Summer Of 68: A Zombie Novel (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jake and Russell stood in the hallway and waited patiently for the Sheriff’s return. They were told to give him a couple of minutes so he could take care of a couple things. He had given them the run around, going from office to office, gathering goods in an old duffel bag. It was a distraction, Jake had heard him mumbling to himself—he needed time to gather his thoughts and figure out what he would do with Jane.

From the hall, they listened to the dead. Lucky for them, it sounded as if the congregation of corpses had thinned drastically with an occasional slap across the wooden surface. Their attention and ears were torn, spread between the sporadic pounding filtered in from the lobby, and the cries of Jane’s corpse—all of which were coupled against the racket made as the Sheriff ‘gathered’ what he deemed
much needed supplies.
Initially thinking this was true, Jake peaked inside the bag and saw it consisted primarily of office supplies and old, dirty clothes.

Knowing he was buying time, Jake was content to wait. Russell on the other hand was growing impatient. “What are we going to do when we get home?” he asked.

“I dunno,” Jake said, keeping his head in tune to every new sound. “I reckon we’re gonna get momma and get outta dodge, somehow.”

“Yeah,” Russell echoed, “somehow…”

Baker emerged from one room, cut across the hall and disappeared into the next. Russell waited until the Sheriff was out of earshot and leaned into his brother’s space. “Yeah, but what about the Sheriff, what are we gonna do about him?”

Jake shrugged. “I dunno,” he replied, sadly. “All of that’s really up to him, you know, but he’s gonna do what he’s gotta do. You know?”

Russell thought about it, nodding as the gears churned. He shrugged and pushed the thought off, already onto the next. “Do you think he’s becoming a monster like he said he was?”

“Maybe,” Jake said. “He doesn’t look that sick to me, then again, I don’t know how it works.”

The boy’s went silent as the Sheriff emerged from the doorway. He stood there, looking them down at them with tired bloodshot eyes. The duffel bag held loosely in his hand.

“Alright,” he said, “you two keep an eye on this for me, will you? There are a couple of things I gotta do…if you…if you hear a loud pop or something—don’t worry, everything is under control. You got it?”

The two boys nodded.

Jake knew what was going to happen, that the Sheriff was going to go and kill Jane. Strange and horrific as it was, he wasn’t saddened by the thought. This wasn’t the same Jane that he remembered—this was a placeholder in this strange nightmarish land.

Baker watched the boys for a moment, swaying back and forth. With a grim smile, he wiped a string of perspiration from his brow. “Promise me,” he said, “that the two of you will stay here and wait until I come back.” His eyes darted back and forth, waiting for either to respond. When they didn’t, he pressed it once more.

“Promise me you will.”

They promised, allowing the Sheriff to nod in acknowledgment. He took a couple of steps back and stopped, with a heavy hearted sigh, his hand brushed his sidearm. “Alright,” he spoke to himself, and after a moment continued on his way.

***

Jane was and would always remain beautiful, monster or not. Baker wasn’t sure if he even had the courage to put a bullet in her head. Before self-doubt could garner any hold, it was too late. Baker un-holstered his revolver and cocked the hammer back.

“I gotta,” he whispered, walking through the darkness. His boot heels clicked, echoing loudly around him as he moved, the temperature dropped, and the air became increasingly rank—thickened by the smell of rot. Her moan’s grew, enticed by his presence. They lessened, muted by the rhythmic rush of blood passing through his ears.

“Jane,” he muttered.

In response, her moans deepened, backed by an unrestrained sense of longing.

“Jane…” The stench of her death, beckoned as he reached her cell. She rattled her chains and cried, knowing he had come. “I’m sorry, Jane.”

He spied her murky silhouette outlined against the darkness. Its only recognizable feature was that of the bag, fixed over her face. Her expression was unknown, but he knew she was looking at him. A soft whimper passed her lips, she didn’t move.

“This shouldn’t have happened…” he said, stepping forward and slipped the gun between the bars. His heart raced as he took aim. “You didn’t deserve it…”

The shot screamed, and momentarily lit the confines of the room. Her corpse staggered back, arms bound before it. The paper bag exploded under pressure, spraying blood and bone across the face of the wall. Like the flicker of lights, it was over. He was engulfed in the darkness, and welcomed it willingly. A moment later, his ears ceased to ring. He couldn’t move. Killing her had taken the last ounce of will from his soul, and he watched the darkness sweep through the room, reminding him the end was near. It had come for Cohen and Jane, and would soon claim Baker and the boys. 

He felt the weight of the pistol and tightened his grip. It would be so easy to lay it across his tongue and end it then. Screw this cruel, selfish world, and just find peace in a void of darkness. If only it was that easy…

“God, please forgive me,” he whispered, holstering his gun and returned to the children.

***

Outside the station, the corpse of Officer Jackson heard the shot.

A muted echoed tore through the city street, like a backfired car. The corpse froze, as blood and saliva seeped from its lips, it howled. Staggering back to the locked doors with a stiff-legged quickness, unbefitting of a corpse, it hit the doors. Through its rotting gray matter, he knew—didn’t know how, but he
knew
that his prey were there. With cold hands, he tugged at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Again and again, he tried and each time his attempts produced similar results.

This time, his actions didn’t go unnoticed, the remaining dead watched with curious eyes as he tugged frantically at the handle. His irate cries brought about their return and before long, the remaining corpses joined in the struggle. Dead hands and cold fingers pulled at the brass knob and slowly, the door begun to give.

Their moans lit the night with a collective slew of cries, rife with a renewed sense of vigor.

***

Baker walked slowly from the cells, his head hung low as he stepped into the hall. It was then, he heard the dead outside and he knew they were in trouble.

Jake and Russell met him at the door with nervous eyes and ashen faces.

“They’re at the door,” Jake shouted, struggling to be heard above the clamor.

“Shit,” Baker snapped.

Pushing past the boys, he ran down the hall and into the lobby. The contraption the boys had rigged kept the door shut and remained in place, but the rope was pulled thin. Its support wouldn’t last for very much longer. Strands of rope that had frayed, now hung loose from the rest. As he watched, the dead continued to open the door a couple of inches before their ebbing weight forced it shut. Each time it opened, it opened just a little bit more. The question was what would give first, the rope or the broom? As if to answer, a violent crack tore through the room—the broom that had wedged between the glass partition groaned, slamming against it every time the door opened, only to fall once it closed. By now, the glass was scuffed and wearing thin from the constant barrage.

Before his eyes, thin fractures formed across the glass, webbing through its surface and more pronounced as the seconds progressed. It was only a matter of time before the whole thing shattered.

“Boys!” he yelled. “We need to get going, now!”

His words were lost as the glass exploded, the broom shot forward, hitting the wall beside the door. As it settled, the door burst, the hinges snapped, permitting death entrance into the station.

The dead swarmed the small lobby like a tidal wave. The ones that found themselves in the front of the assault were quickly trampled by those in the back.

No time to waste—Baker ran but it was too late. Before he reached the door, he was spotted. The dead hurried, their sudden rush kept him from shutting the door. Panic-stricken, he was already halfway down the hall when he heard their putrid ranks spill into the corridor, punctuated by shuffle steps and excitable moans. Their rancid stank was another thing entirely its own.

Jake and Russell watched from the far end of the hall, Baker grabbed them both and screamed, “C’mon!”

“What about your bag?” Russell cried.

“Fuck it,” he said, it was no loss to them.

The horde of zombies filled the gap, pushed forward by the constant influx of corpses that filed through the lobby in a never-ending parade.

With the boys in tow, Baker slammed his weight against the backdoor, the one which lead to the parking lot. It flung back, propelling them across the pavement. The air had grown crisp, heavy with a myriad of aromas and still, they pushed forth. Scattered throughout, where a dozen or so zombies that shambled along, excited by the crash of the door. At once, they turned their focus towards the three survivors and advanced slowly in their direction.

Spying their numbers, the Sheriff froze and looked past their ranks. There were a couple of squad cars here and there, left abandoned by their drivers but it would be a fruitless risk. Though they were keyed alike, Baker had abandoned his set in the ignition of his own car following his accident earlier that day. At this point, hunting down another set would have been nothing less than suicide.

Running through the back lot, a loud commotion from behind caused the three to glance back. The dead that had followed were now exiting the building, spilling out like drunks leaving the bar. They were trapped, blocked in on both sides. The number of dead steadily increased, swelling by the second.

“Shit,” Baker muttered. “Boys, keep your heads down and don’t stop running, no matter what.”

Without warning, he let go of their hands. They continued for another couple of feet before skidding to a halt and looked back at the Sheriff with fear filled eyes. 

“But…” Russell said.

“I told you I was getting you out of here and I am!” Baker drew his sidearm and readied the shot. He had a handful of bullets and had to make every last one of them count. Taking aim, he fired at the closest zombie. The bullet punched through its head, it crumpled to the ground.

Still, the boys remained in place.

“I fucking said
run
—run now!” he shouted.

Against better judgment, they did. Behind them, a quick succession of
pop’
s shattered the night, punctuated by the Sheriff’s distracting catcalls. The selfless act of heroism was short lived. The wave of corpses crested, falling in from all sides.

He whooped and hollered, and felt relieved once he saw that the children had cleared the lot and had been able to give them all the slip. After dropping a couple more corpses, the revolver locked—out of bullets. For every zombie he hit, another four fell in line and took its place. More and more of them were drawn by the gun’s report.

In a matter of seconds, life became a series of snap shots as the rotting ghouls pulled the Sheriff to his knees. Baker screamed as their hands dug into his flesh—their teeth fraying the fabric of his clothes. His blood spilt, pooling across the asphalt as the hungry mass lapped it up like dogs. His organs were plucked and devoured, fistful of viscera crammed down their gullets.

Less than a minute later, Sheriff Baker was dead, having given it all to protect the lives of two children that he had hardly known.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A couple of minutes into their run, the streetlights flickered as though foreshadowing the worst and on their last flicker, remained out. Their absence bathed the world in darkness. The dead were out and in much greater numbers than before. It was as if they’d become unburdened by the light and were free to move undetected through the darkness. Their slithering mass filled the streets like gray shapes juxtaposed upon the backdrop of the neighborhood. The shifting moonlight provided little comfort.

Jake and Russell moved through the darkness, their outstretched arms used in lieu of a shield as they plowed their way through the dead. Visibility was nil and the boys kept low, hands and fingers snatched at their hair, but they possessed speed and agility over the corpse’s slow and labored motions. The idea that they were so close to home had ignited a fire in their hearts. Nothing could stand in their way. Not now. Not ever. 

At the end of the block, Jake grinded to a halt, his arms were raw from where the Sheriff had held him and of course, that was the least of his worries. In the pale moonlight, he looked for his brother. Panic seized his heart. What happened—how did they separate? The silhouettes of corpses blended together, waving back and forth. He spied Russell dodging two separate attacks and fleeing unscathed.

He stopped some few feet away, unaware of his brother’s location. “Jake,” he hissed with a low, serpentine growl, “
where are you?”

“I’m here,” Jake replied.

Startled, Russell flinched, as he was unaware of his proximity to the other.

“Are you okay?” Jake asked. All around, a series of stuttered cries rang through the blackness. Russell was winded and
slow to respond. His lack of an immediate answer triggered fear in the eldest, who moved forward and grabbed him by the arm.

“You weren’t bit or anything, were you?”

Russell caught his breath with a wag of his head. “No,” he said. “They got my hair a couple of times, but that’s it. I’m okay…just tired.”

Jake nodded, looking around to the zombies that had reached the five foot mark, violating their personal space. “We gotta move. Not safe here.”

Russell nodded and rather than protest, he agreed. “Where to?”

Jake looked around. In the dark, everything looked the same, shadows added conformity to the world, the only thing that broke the monotony, were the horrid beasts slithering through. “Let’s get moving,” he said, knowing how easy it would be for them to get lost once more.

Russell took no time, displayed no hesitation. He was a far cry from the cautious, thoughtful youth he had been earlier that day. Together, they moved, disappearing into the night and ditching the ever-growing mass of cadavers.

***

They stopped again, a few blocks down. The night was lit with a cacophony of cries, as the dead remained an ever present entity, visible wherever they looked. The main drag of town had since given way, reduced to compressed roadways and suburbs. Where they were once exposed to the streets, now trees and shrubbery provided safety. It was a double edged blade, offering foxholes for the dead in waiting.

Once they stopped and caught what little breath they could gulp, Russell asked Jake if he knew where they were. Jake lowered his guard and took a look around, studying their surroundings. It was then a corpse burst from a copse of greenery. Snarling through bared teeth,
he grabbed Russell by the shoulder.

The attack lasted for only a moment. Before the corpse could gain a solid footing and attack, Jake tackled the beast and threw himself upon its back. He wrapped his hands around the corpse’s throat, thrusting it back.

Russell cried as the corpse lost interest, distracted by the pest behind it. It released Russell and rose, sending the youth to the ground. Russell scooted through the dew laden grass and climbed to his feet.

Having freed his brother, Jake gave the corpse a hard shove against its backside with enough
force, he sent it tumbling to the earth.

“Run,” Jake screamed, offering a kick to the corpse’s exposed ribs. The ghoul howled, tumbling back to the ground. Jake jumped over it and hurried to his brother. “I think I know where we are!” he said, grabbing Russell by the wrist.

That was all he needed. “Where are we?” he asked, panting as they ran.

“Look there,” Jake said, stabbing a finger towards a small ranch-style house. The front door was opened and the windows were smashed. “That’s Kenny Jacobs’ house!”

Kenny was a friend of their fathers, whom the boy’s had visited many times before. He lived only a couple of streets down and close enough for them to walk.

“You’re right,” Russell laughed, grasping their surroundings. “I’m going home!” he was ecstatic, exuding more joy than he had all week.

Moans and cries sprang up on all sides—some distant, others close. None of which sounded like an immediate threat. Jake felt it was best for them to stay mobile, at least until they were back in their mother’s arms. Their past incident with the foliage kept them in the center of the road and out of reach from the sidewalk.

Ominous shadows loomed ahead, down the block a house was on fire. It filled the air with smoke and tinted the sky with a pinkish hue. They continued without a sound, looking carefully at the houses on either side of the street, searching for the one that belonged to them.

Jake was lost in his thoughts, squinting at each dwelling, in search of some redeeming characteristic. Something caused his little brother to whimper and grab a hold of Jake’s upper arm, squeezing tight.

“Ow—what is it?”

Russell looked back, his brother followed suit. The shadows moved as a continuous mass. It was as if hundreds of corpselike silhouettes blotted the darkness, following them. In a strange and morbid way, the two brothers had become a hellish incantation of the Pied Piper. As they fled from the center of town, they thought they had given every last one of them the slip, but had actually lead them along.

Luckily, it appeared that the corpses were following aimlessly, with no desire—just instinct.

“Let’s go,” Jake said, “faster…”

“We’re almost
there, couldn’t we hide and wait for them to pass?”

“There’s too many of them…they’ll find us if we hide.”

As if on cue, a loud wail filled the night. The boys were discovered by one of the cadavers and like a chain reaction, the rest excitably cried. If only they had kept moving, this wouldn’t have been an issue. Jake bit his lip and felt mild agitation from his brother and though in some way he had sold them out.

Sensing the blame, Russell shook his head with a heavy sigh. “I’m ready,” he said, his words barely audible. They took off, weaving through the streets. Up ahead a couple of corpses blocked their path, the boys split, cutting around them as they ran.

Their inspiration was knowing that soon, they would home and before long this whole mess would be over. They had to hurry as their mother was waiting.