Summer Of 68: A Zombie Novel (13 page)

“What are we going to do?” Russell asked.

“We run,” Jake said, stepping back and once more into Russell. “We run to the Sheriff’s Station, alright?”

Russell nodded, his chin jabbed Jake in the shoulder.

Jake was the first to move, taking his brothers hand as he did. Insurmountable fear had initially forbid Russell’s uncooperative limbs from action, forcing them to disobey, even in lieu of their impending doom. His young mind processed the time at hand, and won over fear, springing him into action.

“Go now!” Jake shouted as he broke into a run.

The two boys took off as the glass-faced ghoul was less than four feet away. Russell was slow to move, but held by his brother’s strong hand and was jerked forward, propelled to move at a pace that matched his siblings.

A second later, they hurried around the advancing ghoul. He lunged at the two, his lips peeled back in a feral growl, bloodied teeth clacking together. They barely missed his claw-like fingers that slashed through the air, inches from their face. 

All around, more and more of these ghoulish humanoids took to the streets, following the cries of their hell-born brethren. Before their beady eyes and misfired thoughts could register the actions of their human lunch, the two brothers were gone.

Chapter Fifteen

They found salvation in an alleyway. With those nightmare creatures hot on their heels, it had been a quick left off Main Street that might have saved their lives. Side by side, they came to a painful halt, crowding between a dumpster and other chunks of assorted refuse. Their sweat soaked backs pressed tightly against the red clay bricks, offering a brief respite.
 

Jake poked his head out and looked around, before ducking back, trying to get a grip on their current location. If his memory served him correct, the brick wall comprised part of Milton’s Barbershop. The Sheriff’s Station would only be a few short blocks away.

Fresh air burnt their lungs as they, themselves, shook from the daylong trauma they were forced to endure. Their safety and concealment of trash was much deserved. Around them, moans rocketed skyward, unending and relentless.

“What are they?” Russell whispered. He kept his voice low; every word spoken was a harsh croak that burned at the base of his throat. He licked his lips and like his brother, Russell was in dire need of water.

Jake shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said drawing another deep gulp into his lungs. “Whatever they are, it’s not right.”             

Jake paused, his eyes wide and his mouth opened, reduced to a gaping maw of unspoken thoughts. Somewhere at the lip of the alley, a ghoul moaned. This one sounded closer than all the rest. Jake waited and whispered for Russell to wait. After a moment, he poked his head around the dumpster, in time to glimpse the creature as it staggered around the building. He ducked back and turned to Russell.

“It’s like they’re not even human, anymore…”

Russell leaned back, propping his elbows against the brick wall, slouching. “What do you think it is?” he asked.

“It’s like they’ve been taken over by an alien or something.”

“Aliens?”
Russell said. “You reckon that’s what they might be?”

Jake shook his head. “I didn’t say that,” he was defensive in his response. His own emotions were starting to peak and as he lessened his expression, he said, “Do you still want to find the Sheriff?”

“Do you think we should?”

Jake shrugged, possessing zero hope for the day. Its weight continued to add upon the boy, he crumbled under pressure, reduced to nothing. Jake looked down to his feet. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we ought to see if the Sheriff can take us home to mom.”

A tear slid down his cheek as another fear came to mind. After looking Hell in the face, neither of them had stopped to consider the safety of their mother. If all of these monsters had taken over the town in such a short amount of time, what had become of her—why hadn’t she come to find them?

With brotherly intuition, Russell asked, “What about mom? Do you think she’s safe?”

“I think so,” Jake whispered, he couldn’t bring himself to think of it otherwise. “Do you?”

Russell nodded confidently. “Yeah,” he said, “I do and do
you
know what I was thinking?”

Russell’s tired voice suddenly grew strong and strangely reassuring.

“What’s that?”

“I think we need to go ahead and find that Sheriff of yours.”

Jake smiled, his brother did the same.

“C’mon,” Jake whispered as he got to his feet. After checking to see if the coast was clear, he looked back at Russell.  “We gotta get out of here before those ghouls find us.”

Russell nodded. “Agreed,” he said.

Based upon their current location, Jake figured they weren’t too far from the Sheriff’s station,
as the majority of business operated around the hub that was Main Street. Running through it in his mind, the boy calculated a good five or so minute walk to reach their destination. Then again, that was on a normal day. As for now—who knew…

“We should head that way,” Jake said, pointing to the opposite end of the alley. “That way, we’ll swing past Milton’s and the feed store. From there it shouldn’t be more than a straight shot to the station.”

“Will it be safe?” Russell asked worriedly.

“I don’t know,” Jake said. “I can’t reckon that it would be any worse than out there, but we gotta do it. We sit here long enough; those
things
are bound to find us.”

Russell solemnly nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

What if they were both wrong, it wasn’t the first time that thought had plagued Jake’s mind. Was it possible that those people were nothing but the sick and injured? Perhaps they had gone to war with the Reds after all, and witnessed the after-effects of a strange chemical agent.

“If we’re clear, we can’t wait, okay? We gotta make our move.”

“Alright…”

Jake stepped out from behind the refuse and moved towards the edge of the alley. Russell followed and accidently kicked a tin can across the pavement. The sound was deafening as it rolled to a stop. The boy’s tensed. Waiting and listening. Off Main Street, the sound of moaning
simmered, reduced to a cry here and there. It sounded like their pursuers had lost interest or had forgotten about them all together.

Approaching the opposite street, Jake slowed his pace. “Hold up,” he told Russell, “I’ll see if it’s clear.”

Jake hugged the wall, inching his way to the end of the alley. Everything looked as it should, he strained his eyes against the thin wisps of smoke, but fatigue was wearing him down. For a moment, he thought of humanoid shapes moving through the haze—Jake watched until they disappeared, wondering if they were real or another figment projected by his tired mind. Even if they were, none of these monsters were in their immediate vicinity and if they moved quickly, they would be good to go.

Russell tugged on his brother’s sleeve. He asked, “Is it clear?”

Jake shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”

He sounded confused and uncertain, and he hoped Russell didn’t pick up on it. Stepping on to the street, a gentle breeze caressed his face, bringing him to shiver. Never in his life had Jake felt as vulnerable and alone as he did now.

“Hurry,” he beckoned, casting a final look in either direction.

Russell followed with shallow steps as he moved from their shelter and looked fitfully around.

“Stay close to me, will you?” Jake said.

“I will,” Russell replied as the two boys walked into the unknown.

C
hapter Sixteen

The boys stepped forward cautiously, mindful of the debris crunching underfoot. Rounding the corner first, Jake stopped and listened to the surrounding world before waving his brother forward.

Something caught the corner of his eye. His blood froze.

“Russell, do what’cha gotta do, but don’t look down.” Jake whispered as they tiptoed over the viscera littered ground.

“Too late,” Russell said, underlined by a nauseous stutter.

Across the way sat a police car, long abandoned. Their hearts leapt wildly and filled them both was a dastardly hope, they quickened their pace until the haze of smoke cleared and the blood spatter came into focus. It looked like a gallon of paint had been flung across the windows and hood.

It was crushing, and neither boy acknowledged it. Instead, they kept moving, sticking to the sidewalk. Russell looked around, spying the gore before realizing he was alone. He stopped and looked back, a frantic twitch to his pulse, while Jake stood a couple of feet behind, eyeing him with a quizzical look.

“Wait,” Jake whispered.

Russell was spent and didn’t bother to ask why. By now, he figured it’d be best to obey his brother’s command. The street was deathly silent, every minute sound amplified, ringing in his ears with the steady rhythm of his pulse. Fear was palatable with a sour and salted taste.

“What did you—what did you hear, brother?”

Jake frowned, biting his lips. He strained a moment longer and shrugged. “Nothing, nothing, I guess.”

Suddenly—
WHACK!
A dull reverberation rang out. The boys screamed, falling to the street. The sudden and unexpected impact of pale hands clashing against the glass startled the two. They staggered, sloshing ankle deep in blood, which had pooled in the storm drain. Jake whimpered, pulling his brother close. Russell didn’t protest, not in the least bit.

From behind the thin pane of glass, a voice demanded, “Just what in the hell are you boys doing out here?”

The sharp drawl came from the confines of the barbershop, old man Milton stood in the shop’s foyer, perched in the seat of a chair, typically reserved for waiting customers. His eyes were bloodshot and wide, darting from one child to the other and back again.

“Don’t you boys know that it ain’t safe out there?” He snapped, pressing his greasy face against the glass, and left the imprint of oil slicked along the surface.

“Yes, sir,” Jake said, “we’re gonna get the sheriff.”

Milton frowned. “Sheriff…, There ain’t shit that man can do! Hell, there ain’t
nothing
no one
can do. Not now, not anymore.”

“There is, too!” Russell retorted. His voice was an angry whisper, carried along with a confused edge, as though uncertain as to who or what, he was disagreeing with.

Milton sneered. “Huh, that so…? Let me ask you this: How do you stop Armageddon?” He paused, waiting impatiently. A second later, his wrinkled fist punched the glass. A loud echo screamed out, like a gunshot. “I’ve seen firsthand what those horrid creations can do. Your
sheriff
ain’t nothing more than a sack of muscle and bone—just like the rest of us. He’ll die, just like ‘em all. We’re all gonna fucking die out here—you before me, I ain’t stupid. I know better. I won’t be that dumbass that ventures out there, no sir!”

Jake ignored the old man’s end of days babble and shook his head. “Yeah, what do you know old man?” he turned to Russell and suggested that they leave. “We’re wasting time with this crazy old man. He’s the one who ought’a get caught by those ghouls. If we stay moving, we
should be okay.”

It was that last statement set the old man off. He flew into ballistics, shaking the window until it threatened to break. His voice, no longer a sharp whisper, rang throughout the block. “You fucking little shit—what makes you so special, huh? How the fuck do you think you can go ‘round, talking shit to your elders and get by without owning up to it—ANSWER ME!”

Trembling on the inside, Jake did his best to stay strong and uphold his facade. He shook his head. “I don’t need to tell you anything,” he said. “My mother says you’re a no good drunk and that you give her the willies. You understand? You’re a creep!”

Milton stepped off his chair and kicked it. The chair toppled forward on its hind legs hit the window with a sharp BANG. Luckily, the glass never broke. His violent outbursts were truly something to fear and the boys had never seen anything like this before. The elderly man looked like a feral beast, tricked into captivity.

“Your mother’s a whore,” he heaved, when the worst was done. The old man stopped, swayed, and jabbed his finger in the direction the boys were heading.

They were stopped, looking back to Milton.

“Go… Get outta here, I say.”

Neither of the boys could formulate a response. Words couldn’t describe the confusion and unease cast off by the old man. He was neurotic and obscene—the polar opposite of Sid. No, Milton was something else, and that was something that should not have been.

“Have that nigger loving Sheriff save you, you ungrateful little shits. Maybe we’ll be so lucky and ya’ll die together.”

Jake couldn’t control this newfound rush of hate. A rising violence bubbled in his gut, flushing his cheeks red as it swelled in his heart. The child couldn’t help it; it grew and grew, festering within. There was something about this old man—something capable of soliciting the most deviant of moods. Never before had Jake or Russell seen the darker side of human nature—selfishness, with a hateful need of self-preservation, regardless to the cost of another’s wellbeing. Yet, it was his venomous words that stung the most.

Jake narrowed his eyes, furrowing his brow and pursed his lips. He looked like a little devil, bent on his wicked ways. All he lacked as a pair of budding horns. “Go to hell,” Jake muttered.

His response shocked Russell, and caused him to involuntarily step away from his brother and teetered on the edge of the gore-filled street. 

Milton laughed. It was a sputtered cackle, mixed with surprise at the young one’s demand. “Ha, is that so? Those are pretty tough words for a child—think of it like this: You’re outside with those beasts and the last I checked, well, I’m in here. Tell me, whose in Hell?”

Jake jumped, rushing the barbershop’ entrance in a mad dash and flung
himself at the door. With a growl, he tugged at the handle. His actions only roused more laughter as the old man had already seen to its locks from the inside.

At first, Milton was hesitant, isolated behind the glass, but as he watched the boy fight with the locked door, he relaxed. A smile spread across the folds of his cheeks. “Go ahead, child—draw all the attention you want, but when they come…all I’ll have to do is hide. You…you’re in the Lion’s den, boys.”

With rage, Jake trembled. “I hope you die,” he screamed, assaulting the door until the adjoining windows beneath the force of each blow.

Milton laughed, harder than before. “Who’s the lambs and where is the slaughter?” he asked. “Run along, run, run, run along children.”

The old man paused, his eyes met Jake’s. Milton wore a smug sense of accomplishment; it was as though he had somehow managed to pull the wool over both of their eyes.

Jake charged once more, his balled fists pummeled the window. “I hate you, you old piece of shit! I hate you—I hate you!”

Milton was quick to fold his smile as he realized all of the unwanted attention that had been drawn to his once secure hiding spot, Jake on the other hand, knew it all along. Between bangs and yells, the youth heard the rising clamor and groans of dead souls, building from behind. He glanced back and spied a dozen or so ghouls lumbering up the block, heading in their direction.

Jake smiled, turning his focus back to Milton.

Frightened, Milton took a staggering step back and tripped over his feet. “Children,” he begged, “it’s best if you run along before you inflict this curse upon the rest of us…”

Jake didn’t move. From within, he trembled like the child, he was. Clinching his fists and digging his toes into the hard concrete sidewalk, kept him shaking outward. Fear and uncertainty coursed through his veins, stinging at his heart like ice. He knew what he was doing by putting his brother and himself in harm’s way, he wasn’t proud of it. He couldn’t have said why he did it, why he couldn’t have merely walked away, it was a wanton need to right the old man’s wrong and scrape him from existence.

Jake saw fear, sparkle, and shine in the old man’s eyes. A moment later, he learned why, an anguished moan carried down the street, a mere hundred or so feet away. Others soon followed as the succession of ghouls closed down the length of the block.

Russell grabbed his brother’s arm, digging his fingers in as hard as he could, be it from fright or simply proving a point. Jake hissed, biting his lip to mask his discomfort.

“Jake…, we
need
to get moving. Now, please…”

Jake’s smile deepened. The fear and threat was real and in a strange way, he drew pleasure from both his brother and Milton’s unease. He had to do it, had to see it through. If not for
themselves, than for the manner in which the old man acted, for their mistreatment, and hateful things he said. Listening to the scrape of ghoulish feet closing the gap, Jake took a deep lungful of air.

Milton saw it happen and shook his head, in a silent plea of mercy. With every sweep, he built momentum and whimpered, “No…”

Jake screamed. His eyes bled fire. “Over here!” he cried, smashing both fists against the window pane. “Come on, come and get him!”

Behind him, Russell panicked. His voice popped and cracked. “JAKE—what are you doing? Come on, stop it! Come on and let’s go!”

A couple of feet away, behind the waning safety of glass, Milton faired no different. “Listen to him, listen to your friend and leave me alone.
Please
, I’m begging you…for the love of God, leave me the fuck alone!”

Jake continued to pummel the window, screaming and hollering as the ghouls approached. It took a moment, but in the end, Russell caught wind and joined in on the commotion. He followed his brother’s cue and together, they struck the glass. Every last shred of panic, hatred and fear melted away as the racket rose and the glass shook.

Between a series of fitful glances over his shoulder, Jake watched as the ghouls approached like snapshots. Milton backed away from the foyer of his shop, tripping over his feet in the process. He fell, hitting hard and screamed. His words were barely audible over the moans of the dead and the screams of the living.

The old man looked at them. His eyes wide, mouth askew. “Children,” he begged. “Please, stop it. Children, please stop…”

Neither child relented.             

“If you stop, I’ll let you in, both of you. I promise. We’ll be safe in here…I’ll do it, I swear—just stop.” Milton’s bribes went unheard. “It’s safe, please—oh God, it’s safe!”

Jake knew that was a lie, because minutes from now, Milton would belong to the dead. Jake stopped, turning his attention elsewhere.

Russell looked back, confused. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Looking for a rock,” Jake said, “get ready to run.”

Milton cried something more, as his voice was swallowed beneath the monstrous howl of the dead. Moving to the gutter, Jake shifted the blood and flesh, searching for a stone. Glancing towards the barbershop, he watched as the old man hoisted
himself up on rickety limbs.

“Here!” Russell continued. He repeated himself, again. Each word corresponded with another hit to the glass. Before long, his voice and actions became mute as the number of ghouls swelled as more and more funneled through the street.

A dense wall of dreadful groans hounded his backside, pushing him to stiffen his spine as Jake found what it was he was looking for. It was a small chunk of pavement that had broken from the curb. Covered in blood, which all but concealed its hazard yellow paintjob. While the rock was small—half the size of his balled fist—it would suffice for what he had in mind.

The dead were closer now—no more than twenty or so feet and closing in by the second.

With the rock in hand, Jake laughed. “Old man,” he yelled, rushing back to his brother’s side. “I got a surprise for you!” Without hesitation, he cocked his arm back, the chunk of stone held tight as he readied his swing.

From somewhere inside, Milton screamed. “You’re sick! You hear me you little shit, you’re gonna burn in Hell for this!”

Jake chuckled, demented and unsound, completely oblivious to the old man’s protests. Time slowed as Jake hurled the chunk of stone and threw it through the shop’s front window. It hit hard, the glass screamed, thick milky webs spread along its surface. It cracked, but didn’t shatter.

He heard Milton scream, his distorted-self bumping into tables and chairs as he ran, old magazines and newspapers fell, fanning out across the floor. Back behind the front counter, the old man disappeared, ducking out of sight like a cockroach seeking salvation in the dark.

“Dang it,” Jake growled, grabbing the rock and tested its weight.

“Jake,” Russell pleaded, “let’s go, they’re getting closer!”