Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End (27 page)

Keeping the wide barrel pointed at him she allows him to pass. He slowly makes his way to Rocky as she wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. He sits cautiously across from her and thinks of what to say. “Wow! That escalated quickly. He was one of my best.”

“Take your word on that,” she replies before taking a long swig from her bottle and not offering him any.

A single shot outside startles Killer B and Kenny, they jump where Rocky barely flinches. It’s a posthumous bullet to prevent Dick from bothering anyone ever again.

“I’m a man down,” Kenny plainly states.

“Not much of one.”

“Actually, Dick was one of the few I was worried might try to usurp my power,” he reveals to her, sounding a bit relieved. “I owe you one, could use a good fighter like yourself at my side.”

Rocky is silent. She looks into her bottle of vodka, at the ribbons of blood floating in the clear liquid, and considers it.

“Sorry,” Killer B answers for her. “We’re on our way home.”

“Home is where you make it,” the man tries with a warm, welcoming smile.

“Let me confer with the old ball and chain, will ya?” Rocky says, her swollen lip making her words mumble together.

“Rocky? I don’t know about this.” Killer B says with concern after Kenny leaves them to discuss their future.

“If that gorilla out there had bested me, KB, you would’ve been screwed. Literally and brutally screwed.”

“But he didn’t,” the younger of the two states with a positive smile.

“He coulda,” Rocky levels with her friend. “No guarantee the next one won’t. There’s strength in numbers.”

“Can we trust them?”

“I don’t know about all of ‘em, their leader I’m certain of. He’s a putz, in over his head, but I think he’ll keep you safe.”

“Keep
us
safe.”

“I can take care of myself, you know this. You’re what matters. I lost the rest of the team, I’m sure as fuck not letting you down.” Rocky takes another long sip of her blood-tinged booze. She wipes her mouth and says, “Don’t look so worried. We’re gonna be great.”

For the first time since Killer B can remember her fearless leader doesn’t sound so sure.

33

The man’s name is Kenny Dewitt, he has formed a small band of survivors that are living in an encampment in Florida. As he describes it, “It’s life as it should be, where men act like men and women act like women.” Rocky will be the exception, she’ll be a soldier, a hunter gatherer. Killer B will stay home, cooking and cleaning the site, and tending to her man’s needs after a hard day in the apocalypse.

It’s a long way south, Rocky hits her bottle a few more times before resuming a more paced rate of consumption. She wants her blood alcohol level to be perfect when they reach camp, Kenny says their unique situation may cause a rumble. He has assured her that he will smooth it out, but to be prepared.

According to Kenny, he and his team had traveled north to locate what he calls ‘honey holes’, places he has marked on a map where he knows he can find caches of food and guns. How he came about knowing these locations is sketchy, he hasn’t been entirely forthcoming and simply says ‘Trust me’. What must be working on the men to ease any misgivings isn’t quelling Rocky’s curiosity. She figures there’s more to it, but lets it go for now. The backs of their rides are filled with boxes and sealed buckets of survival food, along with what they’ve bravely pilfered from any source they’ve dared to investigate, cases of beer and cartons of cigarettes from gas stations mostly.

Killer B follows the vehicles nervously. The anxiety builds within her chest the further they go. Rocky just sits in the seat behind her, quiet. She hasn’t said a word since they departed the spot they had met these guys, leaving Dick behind, dead on the road. Rocky just stares out the window, watching the world fly by.

“Are you all right?” Killer B softly breaks the silence, needing to hear another voice other than her own in her head that screams for her to stop, or turn around, or take any other action rather than follow these strangers.

“I told you, we’re gonna be great,” the woman replies flatly.

“It’s just that…before we met these guys you were so talkative,” Killer B starts to explain her concern. “Now, the cat’s got your tongue.”

“A lot on my mind, KB. Just drive.”

So that’s what she does. All the way to Florida, in silence. The encampment straddles the border between Georgia and Florida, a rest area that once serviced both directions of traffic and is joined at the middle by a massive overpass that actually has a fast food restaurant on it that stretches the length of the expanse.

The Man’s Ruin tour bus exits the highway, following the men to a cheap looking motel. To a traveler looking to get off the road for a night it probably once looked like heaven, its sign boasting its amenities to entice the road weary into stopping. These days most would give it a miss. The surrounding lawn is overgrown with scraggly weeds, the building’s paint is cracked and chipping away, spots of blank wall have become the canvas for an amateur street artist. But what would really frighten off prospective guests is the clientele already staying here, rough looking guys are in the lot to welcome them, holding semi-automatic weapons.

Killer B and Rocky Roadkill stay on their bus while Kenny meets his people. He suggested that they give him a few minutes to smooth out their arrangement before showing their faces. Rocky cracks the window to hear what is said between the men.

“Kenny!” one of the guys approaches slinging his rifle. “What’d you bring us? Chicks?”

“Yes and no,” the leader shrugs and proceeds to tell him about the pair of derby girls that are joining the team.

Unlike Dick, this guy is receptive to the idea. Rocky wonders if he is one of the few that already has a wife, she worries that he’ll think differently once he sees KB and what he’ll be missing.

“How about you?” Kenny asks, cracking a beer that’s been tossed to him. “How was your mission?”

“We went to that place from your map but the town is locked up tight,” the guy reports. “There’s a wall all around it. It was weird, they had mirrors attached to the trees. Some of the dead were just standing there staring at themelves. Needless to say we didn’t knock.”

Kenny ponders this.
Guess Crazy_Joe found a new group.
He crosses New Castle off his map.

“We hit that armory you told us about in Lisbon on our way back. Got a lot of cool shit,” the man says and smiles proudly. “Guns, ammo, and some RPGs. We’ll show those fucks the next time they come to push us around.”

“What fucks?” Rocky asks exiting the bus, figuring she’s waited long enough. Killer B is in tow, not wanting to be alone, receiving whistles and catcalls from the men.

“There’s this other group, bunch of self-entitled assholes that go around bullying smaller groups. They think they own the whole end-of-the-world. A couple of our guys were actually with them before being kicked out for questioning the way their leader does things,” Kenny tells her. “Dick was one of them, you remember Dick, right?”

“Fondly,” she says in a way that makes Kenny wonder if she’s being sarcastic.

“I have my own history with them I’d rather not talk about. Was there any trouble at the armory?” Kenny asks, changing the topic back to the mission.

“There was a soldier holed up in the place,” the man reports. “He asked if one of us was PapaBear, then his crazy ass started shooting when we said ‘no’.”

FreedomFighter, you idiot
, he chastises the lost member of his online community. “Anything left to grab?”

“Tons,” the man assures. “No way we’d be able to bring it all in one trip.”

Kenny circles the Lisbon armory on his map in case they wish to return for more at a later date. “Anyone get around to scoping the nearby honey hole?”

“It’s just a junkyard,” Kenny’s man says.

“That sounds like the place.” Kenny has his pen poised over the location Garbage_Man gave him waiting to either circle it or cross it out. “Anyone check it out?”

“We didn’t go in,” he is disappointed to hear. “Just saw a bunch of crap and figured you got some bad intel.”

“Any movement at all?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll go myself in a week or so, take a team. I also want to take somewhere within enemy lines, keep a set of eyes on ‘em. Priority one is to bolster our security here. Start placing our new toys on the ramps. I want shifts on the burger joint watching the road in both directions.”

34

Susan and her boys have landed off the mark, much further north than they had intended. They have come to a coastal town in either North or South Carolina, they aren’t exactly certain.

“It sure is pretty, isn’t it?” Susan asks her sons, in awe over the expansive view of the Atlantic Ocean.

“I guess,” agrees Killian. “If you can look past all the zombies.”

The town is teaming with the dead, they roam the streets and sidewalks aimlessly. Hundreds of corpses stand between them and the beautiful beach.

“I think I see a dock,” Hippo exclaims, squinting his eyes at the distant point he has spotted, a thick line that juts out into the field of blue.

“Yeah, there’s a dock or a pier,” Killian confirms. “I see some pretty good sized boats anchored around it too.”

“We can’t go there,” Susan says. Her voice is serious but has a slight chuckle in it as if she isn’t sure if he was making a joke or not.

“I doubt we’ll find another town, with a pier, that isn’t filled with zombies,” he tells his mother. “We’ll just burn away our gas trying. I say we go for it.”

“Second!” Hippo quickly chimes in. The three have adopted a system of voting and Susan has just lost.

Being a parent she has the power to veto, but has learned to trust her kids. She figures if things get too bad they can just drive out of town. “Fine. What’s your plan?”

“We need to see the pier. Let’s drive through town and get the dead following us,” Killian explains.

The car begins to crawl, Susan barely uses the accelerator due to her trepidation. Her son’s hand on her shoulder gives her the strength to speed up, slightly.

It would be a quaint place if not for the creepy faced pedestrians with their grisly wounds staring at them. The reanimated townsfolk are more than happy to greet the tourists, their steps are a bit quicker from having not seen a living soul for some time. The zombies are starved and eager to get their hands on the humans in the slow moving car.

The family attracts a large group behind them as they pass nautical themed storefronts, signs made out of driftwood, decorated with seashells, old fishing nets, and buoys. Seagulls have overrun the town as well, clusters occupy benches and tables, several circle overhead looking for a good spot to land. Susan just keeps her eyes on the path ahead, trying not to glance at her mirrors and the legion of ghouls undoubtedly stalking them.

The dead, so maddened by hunger, cross in front of the car. “Don’t stop,” Killian tells his mom, he’s been keeping an eye on things behind and ahead of them, all the while tracking their relation to the pier. “We’re almost there.”

“Salt water taffy!” Hippo points out as if the family can stop. “A gift shoppe!…why’s it spelled that way? An arcade! Rides! This place is awesome!”

A corpse rebounds off the hood of the car, Susan was unable to avoid the hit and run. At 15 miles per hour the zombie just lazily folds over the hood and is dragged under the tires. Susan cringes at the feel of the bones crushing as the car jolts twice, she listens to her son’s advice once more and does not stop.

“Ok, mom, just slow it down a bit and cruise past,” Killian instructs his mother as they pass the pier. He wants to get a good look at it. It’s a long boardwalk that seems to go on forever out onto the ocean, wide enough that they’ll be able to drive onto it. Small structures populate the left side, attractions for tourists looking for seafood, sweets, tee-shirts, and hats. “Loop around to the far side of town again at this speed. Let the zombies catch up. Once we have most of them back at the start, we’ll fly here and leave them in the dust.”

While Susan carries out the plan, hoping to see the next turn through a mob of dead that rounds a corner she wanted to take, Killian prepares for their arrival at the pier. He gathers their things and readies what he hopes will buy them some time.

Hippo flinches when he looks to his right and sees a hand coming at him. The hand just slaps against the window leaving a greasy streak as the car unyieldingly continues. He takes in everything for the second time, hating this slow pace.

“Now, mom,” Killian tells the driver.

They accelerate down the now vacant street. Hippo smiles widely as the sights whizz past his window, letting out a ‘whee’ of approval. Seagulls have landed on the street to peck at a dead body now that the lumbering townsfolk have left the area, the car approaches them fast yet they wait until the last possible second to take flight and leave their bounty.

Susan slows as she nears the pier. “Just drive onto it,” her son says. “I have an idea.”

She complies under his instruction of heading to the closest group of buildings. About to hop out of the car, Killian is surprised when the lock he flips up suddenly engages again.

“What the hell are you doing?” Susan asks.

“I said I have a plan!” he insists. He flips the lock but she just engages it yet again.

“Tell me the plan and I’ll do it,” she says to him, but he is able to get his door open being quicker on the draw this round. She grabs him before he can slip out of the car.

“Mom, we’re wasting time!” he protests.

“I’m your mother, I’m not letting you go out there. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“You can’t!” he screams. “Not alone! We need to be a team. If you really want us to be safe you have to let me go.”

She releases him. His words sting, but she knows they are true. She watches her oldest son rush out of the car, despite the danger he’s so sure of himself, in his plan. A plan that apparently involves one of their jugs of gasoline. Killian splashes a generous line across the weather worn planks of the pier, once at the small store fronts he topples racks of overpriced tee-shirts, tosses them along the line of accelerant then douses them as well. Using a box of matches Susan didn’t know he had, and is making a note to speak with him about, he lights the mess he’s made aflame creating a four foot wall of fire.

“That’ll buy us some time,” he says at his mom’s window. “Follow me.”

Proceeding on foot, Killian jogs along the shops peeking at the wares for useful items on his left, viewing what boats there are available for them to take on his right, all the while glancing ahead to make sure no zombies are in his path as he heads further down the line. He has lead his family onto a dead end, their only escape should they fail to acquire a boat will be straight through the horde.

The only food he sees is candy, melted by the sun and ransacked by mice and birds. He sees a sign that makes him hopeful, LIVE BAIT. Charging to the small shack he sees that time has falsified the proclamation. Anything that the local critters couldn’t snatch has died of starvation and dried out. Killian grabs fishing poles, lures, bobbers, and spools of fishing line. As many packages that he can wrap his hands around.

Out of pier, Susan has stopped. She realizes that their perception was thrown when viewing the dock from afar. All the boats around them are much smaller than what they were hoping for, larger vessels are moored further out to sea.

“Mom,” Killian calls to Susan. “Can I have a quarter?”

Susan has to open her door to hear what he’s asking her. Hippo follows suit and dashes out to join his brother before his mom can stop him. The car they have been using has an assortment of change in the ashtray, she fishes a handful out of the tight dish and heads to her sons. Her oldest is manning a silver pay-per-view binocular device, swiveling it as he waits for her to come to him. Hippo is already pestering him to have a look through the old unit that’s larger than he is.

The coin makes a small clink as it drops down the long post activating the timer that clicks away. As many tourist before him, Killian scans the horizon to get his bearings before swinging around to glimpse the shore. His back rests against thick scratchy ropes meant to prevent tourists from falling into the ocean, old lines that look as if they were once used on actual ships.

“I wanna look!” Hippo excitedly declares. “It’s my turn! Mom, Killian’s not sharing!”

“Just a second, baby,” his mother says calmly though she is looking the other way toward the dying fire and the growing mob of corpses ready to close in on them.

Killian rushes to the side of the pier where small crafts are moored below, dashing down the creaky wooden steps that lead to a floating dock. Walking on the surface is a challenge as it gently rises and falls beneath his feet but he manages to investigate a few boats until he finds one he can start. The smallest of the vessels, but it has an outboard motor he is able to bring to life with a few swift pulls of a cord. Letting it idle he races back up the stairs.

Hippo is trying to see all he can before the ticking clock runs out of time. He has swung it back toward where they had come, his mother’s hand on his back the whole time. He focuses in on the dead bent on reaching them. The flames have diminished and just come up to their knees now, just enough to keep them back but not for long. One of the zombies stumbles, the eager crowd that builds behind it inadvertently knocked it forward. The corpse falls over the dwindling flames giving the rest a way through. They surge over it, using their flailing peer as a bridge.

“They’re coming!” Hippo yells as the timer runs out and a shutter closes, everything goes black.

“I got a boat!” the eldest boy tells them, in his arms is a large load of their supplies. “Grab the stuff!”

Susan and Hippo get the rest of their supplies, everything they have, and head down to join Killian as the dead clamor their way in a stampede.

Handing off the gear, Susan takes in the tiny boat, not to complain she feels the need to mention, “Isn’t this a little small.” Once all their things are loaded there’s barely room for the three of them, it offers nothing in the way of shelter or protection from the sun. It’s obviously much too cramped for them to live on for long.

“We’re just taking this to get to that one,” Killian explains, pointing out into the water to their destination. He unties a rope where he sits aft, Susan takes a seat at the bow without needed to be told.

Carefully, the young man eases the throttle after giving the dock a good shove to get them drifting away. He has trouble at first getting them lined up with their target destination, figuring out he needs to turn the gurgling motor opposite the direction he intends on moving. The confusing steering has them almost turned back toward the pier before he figures it out and eases them the other way. He tells himself to stay calm, panicking will just cause him to accelerate too fast or turn too much. He can’t risk capsizing or accidentally heading back to where the dead now fall from the high pier onto the floating dock they’ve just left.

The starved ghouls are raining down, striking the wooden surface hard. The dock rocks and splashes as weight is added from so many bodies. The family can see it bow at the more congested points, dipping deeper from too much weight. The large crowd above can only watch as their dinner slips away from them.

Still close enough to look the dead in their empty, soulless eyes. Slack lifeless faces moan as if pleading with the family to return. Some are so ravenous they continue to try to get their hands on them. They step off the planks and hit the water, sinking like stones.

Killian allows his heart to slow, his hand trembles on the stick, before setting his gaze to the big boat he plans on taking his family. He turns the throttle to get them moving. The distance to the large ship is greater than he anticipated, and he’s thankful. He needs time to think up a plan on getting them and their stuff onboard, and how to deal with the craft’s current occupants.

“Honey,” his mom begins a question, “did you know there's already people on this boat?”

“Sorta,” he answers as he stops the engine to drift alongside a smaller boat that’s tethered to the larger vessel like a dog on a leash. The movement of the water gives the crafts the appearance of motion though the ship is anchored.

The three stare up at the ship that dwarfs theirs. A gruesome face appears at the rail, a heavyset man in life, now in death his face is swollen to the point his eyes are mere slits. His features are pinched by the puffy red skin except for his mouth, his teeth visible through a jagged, ravaged hole. The corpse is blind, obviously tracking them by their voices and the sound their engine made.

A second figure appears, a female. Her blonde hair is a stringy mess that hangs down in ratty strands over her topless torso. The three crafts find themselves being rocked by a sudden series of large waves. Killian loses his hold on the motorboat he keeps between them and the ship as he tries to tie a rope to one of its cleats. He quickly drops a pair of white fenders over the side to keep them from crashing directly into the other boat.

Hippo chuckles at this new arrival and utters a word he’s just coined, “Zomboobs.” His family isn’t as amused, unable to find the humor in the dead that he does and only seeing them for what they are, threats.

Killian’s hope was that the zombies would try to get to them and fall overboard, but the ship’s rail is too high. It holds the deceased at bay. He hates to waste the bullets, but has no choice but to ready the M-16, even if he had more ammunition for it, he has no clue how to load it.

Lining up the sights on the bloated male corpse is a challenge with the world rocking as it is, the shooter and his target both rise and fall as if riding a seesaw together. Taking a breath and holding it as his grandfather once taught him, he squeezes the trigger. The assault rifle surprises him when instead of a single shot it spits three in rapid succession. The first round plants into the zombie’s stomach, the gun raises from the recoil putting the second in the chest and the third where it was intended. The headshot causes the dead man to fall backwards.