Forest Park: A Zombie Novel (35 page)

“Just tell me the code,” Susan said.

“No,” Tyler responded.

“Don’t do this. It’s not worth it, we need each other,” said Kathy.

Susan laughed.

“You liar --- you’re all fucking liars. I’m the only honest person here, the sole real person.”

“Just put the gun away,” said Tyler.

“No, tell me the code, or I’ll blow your freaking head off,” Susan said.

Cook was still clinging to the rope above Tyler.

He thought of letting go. I could drop down and knock her away, steal her gun ... but it was too risky.

“I’ll tell you the code,” Cook said, “but only if you take the gun away from Tyler’s head.”

Susan glanced skywards. “Deal,” she said.

Gripping the rope tighter, Cook climbed down with everyone but Steve watching.

The closer Cook climbed toward the end of the rope, the further back Susan moved, her gun still leveled at Tyler.

Steve stepped into another swing; he was close to being finished. He felt tired and his blows now lacked the power they once had.

He didn’t have the energy to continue.

Another two Dead things rolled off the bonnet of the car, as another three pushed themselves along its side.

More were coming.

“We have to leave,” Steve said with his back to everyone. “I can’t keep delaying them for much longer. We have to go now!” he said as a large zombie fell from the car and hit the ground hard. The colossal dead one rose to its unsteady feet. “We need to hurry!”

Dead Charlie staggered forward.

Within a few minutes, Steve would be overpowered. “I can’t hold them back any longer,” he said as he elevated his bat above his head once more and then sent it crashing downward to another ghoul.

Cook was now dangling from the bottom of the rope. His hands, racked with pain, he couldn’t hold on much longer. He was going to fall. He let go and landed on his feet like a cat.

“Now tell me the code,” Susan demanded.

“You don’t have to do this,” answered Cook, “we all panic from time to time.”

“We can work together,” added Tyler.

“I don’t panic,” Susan said. “I calculate,” she added as she glanced toward Dead Charlie.

Tyler and Cook both turned about and saw Charlie coming toward them, his dead frame revealing Susan for what she was.

They saw a bullet hole.

“You shot him?” Tyler said.

“Shot who?” Kathy asked.

“Susan shot Charlie, that’s why she has the gun,” Tyler said.

Cook glanced at Kathy.

“That’s Charlie, the big guy,” he said as he pointed his finger at the Dead fat man. “She’s gone mad,” Cook added. “God only knows when she snapped, but she’s gone nuts.”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve gone mad. I’m just seeing things more clearly than the rest of you. I now see the world with a clarity none of you could comprehend. I am soaring! Don’t you get it? Things have altered people and I’ve adapted!”

Susan held the gun with both of her hands; her knuckles bleached white.

“Now tell me the code.”

“1-2-2-7 and then hash,” Cook said.

“Thanks,” Susan said as she backed away.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Officer Cook?”

“Go and find out,” he said.

Susan burst out laughing and then took another step back. “Goodbye, Charlie, you were a stupid fat fuck,” Susan said as she glanced at his walking remains. “Goodbye, and travel well.”

She fired her Colt.

Tyler saw the muzzle flash and braced himself. The bullet hastened past Tyler and crashed into Kathy’s stomach, dispatching her to the ground screaming for her husband.

Susan, now far enough away from the group to make sure nobody could impede her if she chose to flee or fire again, stood grinning.

“Why?” Tyler said to Susan. “Why?” Kathy shrieked in the background.

“Because I calculate and because things have changed. Although, if you feel neglected here’s one on the house.”

Leaving Tyler no time to react, Susan pulled the trigger one more time and shot him in the arm.

Tyler screamed and grasped at his shoulder, attempting to arrest the flow of blood.

Susan then turned to Cook. “Don’t even try it,” she said before she skirted the corner of the alley and ran into the night.

“Let’s see them climb this fence with all that shit going on,” Susan said as she glanced around her.

The Dead were beginning to draw near from every direction.

“Fuck ’em...” she said, and then recovered the hole in the fence.

“Somebody help her!” Tyler overheard Steve scream and then throw his bat to the ground.

“I’ll go after the bitch,” said Cook.

“No... Wait. Get the bat,” Tyler said.

“She’s going to get away.”

“And we’ll all die here if we try to stop her now.”

Cook looked at the bat lying on the ground. “Damn it...” He wanted to chase her down. This isn’t right, he thought.

“Grab the bat, Cook.”

Cook whirled and saw Tyler doubled over and holding his shoulder; blood was oozing through his fingers, while Steve embraced his wife.

At Tyler’s feet was Kathy, alive but close to reaching the tipping point, the period when life and its co-conspirator death, walk a sharp line between survival and loved ones consoling the dying.

While holding Kathy tight, Steve looked to Cook and Tyler. “She can’t die, you have to help her-, she’s my wife,” he said as he lifted her from the ground. “Help her...”

“Nobody’s going to die,” said Tyler, “especially not your...”

Dead Charlie and the other Undead could now detect small particles of Kathy’s and Tyler’s blood as it wafted through the air --- smelling sweet and washing over their few remaining senses. Dead Charlie had never felt so hungry and so famished --- starved. Without clear, organized thoughts Dead Charlie could only follow his inner drive, just as the other dead ones did, drawn by the trail of blood, which called to more and more of the Undead. It was an opportunity to feast, a chance to become a part of the frenzy.

Tyler stood upright and staggered out of the alleyway and into the car park. “Bring her this way,” he said after he had made sure Susan wasn’t hiding somewhere.

“Get her by the fence --- be ready.”

Cook lifted the bat from the ground and rotated it like a seasoned professional. “Good bye, Charlie.”

I was born for this world; Susan thought as she ran. I’m free. I wish this could have happened sooner, the Dead, the end, the freedom to take any life if I choose, real power, actual power is life and death, deciding fates.

“Yes!” Susan yelled as she ran, no longer frightened of making noise, she didn’t care anymore. However, everything was happening so fast, too rapidly, she wanted to enjoy it and savor the victory. I don’t want to rush this. I want to relish the moment, and I’ve earned it. The Dead things that she could see weren’t looking in her direction. “They’re bleeding out. Go and fucking bite them!” she said and then suddenly laughed exuberantly.

The Dead were ambling toward the screaming coming from the alleyway; just like sharks they can sense it. A wounded and struggling fish.

I was right. I’m always right.

Looking over her shoulder, Susan saw that Tyler was still alive.

You won’t be alive too long; just you try to climb over that fence with a bullet in your arm, asshole --- my bullet.

And then Steve came into view. He was carrying Kathy to the fence. He laid her down as gently as he could, but even Susan could comprehend that he had no idea how to get her safely over. The way he gawked at the razor wire, which topped the fence made that self-evident. How could he do it without hurting his darling wife? What a shame…

Susan couldn’t see Cook, though. I wonder where he is? Maybe they’ve eaten him already. He was only a secondary character anyhow.

“I’m the real star of this show,” she said, doubtful if she had only thought the words or had actually articulated them.

Susan turned away. It was time to leave, but where was Cook?

She began to walk away for a second time and then stopped.

“I can watch from the firehouse. There’s no need to stay out here in the open,” she murmured to herself and then began to walk away once more.

However, what if I miss something good? I have the time; the Scooby gang couldn’t catch me now even if they tried. Maybe I’ll watch a while longer. The farther away I am, the less I’ll see, and she wanted to see, really wanted to see and know.

What happens next?

Susan could see the firehouse door. Next to it was a keypad.

The footpath is clear. I have time; time to watch a while longer.

Susan glanced about her surroundings once more as she reached her final decision.

I’ll sit down and watch. I have a gun. I have a seat, (a bus-stop bench was nearby), and no buses today.

“I’ll be fine, and if anything gets too close I’ll worry about that later.”

I need a time-out anyway, just a small break, only for a minute or two to watch the show.

She was safe. Stay alert.

I have a gun.

Placing the Colt down on the bench adjacent her leg, Susan sat in the darkness as if it were a Sunday afternoon. She raised her hand to her head. “Can concussions drive you crazy?” she said, and then vomited. Susan passed out moments later.

GOODBYE BUNKER, GOODBYE

“Great, that’s just damn great! Well, that’s it then,” Holtz vented.

Ambrose in the past few hours observed scene after tragic scene unravel --- the ranting and the raving and the despairing protestations as he informally picked at his nails.

He had enough to contemplate; Harris and Gibson, plots and schemes, and the list of questions he wished to ask Harris was endless.

Nevertheless, pointless, he considered.

Holtz smashed his fist down to the table.

Small bubbles of white spittle subsequently appeared at the corner of Holtz’s mouth. His outrage was absolute.

Ambrose glimpsed over to Harris, whose face was expressionless and calm.

Harris chose his end and everyone else’s. He was now at peace. The decision made.

While Gibson’s demeanor appeared as if it were changing, his cool tone of voice and serene eyes now seem to have gone astray. The man who was the picture of serenity, at present looked exasperated.

It’s probably the shouting and bitching. Who wants to wait for the end of their life like this? Listening to grown men whimper about the how unfair things are and how unlucky they’ve been, Ambrose thought.

However, both Harris and Gibson knew it was the end that was the difference. Although what if someone had sprung the surprise on them, would they now also be beating their chests and complaining about how unfair it all was?

Poor Holtz is still trying to find solutions. He’s trying to avoid the end; he’s doing all he can, not for anyone else, but only for himself of course. Except he’s trying, not knowing the carpet has been pulled from under him.

Even so, these other two, have checked out even if they did have a beta plan to stop this.

Maybe Harris was right?

The only way to tear it all down is to destroy the actual pillars of civilization, not the banks, the governments, the lofty ideals, none of that; all of that is bullshit. To tear away the real pillars, the real source of political power, is to bring down the people. The people hold the edifice up, everyday people with their dreams and aspirations, their mortgages and their incessant need to line up in queues. If you rip away the people who believed in the rules because the rules had always existed, then you’ll tear down the whole rotten thing. Without the people what is there but empty buildings and copied words in books, which had long lost their relevance to anybody. Now those buildings and words have been bared of their power, and the people that were once enslaved by them will be free to create new societies. A simple change?

Ambrose smiled to himself.

When dividends and portfolios become more important than people, maybe it’s time?

Carnegie appeared concerned and anxious, but relieved in being surrounded by concrete and armed guards.

He checked his watch every thirty seconds or so, but he wasn’t late for anything and he certainly had nowhere to go.

So this is it, the end?

This is how it plays out among the great men? The powerbrokers whine and slam their fists down in rage, hidden in the far corner of a bunker, and sealed away from the world, while the people who put them there, scatter and run while hoping not to die, tonight at least.

“We give billions in foreign aid, and who is here to help us?” said one of the powerbrokers from the far end of the table.

It seemed that after years of living off the fat of the lamb, the powers that be, still needed more, thought Ambrose. The dying complaints from an empire lay to rest, not just America, but her friends and allies too. The western world, a loose collection of governments and multinationals, finished, and this is how we leave the world stage? Pointing fingers and asking for spare change, but from whom and for what reason?

The Dead were everywhere. The virus had steamrolled every nation on Earth, whether they be large or small, rich or poor. China’s recently found golden chalice was now over flowing with the Dead, while India’s River Ganges choked on reanimated corpses. There were no longer any nations to fear in the west or in the east, only fear itself.

The Internet, the jewel in the crown of freewill was now under restricted military use only, leaving most local and international servers down. However, the few people who had access, and understood the technology --- without plug and play --- banded together where they could find each other online across the globe.

Home safety concepts and guidelines about how to survive began being exchanged on global forums, no sign up required.

The only thing asked upon joining a forum was to pass on any information learned and to help others where possible. The ideals of the information super highway had survived, but had become more man than machine or code. It was, for the most part, people helping people and sharing free information, what the Internet should have always been.