked away and began to cry. His whimpers turned to laughs, back to whimpers, to laughs, and back again.

He saw the body of Richardson, headless, now still and stiff. George’s whimpers turned back to laughs as he stood up and started to kick away at the dead body. He kicked and kicked and kicked. He stomped. He kicked. He jumped on the testicles of the corpse. Up and down he jumped. George pulled Richardson’s gun from the holster. He shot him twice in the genitals, rolled him over and shot him twice in the ass. He sent three bullets through Richardson’s spine and exploded his heart. He emptied what was left into the back of the dead officer’s skull.

His laughter continued as he pulled the bloody carcass to the edge and tossed it over the side.

- Another feast for the dead.

A crowd quickly gathered and began to tear and eat the flesh of the corrupt police officer. Several creatures stood below the roof, groaning with greed. Their hands were raised up high, expecting another tribute of flesh.

George found the head of Richardson. Grabbing the head by the hair, he spit into its face and began to smash it against the edge of the building. One swing. Two. Three. Laughter.

A dozen swings later, the face and head were turned to mush. George tossed the head into the street. A clump of zombies dashed into the street for the head, like children chasing down candy thrown from a float in a parade.

George turned around and saw Red and Alex standing at the entrance of the spiral staircase, staring dumbfounded at George. They had witnessed the whole thing. George stopped laughing. Looking at his hands, bound and bloody, he began to whimper.

He fell to his knees and continued crying.

SANGUINE FACES OF the living dead wandered around what was left of Alphonso below a tree in the early evening hours.

A bird flew back to its nest and the three eager mouths that stood open, its children. It placed a wiggly creature in the mouth of one of the baby birds. The bird flew off, only to return with another maggot. It placed it in the mouth of the one that did not receive nourishment. It continued this process over the next ten minutes.

Food had been plentiful lately.

THE MORNING WAS a bit dark, with signs of rain approaching. The sun was still shining, but clouds were beginning to gather around, seemingly determined to spoil the day.

George and Alex had explained to the Mercado members what had happened the night before. No one seemed to mind. It meant the drugs were now at their full disposal.

George, Red, and Alex ate some breakfast tacos and then said goodbye to those who mattered to them in the compound. George said goodbye to Abe and Petra. He thanked them for their help.

“No problem, my friend,” Abe said. “Best of luck getting back.”

George, Red, and Alex walked to the humvee in the garage.

“You think this thing will end?” asked Red.

“Maybe,” replied Alex, going to the driver side door.

“If we only knew what caused it,” said George as he opened the passenger door, “Then maybe we’d have a chance.”

George reached for the back seat to place his stuff.

A hand from within the vehicle grabbed his wrist. George flinched. It was Steven.

“Can I go with you guys?” he asked, his face white and sweaty.

George was surprised, but remained calm. He had an idea of what was wrong, as Steven looked like he was on his last leg: pale, cold, and stiff.

“Hi Steven,” George calmly told him. “Why don’t you let go of me and we’ll talk?”

“I can’t stay,” said Steven as he began to cough. A thick glob of blood and mucus flew from his mouth and landed on George’s hand.

George yanked his hand away.

“He’s infected!” yelled Red.

“Get out of the truck, Steven,” said Alex.

“No!” Steven cried.

“George, go wash your hand, man!”

George immediately ran to the faucet, turned on the water, and then went to the water room. He washed off the mess on his hand.

A gunshot resounded around the bath room.

George found a towel and wiped his hand clean. He threw it in the trash.

He checked his hand.

There was a large scratch above his wrist on his arm where Steven had grabbed him.

The same spot where he had spit up on him.

Loop 410 was just like George remembered as they left the downtown area. The three took to the city streets around 410 to make their way to Highway 90. The Hummer was big enough to keep them secure even when the creatures tried to overtake the vehicle.