Running with the Horde (21 page)

             
“Do you know what song that was?”

             
“I think I’ve heard it before, Santa Claus is coming to town, right?”

             
“Do you know why I was singing it?”

             
“Nope.”

             
“Christmas is my favorite.”

             
“Ah,” I looked at him, his two big eyes boring holes into mine in the ambient light of the moon shining through the curtains. Somehow the kid had remembered it was almost Christmas. I wouldn’t have guessed a four year old could keep track of time that well in light of the circumstances.

             
“What do you want for Christmas?” I asked.

             
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter anyway but it’s still my favorite day.”

             
“Of course it matters, what do you want?”

             
“Santa’s a zombie now he won’t come this year.”

             
I shuddered at the notion of a zombie Santa and could only imagine what kind of gifts a creature like that would bring.

             
“First of all, Santa is not a zombie. He is a magic man and therefore immune to being a zombie. Second of all, he will come this year, same as always. I’ll bet you a jellybean.”

             
Jacob considered my wager like I’d just dropped the keys of a new Benz on the table and he was fixing to call.

             
“Okay,” he said.

             
“So when he does come, what do you want?”

             
I was really hoping he didn’t say he wanted his mom to come back because I would have cried for sure.

             
“I want two things. One for me and one for Sam.”

             
When he didn’t expound further I explained to him that he needed to speak the things out loud or write them down or Santa wouldn’t know what to bring and would just leave two wooden train cars. They would be quality, handmade toys but not the most fun to play with.

             
“I want an air rifle for Sam because that’s what he really wants and I want a Sparky Speaks for me.”

             
“What is a Sparky Speaks?”

             
“It’s a puppy that talks and can learn tricks I teach him. I wanted a real dog but mommy said I wouldn’t take care of it. So I want a Sparky Speaks until I get older. I get to have a real dog then.”

             
I could recall a similar discussion I once had with my parents. They told me no as well. I had attempted running away from home, Jacob just wanted a toy substitute. Evidently, he was more mature than I had been at his age.

             
“Well, Jacob, if you and Sam are good, I am sure your Christmas wishes will come true.”

             
“Not all of them will.”

             
“Did you forget to say one?”

             
“No I didn’t forget, I just know Santa can’t bring my last wish.”

             
“What is it?”

             
“I wish my mommy was still with us. Daddy says she’s in Disney World but I know she’s dead.”

             
Dammit…

…

              Mark and I were sitting on leather chairs in the living room keeping watch through the front windows and drinking whiskey-cokes.

             
We didn’t have much in the way of guns, just my handgun and a banged up .38 Special from Mark. He said he found it somewhere. It was loaded with the two bullets he’d found it with. If it came down to a shootout, we were screwed.

             
“How did you know they weren’t friendly?” I asked him. We had been rehashing the day’s events.

             
“By the way they were driving after they spotted us. Like they would do anything to catch us. It was just a feeling,” he said.

             
I remembered my old buddy Steven.

             
“I think your instincts were spot on.”

             
“Why’s that?”

             
“I’m pretty sure I recognized one of them and if I’m right then he was part of a group that tried to kill me a while back.”

             
I didn’t feel like retelling the entire story but he kept pressing me so I relented and told him everything from my botched rescue attempt to my prison break with Daisy. Most of that part I had to make up since I wasn’t planning on telling Mark about my power over the undead.

             
When I finished he let out a low whistle and sat back in his chair.

             
“So lemme get this straight…you witness a murder and a group kidnapping. You attack a fortified mansion full of armed wackos, several of which you kill. You get jumped by hot twin girls. You turn the tables, take one of them hostage, free the kidnappers, get shot, get kidnapped yourself by the people you freed. Get tortured for information you don’t have. Escape with one of the twins. Shack up with her for months only to have her kidnapped away from you by her evil twin sister. You are currently trying to find her. Did I cover everything?”

             
“She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant. You forgot to mention that,” I said.

             
“My apologies, I forgot you knocked her up.”

             
“Hey!”

             
“No, I mean it! I really am sorry. You’ll be a great dad! Have you picked out names yet? I like Satan or Damien, both would suit any kid of yours just fine.”

             
“What the fucks your problem?” I shout-whispered.

             
“You! You’re my fucking problem! I haven’t even known you one whole day but I’m sure of two things: you’re a fucking liar and you’re fucking crazy.”

             
I started to defend myself but he interrupted me.

             
“If Penthouse and Soldier of Fortune magazines had a child, it would be that bullshit story I just sat through for over an hour. You say you recognized someone from that Humvee?”

             
I nodded.

             
“That would be a neat trick since I pulled up as soon as you got out of the building and we got out of there. I drove by those front doors no less than thirty times and do you know what I saw in the doorway each time?”

             
I didn’t answer him. I did know what he saw but it seemed like more of a rhetorical question. I was learning that when Mark wanted to rant it was best just to wait him out.

             
“I SAW THREE ZOMBIES!!! They were watching me and the boys like we were three meatballs on a stick! So my question, GEORGE, is why they were so interested in us. Just three unattainable moving targets driving around them in circles when they had a perfectly healthy meal-ready-to-eat stuck inside the building with them?”

             
“Mark,” I stammered, “You are massively overthinking it. I don’t know why they didn’t attack me. Maybe they didn’t see me. I was real quiet. Who knows what goes through their minds, I don’t that’s for sure. Let’s just be grateful we all made it out okay. It was a tough day for everyone.”

             
That was the tipping point for Mark. He launched himself out of his chair and was on me fast, catching me on the chin with a vicious left hook. I fell out of my chair seeing stars. The next thing I knew he was straddling me around the ribcage and pounding me in the head with both fists.

             
My nose exploded in agony as fresh blood poured into my mouth. I gagged and futilely tried to protect my face with my forearms as I struggled for position. I outweighed him by fifty pounds and had five or six inches on him but it was all I could do to get my knees and elbows in position as he tried to beat me to death.

             
I mustered all the energy I had left and threw him across the room. He crashed into a delicate end-table, turning it into kindling. A beautiful lamp shattered over his head and he sat there stunned, blinking like a beached fish. A thin trickle of blood leaked down his face like a tear, from a tiny shard of glass in his eyebrow.

             
I used the chair to pull myself to my feet. Pain and anger fighting for my attention as I tried to staunch the flow of blood with the armguard from my chair. I stared at Mark from the corner of my eye with my head tilted up toward the ceiling.

             
He was looking at me with shame in his eyes. I could tell all the fight was out of him but I wasn’t done yet. I wanted my pound of flesh. I wanted to kill him. I picked up my gun from the table beside the chair as Mark stiffened with alarm.

             
Rage pounded through my body and I could hear myself growling. My right eye was swelling shut and my ears were on fire. I dropped the arm guard and the blood flowed freely down my face like a macabre goatee.

             
He scooted his ass back toward the wall as I stepped toward him. I pointed my gun at his face walking closer until the barrel rested under his left eye. I spit a chunk of bloody mucus on his shirt. I wanted to shoot him so bad I could taste it. I grabbed his shirt collar with my free hand and shoved him down on the ground under the window sill. He was shaking but didn’t resist as I pinned his arm and chest with my knees and tried to push my gun through his skull.

             
My blood dripped on his cheek like a leaky faucet.

             
“I really want to shoot you, Mark,” my voice coming out in a choked wheeze, “You got one thing right. I am fucking crazy.”

             
He didn’t say a word but silent tears streamed out of his eyes. We stayed there like that for a long minute as I thought about how much I wanted to pull the trigger. I had never been so consumed by anger.

             
“Will you wrestle my daddy quieter, George?” A soft voice spoke behind me, “You’re gonna wake up Sam.”

             
Time stopped. My head pounded. I thought about Sparky Speaks.

             
“You got it, Jacob.”

             
I slid the gun back into my holster and stumbled off Mark and back into my chair. Mark exhaled slowly and scrambled to his feet. He caught up Jacob in a hug. They were both crying softly as he carried him back upstairs.

             
I didn’t see Mark again that night. I stared blankly out the window as first a handful, then dozens, then hundreds of zombies surrounded the house like vengeful demons responding to my subconscious call for help. I didn’t send them away.

             
Morning sunlight found me in my chair as it pierced my good eye like a razorblade. I groaned as I found I couldn’t move without considerable pain. It felt like there was a rail road spike driven into the center of my face and I couldn’t breathe. Everything was stiff, I must have slept wrong I thought.

             
Then I remembered the beating Mark gave me and how I almost shot him. I groaned again and tried manually prying my eyelid open.

             
“Sssssh! They’ll see us, George!” a panicked child’s voice whispered.

             
“That you, Jacob?” I still couldn’t get my eye to open.

             
“Quiet!” Mark this time.

             
My eyelids finally parted as I massaged my temples. Mark and the boys were in a tight group sitting backwards on the couch peering over the window sill. The front yard was crammed with a thousand zombies filling the area all the way down to the street.

             
They stood there watching the house not making a sound. It was exceptionally creepy. I stood carefully to my feet on weak legs, the eyes of the zombies I could see were fixed on me. Mark was glancing back and forth between them and me trying to figure out what was happening.

             
“They’re watching you!” he hissed.

             
I stretched as far as I could tolerate the pain and flashed him a dirty look.

             
“So it would appear, Mark,” I said over my shoulder and headed toward the kitchen on leaden legs.

             
I grabbed a gallon of water from the table. Put the stopper in the drain and began pouring the water over my head into the sink. Mark entered the kitchen dragging both boys by the collar and stealing glances over his shoulder to see if the zombies were going to try coming through the windows into the living room.

             
“You need to tell me what’s going on, George.”