Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End (12 page)

32

“It’s important to find the right girl,” Kenny Dewitt’s never-resting mouth continues. “I need to meet my Miss Right. Once I get to the rendezvous, once we’re established, I’m going to focus on finding my soul mate. I’ll make it fun, like Rock of Love. Ever see that show? It will begin with a survey, a questionnaire of compatibility like the internet dating sites. I’ll narrow it down, trim the fat using certain key points that I value more than anything. This will lead, of course, to the intimacy part of the process, a battery of questions, a sexual battery if you will, designed and properly worded to leave out any gray areas of what she likes and dislikes, will or will not put up with. Who wants to find that special someone only to find out she doesn’t do the stuff you like, or likes shit you don’t. Right?” He guides the truck to the side of the road. “Well, this is where you get out.”

The sudden news is jarring, Archie realizes he won’t be joining Kenny at the special place he has been talking about. “What?”

“It was nice meeting you. Get out,” Kenny says with a congenial smile as if he doesn’t realize the gravity of abandoning his passenger.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. I can’t take you to the camp, I don’t know you. You’ve barely spoke since I picked you up. Honestly, I find it a bit unsettling. The only people allowed in are those I’ve personally hand-selected from the group.”

“You’re letting me out here?”

“Here is better than where I picked you up. You’d be dead if I hadn’t grabbed you. Don’t be ungrateful.”

Archie is unable to form words, he tries a couple of times but nothing comes out. Still confused, he exits the truck and watches it turn off the road to Waterloo heading east.

Some traffic had whizzed past them on the road earlier, now there is nothing. Archie is between Breckinridge and Waterloo with no idea how he’s going to get to the depot where everybody else is heading to.
At least there aren’t any zombies,
he tells himself as he begins the trek north.

####

National Guardsmen are confused as to why so many people want to get into the city, things aren’t any better here in Waterloo. They were ordered to keep everyone out and to maintain the peace among those choosing to leave, but the traffic heading in got to be too much and there were pressing matters building elsewhere. Those distributed throughout the urban jungle were requesting back-up to replenish falling ranks. The swelling chaos was leaving the outer posts pretty bare. At the south passage, the soldiers told the motorists to do what they want just before abandoning their position.

“I always do,” Rocky Roadkill had confessed to the young man in fatigues as he ran to his Jeep.

While Killer B slumbers, having nightmares of her friends dying before her eyes, the team captain follows the other refugees that seek shelter in this storm. It isn’t as simple as all had hoped, the smaller vehicles dart off in all directions as if trying to beat each other to their goal. The streets are a mess that only gets worse as the desperate people run into dead ends and must double back. The car Rocky was using as her guide leaves her at one such obstruction, by the time she is able to turn herself around the car is long gone.

Zombies wander towards the bus that sits idle while its driver thinks. She has no idea where this place is. From where she sits, watching the dead surround her like fish examining a lure, Rocky sees a sign of hope. More accurately she sees a sign that tells her where she may find salvation. Down the block from where the bus sits, lost in a foreign city, standing high above the road as if to ward off any that may not belong on the other side of it, people like Rocky, is a light blue water tower proclaiming the neighborhood’s nickname:
the Hills.

“Hey, KB!” Rocky calls to the back. “Where’d you say Kelly Peel lives?”

33

“Now, why the hell do you assume I have a gun?”

The loaded question makes Paul Coburn flush in an instant, he stammers as he tries to concoct a reason other than racial stereotype.

“It’s because I’m black, right?” Abe continues. “Tell me, Notorious, where’s your gun? You are a card carrying member of the NRA, in a state with an open carry law. Why aren’t you exercising your Second Amendment?”

“I don’t… own one,”  Paul admits in a whisper.

“Of all people.”

“I have staff to protect me,” the man in the hot seat defends. “I believe in the right to bear, I choose not to.”

“Right,” Abe lets go of the topic. At the moment the men have more dire issues to contend with than racism, at the side exit where Abe’s car is parked the path is barred by roaming zombies. The dead linger around the cars awaiting their next prospective meal. Some seem transfixed by the cars themselves, staring into the windows as if entranced by the glare of the rising sun.

“Stay here,” Abe tells his companion and heads away from where they hide by the glass door.

“Wait!” Paul says louder than he wished, panicking over the idea of being left alone. “Where are you going?”

“To create a diversion,” Abe says coolly as he vanishes around the corner.

Left by himself, the republican shakes with fear. He clings closer to the wall as if he can become one with it. His breathing is all he can hear, deep and ragged by the tension in his chest. Every second drags on for what feels like hours as he waits.

Yelling, muffled by the walls and glass before him, can be heard outside. His breathing stops mid-intake getting caught in his throat.
Is this the diversion?
he wonders.
Or, have they gotten him?

The dead in the lot head towards the commotion, motivated by hunger. Two remain in their trances, unable to tear their eyes away from their own reflections even for food.

A hand on his back startles a yelp out of Paul. “That should give us out chance.”

The calm voice of his once adversary, now savior, relieves him to no end. Paul actually smiles with joy at the man as he heads past him to open the exit. “There’s still a pair of ‘em out there,” Abe whispers, gripping his blood encrusted hammer tightly. “I got the one on the left.”

With that he slips out into the morning, not waiting to see if his partner follows.

“The one on the left?” Paul asks quietly. It surprises him that he is expected to fight these things. All he has for a weapon is an umbrella and the one item Abe let him grab from his room other than the clothes he put on so they can travel as light as possible, his brief case.

Abe saunters up to his corpse, the ghoul just stares at the window slightly swaying on his feet. He can’t tell what the dead man sees that is so interesting, there isn’t anyone in the car. No matter, he proceeds to bludgeon his target. The first crack takes the zombie to the ground, Abe holds him to the pavement and batters him until he goes still.

Paul doesn’t have such an easy time with his victim, hesitation robs him of valuable seconds, and the element of surprise. Abe’s assault was quick and quiet, but close enough to snap the remaining zombie from its own trance. The thing has turned, its hunger renewed, instead of rounding the vehicle it comes face to face with Paul. The political commentator takes a few steps back, still poised to strike with his umbrella, he just can’t commit.

The dead that were lured away by the ruse are returning, still on the prowl. Other corpses have taken notice of the men in the lot and are inbound.

Out of breath from his act of violence, Abe realizes the time for covert maneuvers are over. “Stick him!” he instructs.

Paul complies. He dismisses the notion that he mustn’t stab the man before him, forgets societal ideas of wrong or right. He can’t think of the thing as a person, this is survival of the fittest, he must do this. With all the might he can muster, he plunges the long umbrella into the zombie with a feral yell. Having followed through with the act he stands victoriously before his victim, still on its feet.

“You gotta hit the brain, Notorious,” Abe chides.

The improvised lance had been buried deep in the zombie’s throat and it remains there as the ghoul advances on the celebrity. The cane end of the umbrella presses into the ‘talking head’ that is too shocked by fear and failure to move. He grabs the handle but cringes and cries as the zombie’s determination forces the umbrella deeper into itself. Paul can only hold onto he handle to keep the ghoul at bay for as long as he can, buying himself what little time it will take for it to work its way down the folds of fabric.

The widening shape of the accessory offers resistance that holds the zombie back, but it’s fleeting. Even after impaling itself as deep as possible the starved thing presses forward, all Paul has to rely on is his own dwindling strength until a shot rings out that startles him. The ghoul he held on the end of his umbrella falls to the ground, shot in the head.

Paul stands in awe, looking down at the devastation the gunshot has made of his would-be killer’s head. Stunned, he searches for who may have saved him. Among the faces of the dead that close in on his location he sees Abe standing a few cars down, smoking gun in hand.

He’s at a loss. So close to death all he can say is, “I thought you…”

“I never said I didn’t have a gun,” Abe answers. “I just didn’t like you assuming I had one. This is my ride, Notorious. Let’s go.”

34

Having witnessed firsthand the hell that Breckinridge has become, and figuring the streets of Waterloo can’t be much better, Archie is between a rock and a hard place. Stranded in a desolate no man’s land between the two cities, he has decided to follow the path the semi took. He heads east, favoring his odds on foot and hoping that avoiding the populous locations will keep himself alive, if only a little bit longer.

He wonders what time it is just for the sake of knowing, it’s pretty much irrelevant. The world has woken up to find most of its inhabitants dead, dead and hungry. Not many appear to have travelled the road Archie walks, a deserted area of open fields with random buildings scattered along the way. He figures it’s unlikely that he’ll encounter many living souls as his long journey home begins.

The young man looks around occasionally as he trudges onward, keeping a lookout for danger. Such glances tell him turning back is no longer an option as he spies figures on foot where he was ejected from the truck, too far away now to tell for certain if they are dead or not. He won’t risk waiting to find out.

His lonely footsteps are all he hears aside from the chirping of birds unaffected by the madness. The sound of his own feet plodding forward become his motivation, he has set a rhythm and now just aims to keep the beat. If he can remain focused on that, he feels he should be all right.

The steady pace he marches to, and has been marching to for some time, slows. Ahead, along the side of the road, sits a large sport utility vehicle. The chassis jostles slightly. He stops and watches it, hoping it was just his imagination. The SUV shimmies once more. Knowing that the road behind him is just as uncertain as the road ahead, he continues with caution. He has plenty of room to skirt around the vehicle and possible danger if he needs to. Something urges him to hold off on giving this mystery a wide berth, he is compelled to examine it closer rather than avoid it.

The back right side door is open. He sees someone or something leaning into the car as he creeps up to it. A student of the human form, he can tell from its figure though it wears unflattering fleece, that it is female, or was once female. He listens for clues as to whether he should run past or ask for help. There’s a whisper of noise in the air that offers him a hint, a greedy gulping.

He’s hesitant to utter a greeting, lest he become the next course. Pausing at the back bumper he clears his throat. The thing ceases what little movement it was making. He clears his throat again. The thing pulls itself out of the car fast, before he can react it strikes him hard across his head. He can’t see through his tightly sealed eyes as he winces from the pain. His arms are up to blindly ward off any more attacks.

“Oh my god!” a voice says with alarm. “I’m so sorry!”

Though it turned out to be a living female human, who has apologized for hitting him, she leaves him groaning on the side of the road. She shuts the back door and darts around the front of her ride to the driver’s side. Archie hears the engine turn over through the fog of sharp agony, forcing an eye open he watches her pull away. The hands that tried to protect him from further harm are now used as semaphore flags asking her to stop. “Please,” he weakly calls.

The car crawls away, but only a few yards. Brake lights tell him that she is choosing to stop and it isn’t a mechanical problem. He approaches with his palms up letting her know that he means her no harm, before he reaches for the handle he hears the locks engage. The window closest to him rolls down just enough for words to pass through.

“Sorry again,” the woman reiterates, leaning toward the cracked window to be heard.

“That’s all right,” Archie assures. He stops rubbing where his head smarts to show her that he’s fine. “Sorry I scared you.”

“I feel bad, about hitting you, and leaving you,” she apologizes further. The young woman can see the dead slowly closing in from behind. “I’ve seen enough movies to know you can’t trust anyone at a time like this… If you promise not to hurt or rape me, you can come with.”

He doesn’t have to think over his options for even a second. “I promise. No one is getting raped.”

The lock releases. The hitchhiker enters, relieved once he closes the door. The sound he had heard while examining the vehicle from the street is louder now, closer. He glances behind them and is surprised to see an infant’s car seat. Tiny hands clutch a bottle as the baby, strapped in for safety, feeds itself.

“His name is Peeta,” the driver informs her passenger. “I’m Stephanie.”

“Archie,” he offers his own name with a slight wave hello.

“We’re on our way home, my home actually. Well, I guess it would be his home too since we’re kind of a package,” she talks while getting them moving. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all, I love kids.”

“I was worried. Taking care of Peeta through all this, alone. I’m glad we met. I feel safer knowing someone has my back.”

“Where’s home?”

“Toulouse, Georgia,” she answers him. “I know it’s a haul, but my family is out there. I’m only here for school. I had a full scholarship at Georgia Tech, but the art program at Waterloo University is better, and they have a program to help single parents go to school. Do you like art?”