Chapter 46: Double Time

Chapter 46: Double Time

  He pulls his battered body up to the back door of his house. Colonel felt the aches and pains of age on his tweak his bones. More so he felt the pain for the “ass whoopin’” the muscular young soldier has laid on him. His head throbbed the pain emanating from a tender swollen bump between his eyes. The blow to his head had slowed his reaction down to a near zombie like state. Colonel’s mental faculties moved about slowly as if in a thick sea of pudding. He thought to himself that this fact alone had served him well. He had traversed the back roads home after narrowly escaping the slaughter back at the church. A nosy Rotter now appears in his peripheral vision. The woman has had her scalp peeled back like a banana. The loose meaty clump of hair and skin sways across the back of her neck like a ponytail. He thinks he recognizes the ragged woman from the neighborhood. She closes in on him one unsteady step after another her dull cloudy eyes fixing on him. Colonel thinks he may have given himself away. He kept a slow and steady dead like gait as he shuffled home passing clusters of zombies with no problems. However, the sight of his house had invigorated him causing his pace to quicken. He knew any unwanted attention would cause more zombies to congregate around his home thus slowing his plans for revenge. He makes his movement’s quick and precise dropping down seizing a hefty brick in his calloused hand. The bear sized man launches himself at the slack-jawed fetid corpse. With the crunch of fine china, breaking Colonel slams the brick home. Dispatching the zombie with such brute force her moan caught in her throat where it will remain forever silent unable to alert more of her kind. Panting his husky chest heaving the old soldier takes a brief instant to scan the open backyard. With no sign of further Rotter encroachment Colonel rummages a blood cake hand through his pants pocket. He winches from the pain in his groin “damn bitch” he thinks back to the little Hispanic female soldier and the kick she delivered to his nutsack. Once he hooks a finger around the key ring. Colonel nimbly opens the rear door of his humble non-descript house and steps inside.

   Familiar smells greet him some new some decades old. He steps over one-step that he knows will emit annoying creak in one giant stride. He moves through the kitchen, dining room and into the living room. The front of the house is pristine decorated with furniture from the late seventies. The casual observer would have no clue of the cataclysmic events that have befallen the world outside. Still playing the key ring in his hand as he marches down a narrow hallway. The gooey zombie blood drying on his fingers like syrup from some long ago breakfast. Having never married he turns the key in the lock of the only bedroom he’s ever known. Not counting the barracks of untold military bases across the globe, he had called home temporarily. The room in his parents’ home has grown with him over the decades. Today in the midst of everything, he enters a place as familiar to him as his own skin. Now he heads towards a place in this sparsely decorated bedroom that is a little less familiar his closet. Colonel sighs his heartbeats erratically in his chest he unlocks the heavy doorknob. The thick metal door he installed after returning for service in Vietnam groans on it’s hinges. A smile begins at the corners of his mouth Colonel lets his eyes wash over the shrine before him. This had once been a simple closet. Colonel had remodeled the cramped dank space into a vault paying homage to his military service. He feels around in the dark finding the cheap dollar store light he mounted years ago. A tiny round battery operated light buzzes to life casting its weak beam upon several dress uniforms spanning his time in the Marines. Photos cover a black shelf on the rear wall of the closet. Colonel pauses briefly at each one of the half dozen photos. The face of a young burly boy holding an M-60 in the jungles of Vietnam greets him. Moving from top to bottom, he ages forty years in a manner of seconds. There the last picture of him arm in a sling his newly mangled hand wrapped with so much white gauze it resembled a big Q-tip. He recalls The President having to reach up to pin his Purple Heart and Medal of Honor on his chest. Colonel thought he was going to cry right there in front of his parents, the President and the world. His emotional state was not due to his injury. It was due to that I.E.D he spotted as he and his men patrolled that stifling hot wretched town square in Iraq. Without thinking, without fear he tossed the bag containing said device away from his troops mere seconds before it detonated. His actions after losing most of three fingers and the wounds he sustained in ensuing firefight had earned him the Medals. The last medals he knew, he would ever receive as Marine. They forced him to retire. Left with no others options than to drag himself back to this derelict outpost of tobacco chewing humanity. He was about to reach out and caress the sash of medals that twinkled in the dim light like ornaments on a Christmas tree. A new sound found its way to his ears along with an even more familiar smells. “Mom …” he gripes like a teenager demanding privacy.

  Colonel cocks his head ever so slightly. He sees his small mother standing in the doorway to his room. A post she had taken more times than he can remember in her eighty-five plus years of life. A thick white bandage adorns her left forearm, he had field dressed her wound himself. “Bradford Beasley” she kept calling him by his legal name and she was the only human he allowed that privilege. She had done this an attempt to sooth him and forestall the inevitable explosion of his legendary temper. The frail white haired woman who walked with the aid of an old weathered brown cane stood swaying side to side in the doorway. Her cane now absent as her dull milky white orange-flecked eyes settle on his warm flesh. Colonel had found the man who attacked his mother and bit his mother. He staggered about mulling aimlessly at the end of their driveway that day. In fact, the man’s corpse still lay at the end of said driveway. Colonel didn’t know it then but the man whose head he had viciously twisted almost a hundred and eighty degrees on his shoulders was a Rotter. “Momma …” he heard himself croak as the only woman Colonel had ever loved came at him. Her feeble arms were outstretched a string of brackish saliva dangled from her chin. The elderly woman’s false teeth fell clattering comically to the floor with the opening of her mouth. Colonel steps forward pinning his undead mother’s arms to her side. He lifts the small woman up like a baby. In life, he had gotten all of his massive size and girth from his father. With a violent whipping motion he slams his mother’s head into wall sending shard of plaster raining down on them both. The second blow rattles the walls with a wet snapping sound his mother going limp in his embrace. Colonel throws his mother’s body back out the doorway. It lands in a heap resembling dirty laundry and old belched white dough. Colonel turns his attention back to his closet. Suddenly he feels something wet hit the back of his hand. “Blood … she bit me …” his panicked mind, screams.

 Colonel staggers over to the closet jabbing his hand into the light. There on the back of his hand a tiny droplet of clear liquid trails off. Initially Colonel is confused until he reaches up touching his cheek. “A tear …” He mutters to no one. The sudden appearance of humanity and useless emotions within him fills his chest with a burning rage. The mere thought of showing what he considers weakness pushes whatever is left of his soul back into the vault he kept it locked in for so many years. Colonel grabs his sash of medals tossing them to the floor. He does with all the grace of a man throwing change in to a beggar’s cup. The snarls erupting from his mouth would freeze a Rotter in it’s tracks. He grabs both sides of the small black shelf yanking it free. He propels it over his head not even bothering to look where it lands with a crash. There hanging on the wall is his true uniform a dull faded sandy mixture of camouflage patterns. The left side of it tattered and bloodied from the explosion that day so long ago. Above it sits his olive green helmet from yet another conflict still covered in frayed netting. One of the first thing the Marine Corps had ever issued to him. On the wall mounted next to it were weapons that had served with him in combat. A black batter M-16, two .45 caliber pistols, and a long polished bayonet all decorate the closet’s back wall. Beneath that, hanging from a hook is a chest harness with three egg shaped grenades on either side. On the floor is as much ordnance as one could sneak home during forty years of military service. Colonel was ready for war and he had the tools to wage one if he so desired. He would as of yet meet his end on the battlefield. His mind let go of everything except one fact, he knew the rats were hiding at the old Olmsted farm. He would get them out the same way he got “Charlie” to come out of his hidey-holes dug into the soft jungle floor by blowing them apart.

 “Ok ... Ok…” Sara steadies herself as she navigates the police car back down the road towards Lawrence’s house. “We get Lawrence to tell us how to get back to White Magic’s place.” Ben nods leaning forward in his seat willing the car to go faster. His family was safe for now and every minute he has spent apart from them in this hellish reality weighs heavily on him. “Can we just raise them on the radio?” Ben points at the dash mounted unit in the Sheriff’s car. Sara steals a quick glance down hesitantly taking her eyes off the road. “Not sure ….” She says returning her attention to driving around wrecks and avoiding the Rotters now littering the roads. “Flick it on Mr. James and hand me the handheld mic.” She says. Sara notices far more zombies crowding the once wide-open country road than she did on their way to the church. “We brought them out Mr. James.” She points taking the mic as Ben slaps it into her palm. “Yeah I think you’re right.” Ben replies looking at all of the dull creatures shambling after the speeding car. Coming up in the center of the street, they see the biker’s corpse they’d dumped in the road surrounded by zombies. The dead almost appear to be investigating the body their now singular thought process unable to comprehend its sudden appearance. “Let’s just not be here when the sun goes down Sara,” Ben says nervously. “Agreed Mr. James” Sara tells Ben holding the mic up and pressing the lone black button on its side. “Hello is there anybody listening over?” Sara tries the last radio station used by the car’s previous occupant. Static bursts of white noise assaults their ears filling the car causing the pair to recoil. Sara gives Ben the most common military frequency she can think of. She knows that White Magic had a military radio in his bunker. “This is Private First Class Sara Lockett come in farm house over.” She calls into the mic again. She uses her military rank and title just in case. “Watch out!” Ben screams pointing to a large hunting pack of Rotters flanked by burnt out cars on either side. Sara drops the mic clamping both hands on the steering wheel. Sara swings the car onto the sidewalk brutally bowling over a trio of walking corpses. Entrails and blood baptize the car as they narrowly miss the blackened husk of a minivan. “Shit that was close.” Ben sighs. “Here’s Lawrence’s street.” He continues noticing they had indeed brought the dead out with their noisy exit. “Drive on the grass around back.” He instructs Sara as she guides the car around a large house.

 Ahead of them in the distance is Lawrence’s house. Ben glances across the field they had traversed earlier. He can see the river and railroad trestle in the distance. “You stay on that radio I’ll get Lawrence and Willie.” Ben shouts as the car bounces over the uneven earth. The car fishtails to a stop a few feet from the back of the rickety back porch. Ben is out running across the gravel with the big shotgun clutched tightly to his chest. He moves with the focus of a football player who sees only open field and the endzone before him. Ben hits the porch hard twisting the knob he realizes its locked. Gazing back, he sees Sara now standing with the idling car’s door open. She hold the mic in one hand AR-15 in the other the way cops on TV do. She stares back in the direction they had come then she speaks “Umm better make this shit quick!” Ben turns leaning further off the porch coming for them is a phalanx of Rotters. The undead pour around the house at the end of the block like concertgoers pushing towards a stage. “Lawrence ….” Ben screams as he pounds the door feeling it rattle in it’s frame. “Lawrence ….” His blows continue to assault the thin door. It takes less than two minutes for Lawrence Faulkner swing the door open. To Ben however it drags out like an eternity before he sees the man’s flushed and terrified cherub like face. “Lawrence get in the car.” Ben orders. “I … I can’t leave ...” Ben interrupts “I can’t get back to my family unless you tell us how Lawrence.” Ben implores. “Lawrence there are zombies coming for us.” Lawrence steps past Ben grabbing his shovel. “Now Mister James we can handle zombies.” He brushes past Ben “Now how many do we got?” Lawrence says stepping down from the last step. “All of them Lawrence we fucking have all of them.” Ben says with a sarcastic smile from the top step. The shovel drops from Lawrence’s hand and for brief second Ben thinks the man is going to turn and run. “Mr. James go now I got him.” Sara urges Ben on as she grabs Lawrence’s fat elbow escorting him to the back seat of the cruiser.

 Ben bounds up the ladder frantically yelling “Willie!” Cresting the stairs with all the grace of a slapstick comedian Ben scurries over to the prone man. “What …” Willie squeaks out of his dry lips. “Great you’re not dead.” Ben blurts flatly, “We got to go Willie.” Sweat pours from his baldhead in the muggy attic. “Sorry Willie.” Ben tells the man as his sizes his long lanky frame up. “Wha ... whas wrong wit you man.” Willie’s eyes flutter between pain induced grogginess and confusion. Willie O gets his answer in the form of white-hot agony as Ben drops the tactical shotgun on his chest. In seconds, the streetwise criminal blacks out from the pain. Ben drives both hands under the injured convict using a much rougher technique than he did with Chip. A pang of guilt hits his heart as he lifts the man up. Ben feels as though he hasn’t seen his children in forever. His body cannibalizes this feeling of guilt converting it to will power. His legs move him to the small ladder leading out of the attic. The sound of gunfire begins to echo up from outside. Ben decides to take the express route down. The throws himself forward legs outstretched like a man at the mouth of a waterslide. The ride down is painful as his tailbone slaps each wooden plank rattling his teeth. A pile of trash unceremoniously ends his ride abruptly. With his knees, protesting Ben huffs twice rocking himself to a standing position. He stumbles through the trash heaps balancing Willie and the gun on his chest. Ben notices thin tendrils of fresh blood coloring the edges of the bandages on Willie’s lower midsection. Mercifully, Ben makes it to the open backdoor. Immediately a zombie coming up the stairs greets him with a low growl. Instinct drives Ben’s leg out and into the big festering corpses chin. He feels the kick break bone as it lifts the zombie up tossing it backwards down the stairs. Ben doesn’t hesitate leaping down the two remaining stairs as the Rotter and two of his kin wallow about on the ground attempting to stand.

  Sara engages the horde approaching them from the rear. The soldier stands a few feet from the open car door giving herself room to retreat. She drops zombies with short three shot burst only to watch as half a dozen more take their brethren’s place. The air around her fills with blue smoke. She is in her zone placing bullets in eye sockets, foreheads and otherwise decimating facial features of the once living. “Someone was on the radio.” Sara’s eyes never leave her targets as she shouts out. “Com’on!” Lawrence barks waving to Ben his shovel in hand again. Lawrence defends their flank between his house and that of his neighbors. The same narrow space that Ben and Sara had used as an escape route earlier. The chunky man pounds a Rotter comically in the face and in the same motion, he shoves the rounded handle into a dead man’s eye. Ben hunkers low running for the safety of car’s open rear door. He is blindsided by a pair of Rotters. Their probing hands grabbing for open exposed flesh. Ben whirls throwing a smaller child zombie in a Boy Scout uniform into the dirt. Over his shoulder, Ben feels cold undead saliva pelting his neck. Fear digs into his gut as he awaits the inevitable bite. He feels the blade of Lawrence’s shovel breeze by his cheek. “Got’em” Lawrence reassures Ben James grabbing him by the shoulders. Lawrence Faulkner rides Ben and Willie into the back of the car as if he were a Secret Service Agent. “Go!” Ben wheezes from under Lawrence’s bulk. He feels something warm soaking into his shirt struggling to breath. “Come in I say again over.” A man’s voice calls from the radio’s microphone. Suddenly Ben feels as if the weight of the world has lifted off his chest literally. Lawrence sits up stretching for the door. The instant he grips it cold hands grasp his wrist. The car lurches forward chewing up gravel and grass in a cloud. The Rotter’s hands slip harmlessly from Lawrence’s arm as a dead postal worker sinks it’s teeth into thin air.

 Ben rights himself noticing the Rorschach pattern of blood on his white shirt. He winces looking at an unconscious Willie. The blood on Willie is now more evident coating his arms and bandages. Ben sits the man up pulling the shotgun onto his lap. “This is Private Locket over.” They hear Sara from the front of the car. “Was it them?” Ben asks a look of hope flickering in his eyes. “No Mr. James I tried that channel.” The car bounces roughly Sara fights to hold on to the wheel. “Lawrence can you tell us how to get to the …” Sara snaps her fingers caught in a bout of absent-mindedness. “They called it the old Olmstead Farm.” Ben interjects. Lawrence stares ahead still breathing heavily. He rubs his smooth meaty chin. “It’s near a subdivision called Clow Oaks I think.” Ben adds his mind travels back to the sub-division they had more than likely burned to the ground. “Is it atop a hill all out by itself?” Lawrence holds a sausage like finger in the air. “Yes … yes …. Yes” Ben shakes the fat man with gusto. “I know where it is!” Lawrence stares blankly out the window as they crash through a small thicket of trees onto a road. “It’s back the way we just came from.” The hope drains from Ben’s face like air leaving a tire. “I say again this is Sara Locket speaking to whoever answered earlier over.” Sara grips the microphone in one hand and the car’s wheel in the other. “Sara ... Sara.” Lawrence slaps at the mesh cage separating them. “What?” She calls back clearly frustrated. “Gone back down this road I know another field we can cross up the road a bit.” Sara spins the big Crown Victoria about and rockets the other way as instructed. “This is Brigadier General Patrick O’Malley Private Locket over.” The hoarse voice is different from the one she heard at the house. Sara almost drops the mic as she attempts to respond. “General O’Malley Sir exactly where are you stationed at Sir?” Sara is practically shouting the question. “Never mind that Private Locket that’s top secret where are you and where is your unit over?” The grizzled electronically tinged voice responds. Sara licks her lips steering the car down a twisting country road. “Ms. Sara…” Lawrence bangs on the mesh gate from the backseat again. “Gone and cut cross this field here.” The man hooks a big thumb in the general direction of a green flowing pasture stretching towards the horizon. Sara doesn’t protest hoping the cruiser over a slight gulley. The car immediately begins to chew up the soft grass ejecting dual pinwheels of dirt. Sara gives the unknown General on the other end of the radio the information he requested. “General O’Malley Sir I was with the unit assigned to St. George’s.” She breathes deeply fighting for control of the car like trying to ride a bucking horse. “We were under the command of Staff Sargent Glass’ detachment sir.” The radio goes silent as Private Lockett powers the big V8 engine mashing her foot on the gas pedal. “Private Lockett how many are you?” General O’Malley’s voice sounds more urgent. Sara imagines the old General sitting closer to the microphone wherever he is. “Sir there are three of us remaining and a group of civilians Sir.” The General’s voice blares from the microphone. “Private are you outside now?” His voice crackles. “Sir ….. Yes we are Sir over” The confusion more than evident in Sara’s voice. “Private you and your people need to go to ground now over.” Sara feels the mic vibrate in her hand as the General’s words explode into the cabin of the police car. Sara is not sure how to answer which is irrelevant. General O’Malley voice booms out an ominous warning. “In approximately nineteen minutes the entire central United States will experience a total solar eclipse.” Sara’s hand begins to succumb to a low electric tremble. Her blood has gone stone cold suddenly she struggles to breath. “Whys that a problem again?” Lawrence muses a smile of ignorance on his face. Ben grabs his shotgun off his lap swallowing the bile rising in his throat. “Cause I assume the Rotters will flip their switches and go all hyper smart on us.” Lawrence turns to Ben his jaw slack open wide enough to catch stray bugs. “Aww now that aint even fair its day time!” Lawrence protest. Sara’s mind pushes the only word it can find free from her lips. “Fuck …” She trails off staring blankly ahead.





Well it looks like the James family is in for one hell of  a family reunion and they will have more than a few unwanted guests.




Come back the week of July 6th for the next Chapter of The Living Dark





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The Living Dark 

Chapter 45: Back in the Game

Chapter 45: Back in the Game

 

  Lawrence peeked under the thin bed sheet covering Willie O apprehension clearly etched on his face. The lean man fidgeted in the grip of a restless sleep under the thin veil of cover. Almost the entire right side of his chest covered in white gauze. Lawrence shakes his head unsure of Willie’s true condition. He gently lays the cover across the man’s sweaty chest before standing. Lawrence walks over to meet a now clothed Benjamin James. “Ben he might need more help than I can give’em.” Ben sighs as Sara exits the bathroom. “Lawrence doesn’t think Willie is doing well.” Ben informs her taking in the outfit Lawrence had provided her. She has tied a white t-shirt up in a knot and pair of blue boxers with which she had repeated the knotting process. He thanked the Lord he fit the roomy grey sweat pants better than Sara did. The white shirt he wore and plain white sneakers were at least clean. “Lawrence I don’t know what to say my friend” Ben leaned in. “I need to get back to my family and the church pronto. Willie …. Well he’s not my problem Lawrence.” Lawrence rubs his head reminding Ben of “Curly” from the three Stooges. The wheels in Lawrence’s head seem to turn just a bit slower than they did with an average person. “Ben don’t worry he can stay here with me. If he makes it well Willie can leave when he’s ready.” Lawrence feels beads of sweat popping up across his forehead. His stomach in knots he didn’t usually like company. “Where’s your family and friends Ben … Which church they at?” Ben draws a blank “Ummm.” He looks to Sara confused. “First New ….” Lawrence breaks in. “First New Faith aww hell y’all done run cross The Sin Preacher.” “Yeah that’s her” Ben all but barks. “Well she and her people are crazy as shit house rats’ buuuuut ….” Lawrence smiles rubbing his chin recalling his family’s past with The Sin Preacher. “I’m guessing y’all already know that.” Sara snorts she brings her new found pistol into view. “Well Lawrence tell us how to get there from here.” Lawrence mulls over the questions. “Its bout ten or eleven miles from here you go up the street make a left just head out you’ll see’em signs everywhere.” Ben shakes with rage. “We’ve already wasted two hours or so. Now we’ve got to hustle through ten miles of zombie infested cornfields.” Ben gives Sara the once over. “You don’t even have shoes fuck!” His frustration boiling over Sara makes to grab his arm. “Well now Ben you just need a few things.” Lawrence steps back. “Sara there are bags of new women’s clothes downstairs.” Lawrence turns from the conversation. “My mom she just shopped and shopped. She bought thangs she had no need for; she couldn’t even fit most of it.” They were staring at the darkened ladder that led back down stairs. “Sara …” Lawrence points to the girl. “You still got the keys you took off Sheriff Lee?” Sara nods. “Well then we need to get you some clothes then.” Sara can hear Lawrence Faulkner’s breathing as he pulls them close. “Sheriff’s car is parked up the block. There’s ya guns and ya transportation.” “Does it drive Lawrence?” Ben moves his hand up slowly. “Yes sir her drove down here to check on everyone the day after everything went haywire.” He clears his throat. It took Ben several seconds in the dim light to see the man holding a fat arm aloft for a well-deserved high five.

 

  Several minutes later, the trio is standing on the cramped back porch. Sara and Ben hold battery powered plastic green lanterns. The oil lit lantern with its dancing flame dancing swings in Lawrence’s grip. Light filters through various points in the old rickety house. The lanterns do little more than push the darkness back a few feet. “Ok Lawrence what the hell are we doing here?” Sara ask holding her lantern up. She scans the wall of garbage with a disgusted sneer. “Well now Sara there are bags and bags of clean new clothes piled up’n the kitchen.” Lawrence motions over the mountains of old newspapers and assorted trash. “I don’t know about this, we are really in a hurry my friend.” Ben breaks in waving his lantern around like a magic wand. “I preciate that you want to get to your family Ben but Ms. Sara …” Lawrence turns bashfully pointing to the young woman. “She can’t be much help to you runnin’ round mostly naked.” Ben could see his point. “Plus the more skin she shows the more she risks gettin’ bit by one of them zombies.” Ben gestures with his head massaging his temple. “Lawrence …. What’s …. Fastest … way to do this.” The last words trail from Benjamin’s mouth dripping with anger. “Well now Ben don’t be mad but I’m too big.” Lawrence stutters. “Y’all need to climb up carefully then just stay on top’a dem piles straight through to the kitchen.” Ben places the handle of his lantern between his teeth. Then hefts himself clumsily up the nearest dusty pile of refuse. The house is dank and heating up as the Sun bakes the rancid trash. Ben feels sweat break out all over his dark skin. Sara reluctantly hands her pistol to Lawrence before following Ben up the nearest pile. Ben gingerly makes his way across the trash heaps finding himself in the kitchen. He places each hand testing the trash heaps. The smell if stifling Ben feels woozy as the stench crawls down into his lungs with each breath. He gags causing the lantern to pin wheel from his mouth. Ben reaches for the lantern in a desperate attempt to keep his only source of light. He finds himself tumbling down in an avalanche of rubbish. “Ben!’ Sara shouts from behind him. Ben comes to rest flat on his back suddenly aware of something running across his ankle. “Fuck …” Panicking Ben’s mind races through the possibly. “Rats, spiders, roaches who the hell knows in this dump.” He scampers over seizing the softy glowing light. “Jesus ….” Ben whispers breathlessly his words barely heard as they fall from his trembling lips. He watches as dozens of filthy black rats scatter. The light illuminates a feeble zombie pawing helplessly at the air.

 

  Ben watches the zombie pinned beneath what he thinks is at least a decade’s worth of faded nature magazines. The dead man’s skin is molted and grey there are rat bite marks all over its dead flesh. Something moves near Ben’s other hand. He quickly shines the light down where he is sitting. “Shit!” Ben snatches his hand away seconds before a decaying woman closes her teeth around it. He clamors to his feet in a frenzy. Looking around the kitchen Ben stumbles over to a window ripping down a shade. Light bathes the area in front him. He looks up to Sara trembling. “Lawrence …” She calls the hostility in her words more than evident. “Yes” his voice comes back muffled by the wall-to-wall trash. “When you said your family was gone did you mean they left or that they are dead?” She rolls her eyes awaiting the man’s reply. “Umm well they’re gone cause they’s dead Ms. Sara. They got bit and turned into zombies after they died.” Sara huffs from atop the stack. “Lawrence what happened then?” The silence drags out as Ben presses back against the window. He sucks in stale air in big gulps. “Well I couldn’t put’em down so, I done pushed a bunch of stuff on’em and hid out upstairs. “Ohhhhhh.” Sara screams in anger. “And he didn’t think this was something we might fucking need to know?” She snarls at Ben. “Lawrence how many were there?” Sara shouts back into the darkness. “Three Ms. Sara my ... my mom.” “That’s all I needed Lawrence.” She cuts the man off. “This whole fucking town is nuts.” Sara brings her voice down just enough for Ben to hear. “Ok watch out Mr. James there’s one unaccounted for.” Sara Lockett whips her head around frantically scanning the immediate area. She sees no signs of their missing zombie. Her eyes land on a pile of bright yellow see through plastic bags. “Jackpot” Sara mouths. Ben did not know why he had frozen in place. He felt sweat cascading off his bald head down his back. Ben teetered on a mound of trash seized by vertigo. “Mr. James …. Ben!” Sara leaps down from her perch on the trash mound. Sara takes care to avoid the pawing arms of the two zombies. Their mouths move but no sound escape from their dead compressed lungs. Sara stumbles over to Ben steadying herself by grabbing his beefy forearm. “You ok bug guy?” Sara asks placing a hand on Ben’s chest. “I … I” Ben stammers. “It almost bit me.” Ben pines his eyes watering. Sara hands Ben her lantern as she untucks the shiv from the waistband of her boxers. She takes several unsteady steps over to the first zombie that had laid in wait for them. She plunges the metal into its empty left eye socket with a twisting motion. The undead eyeless man falls still in his trash littered grave. Sara wastes no time stomping over to shriveled dead female corpse. She lay pinned under the weight of garbage up to her neck with one arm exposed. Sara grits her teeth stabbing down hitting the zombie square in the center of its forehead. She leaves the crude weapon stuck in the woman’s forehead. Sara storms over to the pile of tied up bags sitting in what was the ram-shackled house’s kitchen sink. “Mr. James get back to Lawrence and watch your footing.” She calls out. “We’re still missing one.” She wishing the big rats scampering around the floor were their only concern. Sara rips into the first she bag and does not look back.

 

  Sara Lockett stood face to face with Lawrence Falkner twenty minutes later. She was dressed in blue jeans with a matching denim jacket, white shirt, and gym shoes. Sara was closing in on twenty years of age but even she knew one thing. Every piece of clothing she now wore was a throwback relic from the nineties. They itched and smelled like her grandmother’s attic but the beat being naked. “Again I’m sorry.” Lawrence wipes his face nervously. “I could put down a hundred zombies but not my Ma and Pa. Not my family I couldn’t do it.” She had stifled a deep desire to punch fat man. Once both she and Ben had crawled back over the trash to where Lawrence stood. “I understand Lawrence.” Ben looked at Sara hesitantly. Ben looked at the backdoor then back to Lawrence. “Look stay away from that open window Lawrence” Sara speaks up. “We are going to find our people then we’ll come back for you and Willie.” Lawrence raises his lantern letting the light wash over his face. “I appreciate it really I do but I’m home guys.” Ben nods his understanding. He is unwilling to debate the man any further. The only thing Ben James wants is his family and a generous helping of revenge. Sara moves to the backdoor hand on the knob. “Take care my friends” Lawrence smiles holding out a meaty hand. Sarah turns back to the man. “Thank you Lawrence you saved our lives for sure.” She tells him ignoring everything within her. Sara takes Lawrence in a polite embrace much to his surprise. “Yes thank you and we will be back my friend.” Ben shakes Lawrence’s free hand vigorously. “We’ll take care to deal with any zombies hanging around.” Sara releases the embrace. “This way they won’t work their way back to you guys.” She slowly pulls the pistol twisting the doorknob cautiously. “Ok and remember you go round the house’n down the block Sheriff Lee’s car is down the block middle of the street.” Lawrence covers his eyes as the light invades the dark cluttered house. Sara looks about no zombies coming over the field from the river. She also sees none in the immediate area around the back porch. She moves down the small steps blinking as the sun assaults her eyes causing them to water.

 

   The warm fresh air washes over the pair. Ben follows quickly behind her his hands empty. Pivoting his head Ben desperately looks for something he can use as a weapon. “God I don’t like being empty handed.” Ben whispers fiercely the round the house crouching. “It’s ok Mr. James.” Sara says as she scurries forward pistol at her side. “If what Lawrence says is true you should have a weapon pretty soon.” They come to rest on a large tree. “There we go Mr. James past the wreck.” Sara draws Ben’s attention down the block to a white police car. “I don’t see any zombies” She looks both ways up and down the block. “Yet” She adds sarcastically. There are cars by the dozen strewn about the spacious street. They can see a multicar crash that blocked the street between them and the patrol car. “We move low Sara and stay away from the wrecked cars.” Sara nods holding her pistol up at eye level. Together they move hunched over always on the lookout for the undead. “Almost there” Sara calls back to Ben they pick up the pace. Sara pulls the ring of keys from her pocket. “Mr. James I’ll drive and we’ll stop down the road and check the car for weapons.” Ben swings wide around the front of the car. He stares at the mangled cars. Ben’s mind goes to his son Chip. He wonders what he and Belinda must have gone through during their ordeal. He vowed to himself at that moment that he and his family would never be apart again. Sara whips her door open sliding into the car. She takes a split second to pop the lock on Ben’s Side. “Let’s go.” She slams the doors as Ben does the same. Stabbing the key into the ignition and turning it. Every flashing light in the car comes on followed a wailing siren. “Fuck turn it off” Ben panics. Sara slaps at the dashboard hitting the switches marked “siren” and “lights.” “Oh no” Sara cries looking out the car’s windshield. The dead came meandering out of hiding in droves. They came from houses, alleyways, parked cars and the shadows all along the street. A deep moan erupts from the back seat as the pair turn. In the back of the squad car sits a large biker zombie. The dead man with the long blood stringy black hair slams his head into the steel mesh between the front and back seat. “Shit” shouts Sara dropping the pistol to the floor. The dead thing growls again flinging itself forward again. Ben is so distracted he doesn’t see the walking corpses shamble up top his side of the car. The ghouls proceed to pound on the car seeking the soft warm flesh inside. “Sara we need to go now.” Ben recoils back from the window then slumps into the seat. “There’s a damn zombie in the back of the car.” Shouts Sara. She observes a growing mass of zombies slowly surrounding the car. “He’s handcuffed Sara get us the fuck out of here.” Needing no further prodding she throws the cars in reverse taking great care not to lean back against the metal grate. They clip a parked car as they take off down the street. Sara backs over several zombies lumbering up on their rear. With a yank of the car’s steering wheel Sara spins the car around. “Lawrence said end of the street the head left.” Ben reminds he panting as he cast a nervous glance at their snarling passenger.

 

  They rocket down the center of the road. Sara expertly dodges stalled and wrecked cars strewn about the two-lane road. Ten minutes later, they find themselves encircled by empty open fields. “Look” Ben speaks up pointing to a plain white wooden sign. The black script reads “First New Faith 2 miles ahead.” The car skids to a stop sideways as Sara jams the breaks down. She is out of the car before Ben realizes it. Taking two strides Sara grabs the rear driver’s side door snatching it open. The sound of the gunshots startles Ben. The big zombie in the backseat slumps to the floor it’s brains splattered on the window of the opposite door. “That bastard was irritating the shit out of me.” She snaps. Ben takes the keys from the ignition and exits the car in a rush. He heads for the trunk of the long white car. As he opens the trunk, he watches Sara drag the dead body from the back of car. He looks down into the trunk and smiles. Ben takes up a tactical shotgun chambering a round. “Yes Lord thank you.” Sara says now besides him placing the pistol in her waistband. She unclips the AR-15 from inside of the trunk’s lid. “Grab the bands of shells.” Ben is glad to see Sara smiling again as she speaks. He takes the belts of shells as instructed and loops them across his chest. “It’s about noon Ben.” Private Lockett states looking skyward breathing deeply. “Let’s go Sara.” He tosses her the keys. They climb into the car and make their way towards The Sin Preacher’s house.

 

   The roads begin to look somewhat familiar from their drive in what seemed like forever ago. “Now remember Mr. James I get to bash that bitches head in.” Sara chuckles. Ben opens his mouth to speak but his words trail off. They watch the zombie dragging itself clumsily down the center strip of the road. The dead man is huge “as much as I’d love to run it down.” She looks to Ben “I think it will damage the car.” Sara turns the car wide around the burly walking corpse. The dead man stumbled on listlessly moving on heavy booted feet. “What the hell?” Sara can’t believe her eyes as they drive slowly past the big zombie with its head down. “Ben that’s that big old bastard” She points snapping her fingers. “Colonel … that was his name Colonel.” She swallows hard understanding the implications. Blood covers the front of the old soldier’s clothes. His face is an unrecognizable mask of lumps and bruises. The car’s occupants slowly realize the sinister implications of the dead man wandering down the road. “Ben …” She gazes back in the man pained face. “They got in Ben the church got overrun.” Sara feels her heart race her chest begins to burn. Ben’s eyes cloud over with pain. The car lurches forward as Sara mashes the gas pedal to the floor. Ben sits his mouth agape in shock. “Don’t worry Ben.” She calls him by his first name for a change. Sarah uses her free hand to place the two extra clips for the AR-15 into her lap. To her right Ben wrings his hands around the assault shotgun. Sara hopes he doesn’t cause the weapon to discharge in the car. They arrive just on the outskirts of the church property. “I don’t see any other zombies.” Sara takes her hand from the wheel and catches Ben by the arm. The big man stops one foot out the door. “Ben we do this the right way. We take care, we find out what happened to our …” She didn’t expect to choke up. The idea of having lost everyone washed over her unexpectedly. Ben takes Sara’s hand in his. They meet each other’s gaze “We take our time and do this right.” Sara says shaking her head. Sara’s eyes never leaving the white building in the distance sitting encircled behind a high wire fence. Sara takes the lead after thumbing the safety off her weapon. The pistol sits tucked in her pants. “Let’s head around back.” She whispers heading behind a tree. “Ben watch our back for Rotters.” Sara waves a hand dismissively at the dense wooded area. They begin to work a long wide arch around the back of the church. Ben and Sara keep to the tree line using it as cover. “Shit, shoot, damn.” Sara calls out in frustration upon seeing the rear of the property. The carport that they had entered that first day stood wide open. All of the cars once parked in the long barnlike structure were now gone. “That’s our way in.” Ben taps her on the shoulder noting the open doors were in line with the fence. They scamper across the open area Sara keeps her weapon held high. They both draw up against the interior wall of the dark carport. “Door’s open.” Ben motions with his shotgun. A thin shaft of light sneaks its way in via the door. They make their way to the door stealing a quick glance out. The rear of the church property is empty except for an unmoving female zombie. The body lays at the base of a small porch with its head caved in. “Looks clear ….” Sara starts. “Don’t ... don’t” a man’s voice croaks up from the darkness across the carport. They spin in unison bumping the door closed.  

 

“Who’s there?” Sara calls raising her rifle inching towards the voice. “Wait” Ben grabs her shoulder. He fumbles his hand up the weapon’s muzzle. With a snap, he flips on small flashlight affixed to the muzzle of the shotgun. He aims the beam into the darkened corner. There he sees a thick-bodied middle-aged Hispanic man. Ben uses the light on his gun to scan the man. There is a gaping tear along his right forearm. It makes the nasty bite leaking blood from his neck look like a cat scratch. “Who are you?” Ben asks the man whose skin is a sickly greasy yellow hue. “Don’t matter now.” The man struggles to speak holding up his wounded arm. Blood rolls down the man’s arm soaking his shirt. “You’re with that family and the soldiers?” He was having great difficulty breathing. His chest rose and fell unevenly but that didn’t stop Ben from moving over to his side. “Yes we are have you seen them?” Ben asks eagerly. “They … they got out.” He points with a pistol in his other hand. The man’s arm dangles weakly. He looks to Ben like a puppet whose master is tugging his strings ever so slightly. Ben’s eyes light up with hope. “They … uhhh” He contorts in agony before coughing up a wad of deep red blood. The dying man spits clearing his mouth. “They left in … a big ice...” He trails off weakly dropping his head to his chest. “Ice cream truck?” Ben shouts moving closer to the man in the corner. “Slow down Ben be careful.” Sara cautions Ben untucking the pistol bringing it to bear on the man. Ben notices the man’s sickly eyes seem dull and distant unable to focus on any one point. “I …. Was making sure …. Everyone got out.” He struggles to stay conscious. “Heard …. screams from other side of church. There were …..” He swallows pain etched on his face. “Somehow zombies were closed up in there with them.” His voice strained as he forces the words out. “They got to …. Me” The man says forcing himself to laugh. “I held door let …. Others es…. Escape.” Ben stares back at Sara. A look passes between them as they realize this man had been a hero. From the trees, they hear the crunching of leaves. The sound is as loud as a gunshot. “Shit.” Ben snaps his eyes going to back the way they had come. Ben counted at least six corpses making their way slowly towards the open end of the carport. “Ben we …” Mangled arms reach through the open door grabbing Sara’s long hair.

 

  Ben moves without thinking. He plows into the door hearing the crunch of bones as he lays his full weight into the door. Sara fights loose rolling backwards on the ground. She struggles to compose herself slowing her breathing. She sights down the AR-15 firing three quick bursts dropping the Rotters entering the carport’s open end. Undead guttural moans rise up from behind the door Ben struggles to hold. “There are more coming from the woods Ben.” She shouts they both know if they don’t move now they’ll die here. The weight pushing against the door begins to cause Ben’s shoes to slide in the dirt. “Go …” The man croaks from the corner. Sara raises her pistol aiming at the tortured dying man. Ben releases the door sprinting for Sara; he snatches her up causing her shot hit the wall above the man’s head. Ben drops Sara the door behind them slamming open. She takes a quick look at the man in the corner. He lifts the pistol up to his temple just as the first walking corpse drops to it’s knees before him. Ben throws the butt of the big black shotgun forward crushing a zombie’s face. He skirts the wall out of the carport Sara trailing him. Rounding the corner their need for stealth gone they hear one lone gunshot from inside the carport. “We’re the only game in town now Ben.” Sarah says prodding Ben onward. They head left into the sunlight running along the fence. “Ben it’s her ….” Sara’s words trail off. Ben turns back following Sara’s line of sight. He is dumbfounded at the sheer number of undead pouring from the church basement. The Rotters shuffle in formation line ants one after the other drawn to the sounds of the living. Near the front of the crowd almost lost is the Sin Preacher her throat torn out. “You deserved worse bitch!” Sara screams enraged she aims at The Sin Preacher wobbling among the crowd of zombies. The Rotters shuffle in unison heading for the fence. “No time for that now!” Ben grabs Sara pulling her with him as he heads for the Sheriff’s cruiser. The undead seem to come from everywhere now but they have a straight shot to their way out. They cover the distance sprinting the dead hounding them every step of the way. “I got the keys.” Panting Sara shouts opening the driver’s side door hopping in. Ben throws his gun in the car before sliding in. Sara takes a quick peak in the rearview as she starts the car. She knows the Rotters will soon overtake the car from the front. The last thing Sara wanted was to back into a tree and end up lunch for the rampaging rotten horde. “Go .. Go ...” Ben beats on the dashboards. The car lurches backwards out of reach the zombies. “If they are with the ice cream guy, I think they went back to the farm with Magic.” Sara shouts as the car bounces back on to the road. Ben smiles for the first time in recent memory. Sara prods the car down the road heading back the way they had come. The dead burst forth from First New Faith and the surrounding area. The last thought in their diseased putrid brains is the living flesh in the car. They follow on decaying limbs shuffling down the road long after the car disappears from sight. “If I get home, I will make them pay.” He chants to himself in his head repeatedly. Colonel drags his bruised body across a dry field of wild grass. An evil sneer races across his face like a jagged bolt of lightning. With his head down, he slouches past a pack of zombies. He gives them a wide berth not changing his stance so as not to arouse their interest.

  Ben and Sara get back into the game attempting to locate the rest of the group. They make it back to the church only to find things have taken a turn for the worst for the members of The First New Faith Church. Even the Sin Preacher herself has met with a grisly fate.




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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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