Chapter 47: Inside Operation Bullfrog

Chapter 47: Inside Operation Bullfrog

 

  “Look Doctor Redstone I see your point but  ...” The athletically built tall woman is acutely aware her words have no effect on the other woman seated at the table. That woman’s scowl alone makes her words feel about as meaningful as a recipe for butternut squash in the winter. She chews on her full lips in frustration at the others woman’s bully tactics. She catches herself staring down at the crease in the pants of her fatigues. They sit in a vast sterile white conference room. The room is identical to any one of a thousand nondescript such rooms in America. The one exception being is this room is part of a fortified installation sitting more than two thousand feet below ground. There is huge computer console against a wall to their left. The massive black screen dominates the room like a gaudy painting. A meek young soldier in fatigues and a black t-shirt sits bolt upright in a chair at the console. There is a wireless microphone perched on his buzz cut head. One a female scientist and the other a career solider the women sit eying each other with the unease of a pair of scavengers coming together over a carcass. At the far end of the table, four men in pristine white lab coats sporting clipboards flank the heavyset woman. “This isn’t a maybe Major Castleberry ….” The brutish woman at the opposite end of speaks with the air of a Wall Street executive. “ …. This isn’t a discussion this is me telling you and you doing it.” The last phrase comes with an open palm slap to the large faux mahogany table at which they sit. Doctor Redstone’s meaty hand moves up to push her thick black glasses back upon the bridge of her nose. “Doctor Redstone …” Major Donna Castleberry puts on her best diplomatic face. This buys her time to stifle the rage bubbling its way up inside her. The pressure increasing with every second she has to speak to this cow of a woman. Her instincts are urging her to stand up vault over the table and clamp her fingers around Dr. Redstone’s doughy neck. Major Castleberry’s emerald green eyes settle on the immense woman packed into the leather office chair.

 

  Major Donna Castleberry was not about to be bullied by some egghead from the CDC. “I assure we will offer you whatever help we can with your research doctor.” She pauses as the two women’s eyes lock somewhere near the center of the table. “One thing I can assure of is this Doctor.” Major Castleberry leans up onto the table feeling her brown hair in its no fuss ponytail tickle the back of her neck. “You are correct this discussion is not up for debate.” She says her breath exiting her lungs with such force her nostrils flare. Doctor Redstone leans back in her chair causing its metal spring to emit an almost helpless groan. “Doctor Redstone under no circumstances will we bring what you call specimens or what we call Rotters, Trotters or zombies into this secured base.” Doctor Redstone’s face is an unmoving mask of angry red blush rising up into her jolly pink cheeks. She maneuvers her meaty frame forward huffing angrily like an antagonized bull elephant. The highly intelligent Virologist despises having to wastes time dealing with soldiers. The Doctor starts to formulate a plan as the idea grows so does the smile on her face. Soon the devilish grin slides across her thin pink lips. “Look honey why don’t you run along and get your handler” the doctor says condescendingly waving a contemptuous hand towards the soldier. The dig clearly meant to antagonize the Major. A chorus of chuckles erupt from the men in white lab coats behind Dr. Redstone. They have the look of a high school chess club in the midst of giggling at a private joke. She uses her near genius level intelligent to turn the tables on the pretty Amazonian Barbie doll across the table. Major Castleberry’s eyes cut briefly to the young soldier sitting at computer console. Castleberry the decorated soldier fights to maintain her composure.

  “Attennnnnnhut” The door to the conference bangs open behind the Major. The anger drains from her face like water flushing down a toilet, as she stands bolt upright. Castleberry steps to the side snapping a crisp salute. “General O’Malley” as disembodied male’s voice shouts out. An old grandfatherly looking man strolls confidently in almost on cue. The General’s facial features are hard like granite. Weathered brown sunken eyes appear alert under pure white eyebrows, which is the only hair on his otherwise clean-shaven face. His fatigues neatly pressed and ornately decorated with patches and ribbons rustle as he strides in. On his feet, a pair of highly polished pair of black combat boots reflect the sterile white light in the room. He returns the salute to Major Castleberry passing the statuesque woman. The old man slips right into the seat his subordinate had previously occupied. “At ease” he says watching the young man take his seat at the monitor with the keen eye of a high school principal. The Major falls into a parade stance her well-toned arms behind her back. The door slams shut behind him “My apologies Dr. Redstone …” General O’Malley clears his throat. “I couldn’t attend your hastily called meeting earlier I was busy.” Across the long, table Dr. Redstone rolls her eyes in contempt adding a snort for good measure. “General O’Malley it’s no wonder your subordinates don’t take my mission seriously.” She huffs “clearly they see you do not place any importance on it.” Dr. Redstone spits. The two ranking members of the factions occupying the bunker square off as they usually do. If one were to remove the zombie threat, bunker, uniforms, lab coats, and place the pair in the kitchen of a rural farmhouse. They would look more like an old married couple. “Doctor I assure you I take your mission seriously.” Helping you research this plague and increase our understanding of what we face is one of my top priorities.” “There is where you are wrong General …,” Dr. Redstone blurts. “It should be your only priority!” General O’Malley’s lips press together in a sneer as he leans back in his chair. He glances up at his second in command. By the tension in her jaw, muscles he can tell the doctor must have been giving her hell. O’Malley feels a slight twinge of guilt at sending Major Castleberry into the lion’s den on his behalf. His thoughts go back to the young Private he’d spoken too over the radio. Then a spike of remorse drives itself into his heart turning it ice cold. Here they were placating this scientist and her desires around curing death. Meanwhile outside the dead were consuming more and more people every day. He had reached his fill of this woman and his orders from the President were clear when he took his post. Operation Bullfrog’s primary objective in the event of a total electrical failure was to help open a line of communication covering the entire continental United States. This Operation would allow for communications with U.S. forces and other humans across the globe. The five Bullfrog units would be strategically deployed Pennsylvania to California. “The Event” as they were calling it had all but crippled the entire global. Anything not running or in their case buried several stories underground was sparred.

 

  “Major Castleberry what was the current topic of conversation with the good doctor before I arrived?” Brigadier General O’Malley speaks running his tongue around the inside of his cheek eagerly waiting his answer. Castleberry responds barking her words aloud. “General Sir Doctor Redstone believes that soldiers here do not take the mission here seriously Sir.” The old man huffs crossing one leg over the other. “General Sir she believes as stated previously the reason soldiers do not take the mission seriously is because the General does not take the mission seriously Sir.” O’Malley turns to his subordinate in mock surprise. “Do tell …..” He muses. “General Sir her words not mine Sir.” Major Castleberry says her face a stone mask of discipline. “General Sir Doctor Redstone also demanded that we bring her team infected specimens from the surface for further study.” Deep down inside the undisciplined part of her soul Major Castleberry was enjoying this. She tells General O’Malley of the doctor’s transgressions with all the glee of a child telling her father about her evil stepmother’s indiscretions. “General O’Malley if you wanted to know what I said you could just as easily ask me.” Dr. Redstone calls from the end of the table. “Oh I’m getting to you Alberta,” he says throwing down a gauntlet with his intentional breech of etiquette by using her first name. “Please tell me what you think our mission is. Share with me why you think the government built this bunker and the Bullfrog unit?” The General speaks with all the grandeur of a condescending host at a family Christmas dinner. The look on Doctor Redstone’s face said it all. She was a seething cauldron of bubbling ire. She had finally met the one man in all of her fifty plus years of life who was immune to her tactics. “My orders were clear our goal is to find a cure for  ...,” “Wrong” O’Malley shouts repeatedly stabbing an accusing gnarled finger in the doctor’s direction. “My mission as ordered by the President of the United States was to ensure the deployment of the communications array atop the Bullfrog unit first.” He sits forward holding the finger aloft as if counting off a list. He now adds a second finger up with the first. “Second we were to assist and or rescue any civilians we could in the event of a national emergency.” The dull sound of the wheels echo off the carpeted floor as General O’Malley pushes the chair back rising to his feet. “They threw you eggheads in from the CDC at the last minute like unwanted houseguests.” He adds coming around his end of the tablet. “Washington was hoping we could cure this thing whatever it is but you can’t cure death can you doctor?” He says passing the kid at the console who squirms in his seat. Doctor Redstone looks thunderstruck for a moment her supreme confidence waivers. She settles back and says, “I wouldn’t know doctor you haven’t given us the opportunity to see what we are up against” with sarcastic a smile. “We don’t even know if we have a national emergency on our hands or not. We sit down her sequestered with only your word as to what is happening top side.” She continues as the officer gingerly closes the distance. “No you don’t doctor I do.” Stopping turning back to face the nervous teenager seated at the console against the wall besides him. “Corporal Jones I want the live feed from the Bullfrog’s drone we launched earlier today?” “Sir yes Sir.” The boy croaks startled into action. His hands be move with a well-practiced grace flowing over the large console before settling onto a large black joystick. Within seconds, he has taken over control of the drone from its autopilot. “Major the lights if you would.” He motions over to his subordinate. She moves over to the light switch with a silent nod. The room goes dark like a movie theater light casts off the massive wall sized monitor bathing the room’s occupants in its glow. “We purposely took the drone up this morning before the solar eclipse.” The gravelly voice calls out from the darkness. “We looked for the nearest major population center as instructed in our immediate vicinity.” He continues after clearing his throat. “Which was Pueblo Colorado forty four miles North, North East of our current location.” Slowly the General’s shadow materializes off to one side of the monitor.

 

  Clouds filter across the screen as the color starts to sharpen and come into focus. The view looks down on what they all now know is Pueblo Colorado. At this height, the lay of the land looks like it does from any transcontinental flight cross the middle of the country. The patchwork quilt of terrain that makes up southern Colorado farmlands and national parks give way to the city of Pueblo. Black smoke wafts up from several dozen unchecked fires partially obscuring the view from the drone’s camera. “We are minus two minutes and counting until the beginning of the eclipse.” He narrates the images before everyone gathered in the room. “Corporal maintain your current holding pattern and I want you to zoom in with the camera. I don’t want any civilians to hear the drone and compromise themselves believing this to be a rescue.” “Sir Yes Sir” Corporal Jones responds. The ground slowly comes into focus the lens of the camera adjusting in slight jerking motions. The air near the ground is clearer. The scene that greets them is a chaotic post-apocalyptic nightmare. Hundreds of figures shuffle aimlessly though wreck-strewn streets. They can see bodies littering the landscape in various states of desecration. Limbs lie torn from sockets scattered about like a demented little girl’s doll massacre. They witness large mobs hunched over shapeless mounds of once human meat. The entire scene before them had the look of a Jackson Pollack painting. The only difference the spatters and spays adorning almost everything in this macabre masterpiece were all a single color blood red. Corporal Jones feels the telltale sensation of a cold sweat dripping from the crown of his head. He absently wipes his clammy palms on his fatigues. He struggled to stench the flow of bile attempting to fight its way up his throat. From somewhere in the room comes an audible gasp “one of her peons no doubt” Castleberry thinks to herself. Although she herself could not blame whichever bespectacled, nerd had made the utterance. Based on what she knew from her discussions with the General. This scene in all of its brutal high definition color surpassed even what her imagination had concocted. She did not know about the others but her thoughts went to her parents. She prayed they had made it to their assigned Bullfrog bunker in rural Pennsylvania. A fact she would not able to confirm until they got their relay up and going. “Notice the large number of Rotters Doctor Redstone.” General O’Malley starts. “Infected General if you please?” The old man glances off in the darkness towards the woman’s voice. “Well I do and please don’t interrupt me again Alberta.” He says turning to the screen. “The limited intelligence we have received in the wake of the first three Bullfrog units’ successful deployments is as follows.” The old man folds his arms across his chest. “For reasons yet unknown these things …. These zombies cluster together.” He points to the screen at a large pack of the dead. They appear like confused humanoid insects meandering through Pueblo’s small downtown district. “Near as we can tell they don’t retain the ability to intentionally organize as a group in their current state. We believe the presence living humans and their individual drive to consume said humans is their driving motivation. This alone we feel allows the individuals to work together for a common goal.” Pausing to crane his neck to take in more of the giant screen General O’Malley continues. “However some of these walking corpses turn feral and display patterns of hyper aggression when the Sun goes down.” The pack of zombies seem to be in a constant motion. They bump into each other changing course only to repeat the same process over again. By his glowing watch face General O’Malley can see the eclipse has begun. “Now Pueblo is just a small city of over a hundred thousand people. Near as we can tell best case estimates have over eighty percent of the population is infected, turned or whatever we are calling it.” Blackness seeps into the picture becoming slowly visible on the outer edge of the camera’s field of vision. “Imagine how bad the destruction is New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles tightly packed metropolises once full of life. They now team with the undead like cockroaches not afraid of the light and emboldened by the night.” The camera grows darker still. “Corporal decease altitude by half” he orders. On screen, the effect is immediate as the unmanned aircraft’s nose begins to dip.   

 

  “Uh General Sir” A nasally male voice chirps from the darkness. “Sir what is the point of all this?” “We need to see their behavior during this rare chance to study them. We will pair what you with what we learn today.” He answers. On screen, the eclipse reaches its brief climactic total stage. In the gloom, they watch as sporadic zombies pulse to life from amid the horde. Like random frenetic kernels of exploding popcorn, they leap up pushing and shoving their slower kin about carelessly. “Now team I give you our enemies secret weapon the Trotter. A zombie menace complete with the powers of speech, coordinated movement, blood lust and most dangerous of all thought. They pursue humans with a relentless energy born from lungs that don’t need oxygen to breath and muscles that don’t fatigue.” The air in the room is suddenly stuffy, as those gathered there stare transfixed at the horror. The camera pans around catching a cluster of Trotters tearing away from the edge of the great teaming mass of zombies. From its perch above the undead, the drone buzzes on unable to render aid in any way. The Rotters turn on decayed limbs slowly stumbling behind the Trotters like nosy little brothers and sisters. Over a dozen of the corpses emboldened by the early gift of fleeting daylight descend upon a tiny red building. “What is that?” the General asks to nobody in particular. “General Sir it appears to be a fire station Sir?” Major Castleberry answers the rhetorical question. Surrounding the red brick building on every side the Trotters begin tearing at barricaded doors and boarded up windows. “Jesus there must be survivors in there.” The General moves to a spot in front of the screen to get a better look. He steals a glance down at his watch. The totality of the eclipse would end in seven minutes they had just passed the halfway point. Soon the dull Rotters join their intelligent kin in the assault on the tiny firehouse. The zombies attack the structure with the ferocity of unbridled feeding frenzy. Until with all the pressure of a dam bursting, the dead exploit a weak point gaining entry through a front window. “Good Lord can we help them?” A voice cries out. Major Castleberry breaks discipline turning her head towards Doctor Redstone’s voice. “The drone is unarmed.” Jones utters in a panic looking up to General O’Malley. On screen, the futility of their compassion plays out in stomach churning horror. Terrified frantic figures appear in various windows on the second floor. The wretched souls toss themselves out of the windows landing in the roiling horde below. They met their demise with gut wrenching silent screaming up turned faces. Putrid hands slowly pull the ensnared humans down devouring them alive in seconds. Zombies topple out the windows like lemmings behind their fleeing victims. The dead crash onto the pavement dragging themselves on decimated limbs towards the slaughter. They all lust for scraps of human meat. The firehouse is vomiting Rotters and Trotters out of the top floor as the dead pour in from the bottom. Without warning, the front door of the fire station explodes outward in a jagged spray of metal and splintered wood. A massive red fire truck with its lights blazing through the gloom plows from the building battering a swath through the walking dead. A few intrepid Rotters cling to the metal battering ram seeking the people inside. The truck makes a wild turn throwing some of the flesh leeches off in the process. The truck and its inhabitants break free of the densest part of the herd. It speeds towards the edge of town without stopping. As suddenly, as it had begun the eclipse’s hold on the town of Pueblo loosens. The Sun pulls itself slowly from behind the moon’s dark cloak. The dead short circuit whatever triggers that had been lighting up their decomposing brains ceasing for the time being. They stare skyward as the darkness fades some of them perplexed by the tiny flying object in the sky. The zombie’s diseased and decaying brains are unable to comprehend the meaning of the drone overhead. “Stay on that truck Corporal that’s an order.” The General screams. Jones nods he is too scared to speak. “Find the Pueblo’s emergency frequency list and try them all until you raise whoever’s in that truck.” He says leaning in so close he can see the red pores on the boy’s clean-shaven face.

 

  “Lights” The General barks blindly. Most of those present squint furiously blinking away the spots before their eyes. “Major Castleberry” General O’Malley does not let up. Major Castleberry falls in before the General her body a rigid statue hands at her side. “How many scientist are there here in my bunker?” He quizzes “General Sir there are Sixty Sir.” O’Malley stares a hole into the doctor now “And how many soldiers are there in my bunker Major?” He stops crossing his arms over his muscular but bony chest once more like a kid daring another to hit him. “General Sir there are twelve hundred twenty soldiers with Operation Bullfrog in this bunker all under your command Sir.” He slowly moves on his heels towards the end of the table. He squats by Dr. Redstone’s chair. “Now doctor tell me again how you don’t think this is a military operation.” He smirks “I want the Bullfrog prepped and ready to move within the hour is that clear Major?” His eyes never leave the bulbous woman at the end of the table. “Sir yes Sir.” Castleberry responds and with a dismissive salute, he sends the soldier on her way to do as he instructed. “Doctor Redstone ….” He speaks wet spittle on his lips. “Alberta you are more concerned about bringing the dead into my bunker than the living.” The scientist and her cadre of yes men look around at each other. A few men vigorously shake their heads “no.” “Think about it all of you do you really want what we just saw down here with you in a locked bunker?” As with most “smart people” General Patrick O’Malley believes they are too smart for their or anyone else’s good. “Get this straight your mission and the mission of your dancing monkeys is to do as I say understand?” He looks around not seeing the response desires. “Okay let me put it this way is anybody ready to go top side and see how long they last?” One-man recoils back into the dry erase board behind them that his glasses topple to the floor. “Good I thought so.” The General gingerly stands up on his aching arthritic knees. “Doctor I made contact with a Private who was with the unit assigned to guard St. George’s the day after the turn. She says she is hold up with a few soldiers from her unit and some civilians.” His voice and tone are softer now. “By God I pray they survived this eclipse nightmare. Because if they did I will be bringing them back here once, we set up that array.” He places a hand on the woman’s thick shoulder. “I need you to stow all you data and samples. Form this point on you and all your people will be on medical detail is that clear?” Alberta Redstone bows her head in understanding and rakes her fingers nervously though her thick black hair. “Yes Patrick it is.” She speaks chest hitching with emotion. She claps her hand over his “For all of our sake Patrick put down anyone that gets bit don’t bring them back here.” She says all the pride gone from her face. “Finally doctor something we can both agree on.” The General exits the room without another word. On his orders, the bunker has become a beehive of activity. All around him, all soldiers hustle about making ready for the rescue mission. For the first time since “the Event,” they will be going topside.

 

 

Well  now we know something more about the folks heading up Operation Bullfrog!

 

 

 

 

Stay tuned for chapter 48 and as usual follow me on Twitter @TheLivingDark

 

 

 

and on Facebook www.Facebook.com/TheLivingDark

 

 

 

Sincerely

 

 

The Living Dark 

Chapter 44: Coming to a Head

Chapter 44: Coming to a Head

 

  Miriam cannot stifle the yawn pulling her jaws apart. She stands facing out the back window of her church on a small wooden porch. The Sun teases the horizon tinting the retreating thunderclouds a breathtaking shade of magenta. A few stray beads of water on the glass catch the early morning sunlight each creating brilliant miniature rainbows. Miriam smiles broadly at the wonderment before her. Behind her, she can hear her own voice softened by a closed wooden door. A tape-looped sermon is playing over the loudspeakers in the church’s nave. This would pacify her flock until she could return to them tonight. The “Unclean” as she had labeled them were the least of her concerns. Miriam was finally able to breathe a deep sigh of relief upon seeing two shadowy figures emerge from besides the church. “You did not come straight back I see” She says aloud through the screen door. Even though she is fully aware zombies, intelligence has retreated with the rising of the Sun. They both turn towards the sound of her voice. The dead men stumble about milky eyed ensnared by the effects of the new day sun. The zombies are each soaked in rich crimson blood. She knew they would disobey her word but she did not care. For as long as the Benjamin James and Sarah Lockett were dead. The Sin Preacher had no fear of any reprisals. Those of their party she held in the basement were now at her mercy. Still she ponders to herself “you were both disobedient, and my word cannot be broken.” Speaking audibly now “For that Brothers Lawson and Hobart” Miriam opens the screen door. “You will not enjoy the morsel of flesh I had promised unto you.” Her attention finds its way to the bastardized infant sleeping in her quarters. Miriam moves onto the porch grasping the rain slicked railing. She is not afraid of her wayward sheep as they stagger about well within the locked gated of the church’s compound. Miriam had given Lawson a key before he left to complete his ordained task. She clears her throat ready to speak her hypnotic words to these her most useful of sheep. Miriam did not see the third Rotter that had remained unseen hidden in shadows until it pounced.

 

 “My Lord” The Sin Preacher cries out. Snatching her hand back off the white banister, the female zombie’s mangled teeth narrowly misses her hand. Miriam slips down the two small stairs plowing into Lawson. The bald zombie tumbles backwards knocking his undead sidekick to the wet ground with a grunt. Miriam loses her footing on the damp grass and falls on her backside. “My child … my child” She says calmly to the growling walking corpse making its way around from the other side of the porch. “Listen to my voice for it is I who the Lord almighty have allowed to hear your cries and ease your suffering.” The Sin Preacher implores her arms outstretched; her palms turned up like a beggar. The Rotter snarls a ropy mixture of blood and saliva spilling from its blackened maw. Miriam does not panic she is more concerned with the dampness seeping through her robe. “It will have to be cleaned before tonight.” She ponders to herself. “Please my child” Miriam’s voice breaks ever so slightly. She steals a glance back at Lawson and Hobart each ghoul struggling to his feet. Her face sports a mask of disapproval. Same way a mother does when she catches her son with a girl whom she does not care for. “You brought this Jezebel to my house.” She barks through clinched teeth. The Sin Preacher whips her head back around facing the zombie. “Do you hear not my words foul heathen?” She asks the feral hissing decaying walking corpse. “For you are truly lost then child.” Miriam scoots back on her rump a few inches waiting for the Rotter to lung once more. When the dead woman does Miriam kicks out her leg catching the zombie under her chin. The thing’s teeth clack together as it reels backwards landing face up on the bottom step of the porch. The Sin Preacher is on her feet trudging forward towards her unwanted guest. Her wet dirty once white robe billows out behind her. “There are the workers of iniquity fallen” She huffs breathlessly. Moving to a standing position over the undead woman Miriam places a hand on either side of the woman’s head. It is like holding a squirming alligator swaying in a vain attempt to get loose and strike. “They are cast down, and shall not be able to rise.” The rage bottled up in the darkest recesses of Miriam now bubbles over. She lets her fingers slide over the jellied white eyes of the zombie. Miriam slowly pushes her thumbs into the thing’s eye sockets. Her digits sink deeper into the mushy wetness as she clasps her fingers behind the corpse’s skull like a spider’s legs. The zombie’s eyes pop like overripe fruit but it still snarls sensing the warm flesh hovering above it. The Sin Preacher lowers her forehead down to the creatures. Miriam does not shy away from the damp rotten smell wafting up from the zombie. “You are banished from this place.” She rages leaning in Miriam slams the Rotter’s head against the bottom step. The Sin Preacher repeats this process until the zombie ceases its relentless attack. Miriam has lost herself in the sight before her eyes. The sun now beams brightly from the East. She smiles raising her hands gooey matter plops from her fingertips onto the ground. “Now my sons” she speaks without turning to face Lawson or Hobart. The ghouls sway in place made more docile by the fullness of daylight and The Sin Preacher’s voice. “Let us seek shelter for tonight you will make amends to me for your transgressions.” Miriam leads the zombies up the stairs and into First New Faith’s rectory. She does so pushing and prodding the dead men as a mother with unruly teenage boys. She has no idea Brother Gustavo has just witnessed her coming unhinged for the second time.

 

  Under the small porch, kneeling in the dirt Gustavo raises old metal hatch. Chills blossom up his spine as the Sin Preacher along with her undead soldiers pass overhead. He holds his breath staring down at the baby girl in his arm. She was gorgeous her little blue eyes meet his. Baby Cammy grins showing her tiny pink gums. For the first time in a long time, he does not feel like he is a bad person. Above him, he hears a door lock. “Please God be with us” He whispers his first genuine prayer in recent memory. Brother Gustavo climbs down a spider wed metal ladder into the darkness. “We have to hurry” the thought runs frantically through his mind. He pulls the closet door open less than a minute later. Bianca Fullerton is running full tilt towards him. Her arms are open almost as wide as he eyes. Gustavo holds up a finger to silence her a cold sweat has settled upon his skin. “We have to go now.” He says with as much emphasis as he can muster without raising his voice. He surrenders the baby girl to her mother’s embrace. Bianca weeps softly Dakota sits by her mother’s immediately she finds herself swept up into a hug. “Please we need to go now,” Gustavo urges pulling Bianca to her feet. They disappear into the closet Anne James hustles Brandon and Belinda along to the hidden tunnel. Any other day they would look like typical sleepy kids ushered around by a mother with a schedule to keep. Private Medina checks her pocket for the handheld radio. Overnight she had briefly spoken with White Magic. Unlike their initial meeting, he would be waiting for them today. She cocks an eyebrow at Private Carson clutching her ribs. They both look down at a Chip sitting on the floor sans his wheelchair. “Come on bro spare me some dignity.” Chip says just above a whisper. “Don’t let the chick carry me please I’m begging” He chuckles. “Besides I got the only gun” Chip produces the revolver waving it around like a toy. “I got him go Carlita.” Carson lowers himself to the floor scooping up Chip. The boy rakes his shoulder length sandy curls back with one gloved hand. The pair head for the exit watching Private Medina as she vanishes into the dark tunnel. “What the fuck!” Private Carson hears as Chip draws the hammer back on the pistol next to his ear. Carson knew the owner of the deep overly harsh voice. They had not heard the door open behind them. Chip kept the pistol leveled at Colonel’s chest. The two young men he had assigned to guard the door flanked him on either side. “Drop your weapons or Colonel Mustard gets two in the chest.” Chip orders. Colonel ignores the two cowards who show no hesitation tossing their guns to the floor. “You too big man” Carson says to the old soldier. “You look like the type of pussy who’d leave without saying good bye Son.” Colonel spits the barb designed to bait the younger man. He squats placing his heavy pistol gently down on the floor. Chip and Private Carson exchange glances hunching their shoulders in unison. “Oh no Sir we were just on our way to see you.” Carson grins he walks over to one of the tables setting Chip down. “Now you Chip points to the guard on the right close that door and lock it please.” Chip uses the gun like a pointer. “You …” Carson points the second guard. “Bring those weapons over to my friend on the table here.” Carson pulls off his camouflaged uniform shirt flexing his shoulders. His physique is even more impressive as the olive green t-shirt fits tight against his chiseled chest. The smaller of the guards sheepishly deposits the guns on the table next to Chip. “You boys go ahead and take a front row seat on that couch over there.” He tells the pair pointing to the battered old couch that had been a bed the previous night. All the while Colonel stands breathing in deeply cracking his knuckles. An evil grin etched upon his harsh features. He never takes his eyes off Carson. “What the hell is taking …?” Medina burst back out the closet. “Aw fuck.” Her eyes bug out comically as her jaw hangs open. “Go Medina” Carson orders now refusing to drop his gaze from Colonel. “We’ll be along in a few this won’t take long.” She looks to Chip who gives her thumbs up with a toothy smile. “Run along missy this is man’s business.” Colonel laughs. Medina backs her way down to the tunnel entrance. “Carson ….” She calls out. “Yeah what up Carlita?” He responds staring down his foe. “Will you please beat that sadistic motherfucker to death for me?” Private Cody Carson licks his lips. “Sure thing Kid” he assured her as she goes up the secret tunnel.

 

 Cody stood unblinking sizing up his opponent. He knew the man was older but the bulk of his weight was muscle. In the Army, they had drilled into his head that with age came wisdom. This he knew meant Colonel was a better tactician than he was. This fact alone let him know that he could not get into a brawl or a wrestling match with the grey haired former Marine. The scars Colonel bore on face and arms were a testament to his toughness. Cody was so lost in thought he blinked twice before he realized Colonel was rushing him. Colonel came stomping forward head lowered making it tougher to land a shot to the face. Private Carson spun out of the way of his charging foe. He stopped facing Colonel’s side as the man’s momentum kept him from stopping on a dime. Carson delivers a swift kick to the back of Colonel’s leg dropping him to his knees. He follows up with a spinning backhand to Colonel’s exposed face. The Colonel’s nose breaks with a “crunch” the sound carries across the room. Colonel pitches face first on the floor Carson and he have switched places in the room. Carson dances on his feet nimbly. He allows Colonel slowly get up to a standing position. “Carson don’t stop fuck’em up.” Chip shouts motioning towards Colonel with the gun. “Nah bro gotta do this right prove a point to this motherfucker.” Carson responds looking at the other two men sitting stunned on the couch. “I …..” Colonel wheezes sucking back some of the deep red blood flowing from his nose. “I forgot they don’t teach you Army girls how to fight a man straight up.” He spits a wad of blood on the floor moving his hands up like a boxer in front of his face. “Come on princess let’s see all that trendy dancing Jap shit y’all call fighting now.” Colonel was well aware he had underestimated the young bull. He was also knew the boy had made a mistake not finishing him off when he had the chance. The two men slowly encroached one another guard up in a pugilist stance. Colonel saw the private holding his guard high covering his pretty face. He delivered two quick brutal body shots. The first catches Carson on his left side the next punishes his right side driving the air from his lungs. Carson throws a feeble jab connecting with Colonel’s chin. It was more of a love tap with no force behind it. Carson cannot draw a breath he does not see the savage upper cut coming. For a brief moment, Private Carson feels as though he has left his feet. Before he knows it, he is reeling backwards his vision doubling. The only reason Carson does not hit the floor is the support pole he slams into back first. Colonel bares down upon him his eyes are calm and distant like those of a shark. To him this is a natural as eating nothing personal just nature. Colonel throws a right hook Cody blocks the punch ducking in the same direction as he catches movement to his left. The two guards who were sitting on the couch are sneaking up on Chip. The boy sits on the table eyes glued to the fight. “Chip look out!” he cries out. The distraction allows Colonel to pivot up a knee into his gut. Colonel has him trapped and takes the opportunity to land a solid left hook. Carson gets his bearings focusing on Colonel. He fights through the pain whipping his elbow straight up smashing it into Colonel’s exposed chin. Carson exploits the opening pulling the Colonel’s head down into his own knee. When the two meet Colonel’s arms go limp he is out on his feet. Carson sidesteps the groggy man teetering on the edge of consciousness. Taking Colonel by the back of his head Carson slams the man forward. Colonel’s head connects with the support pole with an audible “dong.” The Sin Preacher’s enforcer slides down the brown steel pole until the man simply slumps to the floor unconscious.

 

  A woozy Carson turns his attention to Chip. “Alright bro” Chip grins. Carson’s confusion clearly etched on his face. Chip sits with holding the back of one guards head. He has the revolver placed just inside the man’s open mouth. The other guard stands behind him his hands raised comically in the air as if he was on some old cop show. Carson follows the man’s wide eyes gaze back to its source. “Good work pretty boy lets go.” Medina says. She keeps her weapon in on hand pointing at the man. She tosses Carson his M4 assault rifle. Carson catches the weapon nursing his ribs as he steadies himself. “Boys we need to go we’re loaded and waiting on Brother Gustavo.” Private Medina says crossing the room. “Let’s go,” She says pointing her rifle at the two men. Carlita takes the pistols off the table by Chip with her free hand. “Carlita what are you doing?” Chips asks. “I’m being a good Christian by not holding a grudge. Now open the door,” She orders waving the rifle one of the Sin Preacher’s men. Chip and Private Carson look to each other confused. “Carson you and Chip head up the ladder and follow the footprints in the dirt under the porch. Head for the big ratty shed across the yard I’ll be right behind you.” Medina cranes her head looking out the open doorway. “Is he dead or out cold” Private Medina looks to Carson tilting her head in Colonel’s direction. “Um out cold I think,” he says unsure of his answer. Carlita unleashes a kick aimed between Colonel’s legs. The man emits a low weak groan, she marches the two men hands held high out into the midst of the captives. Carlita ignores the stunned faces as they had ignored her the day before as she passes them. Standing in the middle of the room her eye catches the hole in the wall made by her body yesterday. “Listen up people” she speaks to no one in particular. “Fortunately for all of you my mother raised me to be compassionate or I’d leave all you cowards here to die.” Private Medina drops the three guns in the middle of the floor. “I suggest you formulate a plan to get the fuck out of here.” She kicks the back of each man’s knees they drop to all fours. “You need to be quite head back through this room. There is a back way out in the closet you need to get to the carport all your keys and vehicles are there.” She looks to each face stopping on the chubby Hispanic man who spoke up when Anne attempted to rally them. “I suggest you fight like your lives and the lives of those around you depended on it because they do.” She does not look away from the man until he drops his head. “These two I leave up to you.” She says prodding one of the men with her gun. Medina heads back down the hallway stopping briefly. “Oh for any of you planning on staying you should know one important thing.” She extends her index finger pointing upward. “Your great benefactor the Sin Preacher has a legion of zombies locked in the main part of the church. She fancies them her personal army.” Shocked gasps swirl around the room. Medina turns back with a television game show host smile. “Have a good life” She mocks sprinting through the back room up the ladder and to her people in the shed.

 

   Miriam toughly enjoyed her hot shower. She had thanked God daily that the church was standing empty when ‘The Event’ had happened. In the wake of the cosmic onslaught, everything electrical that was without power that night still functioned properly. She stood before the foggy mirror now dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. She has her hair wrapped in a towel and left to dry. Miriam swiped a hand over the mirror cutting a swath through the condensation. She could not help but smile at herself after last night. Her flock was ready; she had gotten rid of the Son of Lot, which she had found personally invigorating. Tasting the blood of the sinner had left her in an almost euphoric. She had the traitors dealt with and the fatherless child would be done away with tonight. “By this time tomorrow I will lead my flock on a cleansing purge through man’s army.” She told her reflection knowing the military would never expect a coordinated attack from a mass of zombies. Miriam strolls carefree from the bathroom back into her office drying her hair with the towel. “Good morning Miriam.” She jumps startled at the sound of the voice. She knows its owner all too well “Good morning Brother Gustavo.” Miriam Jacob answers tossing her damp hair back out of her face. Brother Gustavo sits in her chair behind her desk. His hair is all over his head; his once pristine white uniform is filthy covered in dirt from head to toe. What troubled her the most? The smile plastered on the man’s long face. “Please have seat Miriam” He gestures towards the chair Benjamin James had taken during their initial meeting. “Brother Gustavo why are you in my seat?” Miriam lowers herself down into the chair. She glances over at the pile of blankets on her cot. “Brother Gustavo where is the bastard child?” Gustavo rakes his fingers through his hair leaning back. “Brother Gustavo have you sunk back to your sick ways?” Miriam brings her head back around in a slow mechanical manner. “Miriam I assure you the child is safe and as for my ways.” The man swallows hard leaning forward his palms planting on the desk. “Years ago I told you I felt like a child on the inside.” He trembles as if he caught in the grip of a chill. “When I told you that I was molested as a child you used it and my faith against me. All you wanted was a sheep to do your bidding.” He wiped a stray tear from his eye. “All I wanted to do was to relive my youth one where I wasn’t hurt. One where I was not demeaned and degraded you ….” He stabs a long index finger in her direction. “You are not woman of God. This is no house of God. Sin Preacher …” He scoffs. “I saw you last night.” Gustavo snarls he shakes barely able to contain his rage. The Sin Preacher’s face is a pale shade of pink. She swallows hard pulling the acid rising in her throat back down. Here’s one for the road.” He chuckles. “I just wish I had understood it earlier.” Their eyes meet and Miriam sees no fear, no respect just cold emptiness. “Beware of false Prophets, Which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. Matthew chapter seven verse fifteen.” Gustavo finishes with a shout. There is a knock at the door. Miriam glares at the door behind her. Miriam turns towards the door “Not now” She calls out. “Is that it all it takes Gustavo the sweet words of a Jezebel for you to turn on me?” Miriam’s anger rises as the knocking comes again. “Not nowwww.” She seethes stretching the last word out. “I opened my eyes pastor.” Gustavo says rising slowly placing his hands in his pockets. “You told me I had to do what you said to earn the Lord’s mercy.” He continued a bit more calmly. “You said God helps those who help themselves and it was you …” He exhales rubbing one hand on his temple leaving the other in his pocket. “You who claimed to speak for God not me.” The knocking came again harder this time. He noticed color had returned Miriam’s face from the neck up it was beet red. He watched her storm off towards the door through which they had drug the James family. The Sin Preacher grabs the doorknob in disgust “I said not…..” Her words trail off as she stares at the empty hallway. Miriam looks across her office Brother Gustavo stands at the rear of the office. He is between two doors facing her. The door to his right leads up to the body of the church behind the pulpit. The door to Gustavo’s left leads out the back of the church. He points to the battered brown desk between the two of them with a sneer. The left pocket on his dirty pants appears pulled inside out. Miriam sees a jumble of red white and brown wires laying tangled in a rat’s nest on her desk. Brother Gustavo projects his voice across the office. “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him and will eat with him, and he with me.” He opens the door leading up to the main body of the church wide and in the same motion disappears through the church’s rear exit. Miriam’s eyes dart to the desk “the intercom system he tore the wires out” she mouths in disbelief.

 

 The undead Rotters pour from the open door. They are sheep no more snarling like hungry wolves. Their milky orange tinted eyes settle on the only warm human flesh they can find. That flesh belongs to the Sin Preacher. Miriam cannot move her feet feel locked into the creaky wood floor. “Ma’am everything otay?” Silas Proctor asks through his swollen damaged jaw as he hobbles up. Miriam snaps to watching the walking corpses ransack her office. The place seems far more cramped as it is quickly filling with the Unclean. She knocks Silas aside running for the front exit. The bulbous man teeters on his aching wounded foot before he falls forward. He is the first church member to feel the jagged teeth of “the Flock.” His screams panic the church members even more than their pastor sprinting past them for the door. More screams start as the zombies come into view down the hall. Miriam hits the locked door full force and it does not budge. She turns the knob forcefully side to side and it simply clicks. She is unaware that BC and Jim Hosstrum lie on the other side dead by Brother Gustavo’s hand. He had murdered both men while they dozed on guard duty earlier then snuck down and barred the door as the members slept. “Sin Preacher please …” Please a horrified woman grabs her arm. Miriam slaps her hands away and shoves the portly woman backwards turning to see the Rotters crowding towards the panicked mass of people surging towards the door. More screams as those on the outer ring fall into the mouths of the undead. The sounds of tearing flesh drives the undead into a frenzy and the living into a panic. “Shut up” Miriam commands composing herself lift her hands high. “Be still my children for they are my flock.” The horrified church members ignore her words. “I will sooth them my children fall to your knees in prayer!” She screams over the sounds of slaughter. The Sin Preacher feels a tickle in her throat as she starts a sermon. Around the room, Rotters rise from their feasting on the living. They stand some still chewing gobs of torn human flesh. The zombies sway in place placated by the Sin Preacher’s soothing voice. Miriam does not know how long her voice will hold up. She curses under her breath hearing the sound of the massive ice cream truck’s engine outside fading into the distance. “Judas” her mind screams.

 

 

In a rather interesting change of events. Brother Gustavo has helped the survivors escape. Looks like he has finally seen The Sin Preacher for the false prophet she is. It appears to me at least that hell hath no furry like a demented ice cream man scorned.

 

 

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The Living Dark

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 43: Making a Way Back

Chapter 43: Making a Way Back

 

  Sara greets the coming sunrise by poking her head out of the drainpipe. She looks like an overly cautious groundhog. Sara wonders if she will see her own shadow in the coming light signaling six more weeks of zombie apocalypse. “So far so good” She whispers. Lockett glances down in the drainage culvert below her. She sees the armless corpse whose head she had destroyed with the rock last night. It bobs about on the surface of the pooled water. It is damaged head leaves an oil slick of brain matter floating in the cloudy rainwater. “Ben we need to head out your side.” She announces back down the wide aluminum pipe. Her voice carries reverberating with an echo down to Ben James. Ben sneaks a quick glance out of his end of the pipe. He gently places the rock he had used as a weapon down just inside the rim of the pipe. Scanning the area Ben cannot see any zombies meandering about the area. He knows they are there they are always there. “I got nothing over here Sara.” He responds finally tuning around to face Sara down the length of the pipe. “Well ….” A man veiled in darkness croaks out between the two of them. His voice is little more than a strained wheeze. It comes in short breathless gasps. “We really … need … to get our asses in doors.” The man who had shared the drainage pipe with them all night finishes up. “What I need to do is get back to my family.” Ben’s voice is hard and cold like ice. “Then …” He begins to clench his fists. “I’m gonna take my trusty rock and bash The Sin Preacher’s head in.” Ben leans out the pipe one more time before stepping out cautiously onto the damp lush grass. “Sara I should have listened to you. I’m sorry ok?” Ben looks up staring past the crumpled form to Sara. Sara duck walks her mud covered bare body down next to the man. They make eye contact. “Look Mr. James.” Sara pauses. “You let me smash her head in and we can call it even deal?” She gives him a playful smile. Even caked with filth her dark beautiful features beam down the length of the pipe. “You ready Willie?” She asks eyeing Ben. “Yeah … yeah just need a shoulder to lean on.” Willie pivots with Sara at his back he scoots his way through stagnate foul smelling water towards Ben. Ben reaches out a helping hand. He assists the man out of the pipe that had been their shelter all night. Sara and Ben get their first glance at the man in the grimy orange prison jumpsuit.

 

   “So what were you in prison for Willie?” Sara asks hoping down from the pipe instinctively crouching low to the ground. “Uh …” Willie winces. “Drug dealing … pimping, murder ...” Willie huffs as he checks his offenses off mentally. “Pretty much all the things it takes to run a moderately successful drug outfit.” Ben takes Willie’s toned arm placing over his thick shoulder. He casts an untrustworthy glance at the light-skinned black man with corn rolls in his hair. Ben proceeds lock eyes with the man. His nose crinkles at the bridge. “So yeah nothing personal but I’ve had my fill of assholes in orange prison jumpsuits.” Sara snorts sarcastically attempting to get her bearings. “Well so have I.” Willie laughs his free arm makes its way to his left side. His hand covers a blossoming bloodstain there. Unlike the other bloodstains that cover Willie’s clothes. This one is still damp and seeping up from inside the jumpsuit. The laughter causes the man obvious excruciating pain. Willie’s face contorts as he tosses his head back. Ben pushes the thinner man off his shoulder. A look of fear races across Ben’s dirty face. “We’re you fucking bit?” Ben whispers angrily looking around. Willie shakes his head weakly. “No like I said last night.” He stops to draw in a few gasping breathes. “I was running from those zombie things.” Willie hangs like an unwanted child’s toy in Ben’s grip. He points up at the railroad trestle that had saved Ben and Sara the previous night. Ben notices the blade in the man’s hand for the first time. He uses his eyes to signal Sara. She returns a quick nod indicating her understanding. “I turned to looked back …” Willie stops looking about the immediate area. “I slipped and fell barely had time to catch myself. I smashed the shit out of my side. Think I probably fucked up a rib or two.” Ben slowly pulls the man back against him. “I dropped my pack in the water too.” Ben and Sara exchange a look of understanding. They recalled a splash in the river that drew the undead away from them last night. It was possible that Willie had inadvertently saved both their lives. Willie slaps his free hand against his hip in exasperation. The blood-caked prison made knife falls from his hand. Sara drops her rock snatching up the crudely made stabbing device. She walks it down to the edge of the dirty rainwater that had collected in the ditch. She rinses it off like an archaeologists with some ancient find they cannot readily identify. “My shiv….” Willie says smiling down at Sara. “Shiv” was right Sara though to herself. “The foot long blade appeared to have come from a bed rail of some sort. It was a dull silver the color of an old nickel. Its hilt tightly wrapped in some type of cheap once white cloth. Sara examined the weapon its tip filed to a point by repeated scrapes across some sort of stone. “Mind if I hold onto this?” She asks Willie without even looking up. “Nope she’s served me well.” Willie says squinting into the new day Sun. “I killed a lot of those undead bastards escaping that hell hole of a prison.” He hitched himself closer to Ben. “Now big fella … ah Ben I is it?” Benjamin James bobs his head deliberately. “Can we get some place a little safe that’s not a filled with stagnate water?”

 

  The waterlogged trio slowly moves up the hill rising up in front of them. Ben huffs gruffly. “We need to get back to the other side. Then work our way back to First New Faith.” Sara’s examines the rolling fields surrounding them cautiously. “Mr. James I agree we need to get back but we don’t exactly know which way is back.” They look to each other Sara sees the fear in Ben’s face. He knows she is correct their heads were down as the ghouls drove last night. They had lost all sense of direction. “I came from this way.” Willie speaks up motioning with his finger back over a grassy knoll. “Never made it to the side you guys came from.” Ben looks back over the rusted structure covered at each end with white spray painted graffiti. “When I fell it was all I could do to crawl back down into that damn pipe.” Ben’s eyes narrow into slits. “Shit.” He mumbles aloud. Sara and Willie turn to looks across the bridge as well. There were at least a dozen zombies shuffling out of a thicket of trees. Their slack jaws hung open as their out stretched arms pawed at the air. “Rotters ….” Sara mouthed. “Can they make it across there?” Willie asks. “Don’t know …” Ben tugs the man draped over him grabbing his belt lop. “Let’s move I aint sticking around here to find out if they can cross that’s for sure.” “Big man I passed some houses back up that way.” Willie interjects. They top the slight hill in front of them. The sight of a battered house greets them across the rolling expanse. Other houses dot the landscape they appear like dots further out from their position. “I count eight of them between us and that house Mr. James.” Sara stares down at some of the slow moving zombies who have already spotted them. They turn in mass hobbling on broken and dislocated limbs. From Behind them comes the sound of bodies hitting water. The dead are attempting to traverse the trestle with little or no success. “The sound will draw more of them out.” Sara remarks. “We can get to the house and plan our next move.” Ben takes his first tentative steps down the embankment on the slippery grass. He had grown accustomed to being naked but he would kill for a pair of shoes right about now. “Hey pretty lady …” Willie calls out a halfhearted sly grin on his face. “Don’t let them bunch up take’em on one at a time.” Sara nods dashing off in advance of the men. “Aim for the eye sockets with my baby … and she’ll do the rest.” A quick series of raspy coughs interrupts Willie’s next words. Sara is moving quickly towards the first Rotter in their path. Willie leans his head on Ben’s shoulder. “Dude a butt ass naked hot chick fighting zombies. We’re living every nerds dream.” Willie laughs causing bolts of pains to rocket up from his busted ribs. “Shut up.” Ben says stopping just short of dropping the convict. He was losing his fondness for the Willie faster than he thought possible. As he watches Sara go, his thoughts turn to his family. The last thing he was going to do was take a smart assed half-dead drug dealing murder back with him to rescue them.

 

   Private Sara Lockett takes bold strides through the thick wet grass. Her feet find it hard to maintain traction. She throws a peek back and Ben who is all but dragging Willie. Sara does not look ahead to the white house in the distance. She focuses on the dead thing lumbering towards her. It was more than likely female or had once been. The zombie front half is charred down to the bone is still smoking she noted. The zombie looks like a piece of meat from head to toe that someone forgot on a hot grill. Sara pays no mind to the warm sun on her bare skin. She tightens her grip on the shank Sara realizes clearly it is designed to stab not slash. The zombie moans as the space closes between them. Its arms raise up like a demented possessed puppet. The undead things eyes never leave Sara’s. They meet with Sara ducking low to avoid the zombie’s out stretched arms. She moves up from the side meaning to plunge the sharpened metal into her attacker’s eye socket. Her assault is halted mid-swing by the stench of burnt flesh. It reaches down into her painfully empty stomach. The vile smell draws dry heaves up from her gut. Sara feels the corpses sandpaper like scorched skin as its hands claws at her hair. “Sara!” Ben screams out. She ignores Ben concentrating on stifling the involuntary retching bringing acid up in her throat. Private Lockett grunts wind milling her hand in an arc. She drives the point of the metal deep into the Rotter’s eye socket. With a vicious twist of the shiv, the zombie falls to the sound of bones splintering. “Sara you ok?” Ben calls in a panic. Sara waves him off “yeah  ... yeah.” She breathes deeply her hands on her knees. “Fucking thing stank to high hell.” She hollers back. Sara stands up checking her surroundings. “Let’s keep moving right up the middle take the shortest route.” With that, Sara takes off at a trot. She encounters a dead man wearing thin wire rimmed glasses. She notices a hole in the dead man’s neck. Chucks of chewed flesh plop out the hole reminding Sara of a meat grinder. The thought fades from her mind as she pushes the shank into the zombie’s eye socket shattering the lens of its glasses. Sara lays the corpse down like a preacher baptizing a sinner. She steps over the body looking up the house is closer. There is only one zombie between them and the house. She can see the structure better now. Its white paint is chipping and the big two-story house looks rundown. There is a shiny metal ladder running up to the roof. It strikes her as the safest place to rest. This would give them ample time to scout the rest of the area. “How will we get Willie up there?” She hears reverberate though her mind. Suddenly a large rotund man appears standing on the roof of the enclosed back porch. He is wearing a pristine white tee shirt and grey jogging pants.

 

  The big round man holds a pink child’s plastic beach bucket of rainwater up taking a long drink from it. “Hey!” Sara calls out taking care not to wave the gore covered hand holding Willie’s prison shank. The balding man sports an atypical horseshoe of black hair around a large bald patch. He drops the bucket as a look of terror washes across his face. “Probably thinks we’re a couple of Trotters.” Sara mumbles to herself. The walking corpse nearest to her drags itself along on one good leg. The other scrapes the bare gravel covered area behind the house. The dead thing’s foot is twisted a hundred and eighty degrees behind it. Sara races up the rock-strewn path. The varying shaped stones begin to bite into her bare feet. She stands her ground rather than risk injuring her feet. “Can you help us we’re not zombies?” Sara shouts. The man looks like a scared rabbit ready to bolt, so she puts her attention back where it should be on the zombie. She takes a defensive stance and when the putrid teenager is close, enough she lashes out a foot into its thigh. Sara’s blow hits the damaged limb squarely dropping the corpse to its knees. She seizes the opportunity to stab the blade down into the top of the zombies head. The skull parts like broken china as Sara rotates it with both hands. Sara Lockett turns to see Ben James dragging Willie faster. The dead they had past once scattered about the vast field were now coming together in a loose pack. Sara looks over her shoulder casually. She watches the stout man step to the edge of the roof just above an aluminum ladder. For the briefest moment, she has a comical vision of the fat man in the grey jogging pants floating away like a balloon. Instead, he repositions himself and makes his way down the ladder. “No … no … nooo.” He scolds like a Sunday school teacher. The ladder clatters against the old house as his foot touches down onto the packed earth. “You can’t lead them here or they’ll comeback tonight.” He says to Private Lockett paying the attractive dark skinned girl no mind. “Yeah well tell me something I don’t know.” Sara rolls her eyes at the man. She drops her hands to her knees winded. “Sir I’ll take care of these few.” Sara points with her free hand at the zombies shambling across the field. She looks back at the house. “Do you have some place where we can rest up and maybe find some clothes?” The big man rubs his smooth red face lingering around his chin. Sara takes note of his freshly shaved face. He spins around eyes fixating on the house. He is briefly lost in his own thoughts before turning back to Sara. “Have any of y’all been bit or scratched by a zombie? On a count of the movies I done seen say that’s a bad thing.” Sara shakes her head to indicate “no.” “My friend and I found this guy when we went to hide in a drain pipe down by the river. He says he slipped and fell while crossing the railroad trestle.” Ben and Willie finally move into the conversation. “Hey can we get the fuck inside or what fat boy?” Willie blurts from Ben’s shoulder. Ben jostles the convict roughly repositioning him. He makes sure his displeasure is painfully evident. “Ahhhh …” Is the sole sound Willie can make as volcanic rush of red-hot agony grips his torso. “What my inconsiderate friend Willie meant to say is might we please come into your home to rest for a bit Sir?” “Sure Mister.” The man responds taking more notice of the tattered prison jumpsuit hanging loosely around Willie. It appears more disconcerting to the man than either of the naked people with him. “First we gots to kill all these damn zombies.” The man says as he walks back towards the house. “You can all rest here on the porch.” The man cocks his head down in the direction of three rickety white washed steps. The steps apparently compromised the back porch the man had made mention of. He grabbed a shovel that was propped up against the house.

 

  Sara looked to Ben. “Go with him.” He tells her counting the zombies who had pursued them. “Alright Mr. James but keep an eye out for stragglers.” She says sauntering behind their quirky savior. “Man that’s a fine piece bro you tappin’ that?” Willie asks watching Private Lockett leave. “No I’m married Willie and if you keep acting like an asshole. I’m going to punch you right in the middle of that bloodstain on your side.” Willie’s hands immediately move to cover his wounded side. “Look big man I’m sorry I been in jail for a couple of years dude no offense.” Willie offers up in his defense. “Well my friend let me make one thing clear. There are several women in our group.” Ben bites back his words thinking of the others locked in that church with a homicidal maniac. “And if you attempt anything remotely shady or ungentlemanly like. With God as my witness I will snap your legs and leave you for the zombies to play with.” Ben stares down at the injured man. His eyes narrow as he and Willie’s brown eyes meet. “Am I clear?” He asks Willie. “Crystal.” Willie utters looking paler than he had earlier. Ben does not know if its fear or blood loss and he does not care. Sara is hot on the portly man’s heels raising up the bloodied shiv. With a grunt, the man swings his shovel in a two-handed shoulder high semi-circle. “Name’s Lawrence Faulkner.” He shouts his black shovel blade connects with a pair of zombie’s heads. Both Rotters hit the ground in a heap. Lawrence diligently drives the blade down into the first dead man’s face. Moving quickly he stomps the blade down on the zombies undead companion’s head. He has the look of a farmer turning over soil with the shovel. Lawrence takes the top half of zombie’s heads off like splitting a melon. Lawrence walks down the slight slope of the hill. He pulls his shovel back up hearing four remaining straggling corpses. The undead pack makes their way towards the humans undeterred. Their ragged moans filtering out into the surrounding area. “Well Lawrence I’m Sara, the big naked black guy is Ben and the convict is Willie.” Sara pulls even with Lawrence. “We stumbled upon him last night.” Lawrence nods to Sara. “Well Ms. Sara if you don’t mind stepping back.” Lawrence shoos Sara back like a diligent big brother. “I’ll take care of these dead folks here.” He motions down towards the ever-advancing zombies. There are four of them making their way up the grassy incline. The first two zombies are male. “Sheriff Lee?” Lawrence speaks up his face a mixture of shock and remorse. He stares at the shredded arms of the walking corpse as they reach for him. The moment passes as Lawrence draws in a deep breath. He smashes the shovel blade down with an over handed swing. The sound of the shovel’s black blade fracturing the dead man’s head reverberates across the open field. The Sheriff drops to the ground instantly. The next zombie plods along tripping over the Sheriff falling face first in the dusty packed gravel. Sara swoops in plunging the shiv into the zombie’s ear. She does not stop twisting until the Rotter falls still. “Look out!” Lawrence shouts Sara cranes her head up to see an old white haired woman missing a sizable chunk of her face and most of her belly. The woman falls forward hoping to catch the nude young soldier. “I told you to stay back now.” Lawrence cautions her catching the zombie under its chin with his shovel blade. He holds the shovel’s handle as the corpse drives its face further down on the sharpened blade. Lawrence has the look of a man with a monstrous fish on his line. Sara stands to her feet falling behind Lawrence. The burly man wrenches the handles left then right. This causes the dead woman’s mandible to pop of her face. Viscera streams down the shovel handle as Lawrence pitches his catch backwards. He gags at the sight of the zombie’s tongue wetly slapping the back of the shovel’s blade. With one final thrust and the crunch of bone, mercifully the zombie goes still. Lawrence deposits her at the feet of the final Rotter that had pursued them. “Oh shit kill his ass!” Sara points but Lawrence does not turn in her direction. Sara recognizes the fat round Boss Hog looking Rotter in tight gym shorts. “He’s one of those smart ones; he and his buddies chased us last night.” She grits her teeth wanting to put the fat zombie down herself. Lawrence steadies his aim raising the shovels up as if it was a spear. He makes eye contact with the corpse for a fraction of a second and knows the girl is telling the truth. He stabs the shovel into the things face just above the bridge of its nose. The chubby dead man teeters over falling into the ground truly dead. Lawrence plants the shovel in the grass scanning the horizon looking all around. Breathing in deeply the big man seems to enjoy a moment of peace closing his eyes. Lawrence suns himself in the warms early morning sunlight and smiles. Blinking his eyes open, he does not see any of the undead. Once Lawrence is satisfied, he turns his attention to the zombies laying at his feet. He catches a glimpse of Sara’s backside as she hovers over the Sheriff. “Is he dead” He asks, “I mean really dead?” “Yep” says Sara. “Which is why he won’t need this gun.” She holds the pistol in the air her hands move in a blur as she checks the weapon dropping the magazine out before slamming it back in. “He won’t need these spare clips or these handcuffs either.” Sara looks back towards Ben and Willie. She wants the con to see her pulling the cuffs and a ring of keys free from the dead Sheriff. “Well so are these.” Lawrence waves a hand at the corpses in the dirt. “Miss Sara why don’t we get ourselves inside the house before more of them come snooping around?” Lawrence says as he lightly plants a hand on Sara’s elbow.

 

   “Alright folks follow me and don’t touch anything please.” Lawrence orders from the top of the steps. He pushes open the back door. What greets them is a blast of cold dank mustiness spilling out from a dark void. “Stay close to me.” Lawrence moves in first disappearing followed by Ben totting Willie. Sara brings up the rear pistol at the ready remembering the last time they dared to trust as stranger. She moves in and a cold chill draws goose bumps upon her dark sweaty skin. Unlike the First New Faith Baptist Church, this place is immediately foreboding. Sara’s mind goes back to the first time she entered the church. “If it’d felt like this I’d have turned right the fuck around” She thinks to herself. “Close the door.” Lawrence whispers and Sara does as instructed. The four of them are in pitch black cramped darkness. She feels trapped as the sound of paper rustling fills the air in the room. Sara reaches out placing a hand on Ben’s warm back for comfort. A light blazes to life in front of them. Lawrence is holding an oil-burning lantern up as if he is a train conductor. The orange flame casts light on the area around them. They are pinned into the wall by mountains of old newspapers and garbage. The stench causes Willie to gasps for breath. “What the fuck man …. I got asthma?” He wheezes trying desperately not to cough. “Me too …” Lawrence smiles broadly like he and Willie are members in some sort of secret club. The light thrown off by the lantern seems to make Lawrence’s round head glow. “Look guys I’m sorry my Ma’ she was a hoarder never threw nothing away.” Sara is aware the big man is sniffling. “When she and my Pa and Uncle left, I … well. I just didn’t have the heart to change anything.” Willie’s wheezing becomes more rapid. “Man this shit is sick fat boy!” He shouts covering his nose while hanging onto Ben. “Yeah I know it is.” Lawrence says solemnly. “It’s all I know … you know how I was raised.” Lawrence speaks up defensively. “You know how it is when a person who only speaks a foreign language that you don’t understand is trying to talk to you?” He sighs deeply as if troubled by a memory. “I mean you know they are speaking but you just can’t understand them. Well that’s what living with a person who is mentally ill is like.” Sara got it she understood fully what the man was saying. Her mind escaped the dank house and found its way to her grandfather all those thousands of miles away. Sara Lockett felt as though she might choke up herself. “To hell with that Sir I got one question.” Ben utters. “As your humbled guest I just need to know is it safe here?” Lawrence’s head perks up he lifts the lantern up with a smile. They can see a thin piece of dirty rope that vanishes into the darkness above them. “Yes … yes it is.” Lawrence grabs the cord. “Step back please.” He says as they all part ways Ben and Willie crush Sara into the corner against the door. With a simple tug on the rope from above comes the creak of wood. Before Ben and Will can react, a brown folded ladder appears. “Please be my guest.” Lawrence Falkner ushers the trio up the ladder staying behind drop a massive beam of wood into metal brackets barring the backdoor. He props his shovel against the door for safekeeping as well. Lawrence ascends the ladder behind his guest with a well-rehearsed ease. He finds them bottle necked at the top of the ladder in a tiny attic doorway. They stare out into a small dimly lit attic. The space is so immaculately clean that is almost hospital sterile.

 

 

Sara and Ben have made it through the night. They have met a few new people but their main goal remains the same. To get back to their people at The First New Faith Baptist Church. Their second goal appears to be the demise of The Sin Preacher.

 

 

  Come back and see what happens in Chapter 44 the week of March 30th!

 

 

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