Dry Rot: A Zombie Novel (14 page)

-48-

Something heavy pressed my wrist into the ground. My other arm was also trapped. I couldn’t get my shotgun around and the husk was climbing closer to my face. Its broken, jagged teeth chattered as the monster tried to find purchase in soft flesh. I thrashed and tried to knock the husk off of me, but I was pinned to the ground. From the corner of my eye, I could see a pile of heavy debris – chunks of rock, a few car parts and other things with weight piled on top of my arms. Had I passed out? How had this happened?

Somewhere off to my left, I could hear laughing. It was soft and feminine, almost like Lisa’s laugh. I loved her laugh, though our life together seemed to rob her of it. But this laugh was different. It held notes of joy, but they shared nothing with the memories that Lisa and I had fostered together.  I wanted nothing to do with whatever wrought this kind of joy, though I doubted that I would have a choice.

“You’re tough. I’ll give you that.” The laughing carried on for a few more seconds. Boots shuffled around me. The steps were heavy, clumsy, but different from the dragging march of the husks. These people were alive.

“Who’s there?” I knew the question was pointless. What did a name really matter? It could be the Easter Bunny and still wouldn’t change the fact that they had pinned me to the ground with half a husk on my chest.

Hands grabbed the husk. I craned my neck and could see two men in paint respirators holding the monster at bay. Their gloved hands clutching exposed rib bones like the handlebars of a bicycle. The breathing masks told me everything that I needed to know.

“You’re the one that killed Eddie and the rest of our friends,” the voice continued. “I heard what you did when we sent some people over to check things out. Honestly, I’m kind of impressed and glad we finally got a chance to meet.”

A woman stepped into view behind the two men holding the husk in place. She had a solid build and square shoulders, her hair chopped into a messy nest of straw-colored spikes. Icy blue eyes glared from behind a pair of safety glasses. She held an automatic pistol in one hand, a meat cleaver clutched in the other.

“You’re Lucas, right?” she said. The meat cleaver turned over in her hand, as if in consideration of my answer. “We heard about you over the radio. Call it luck, but we had plenty of supplies in the car plant, even an old HAM radio. Seems one of the late night janitors screwed around with it on his breaks.”

“I’m guessing that moron Heathway told you that,” I answered. “Remind me to thank him later.”

“Actually,” she continued, “you might just get the chance to do that depending on how you answer the next question.”

“Which would be?” I shifted my feet and tried to angle my hips to buck the husk from on top of me. One of the men laughed and pushed my leg down with his knee.

“Well,” she said. “Here’s the thing, you killed a good number of our friends, which should really piss me off. And don’t get me wrong, it does, but here’s the thing. You seem to really know what you’re doing, how to handle this clusterfuck of a world. So you agree to come along with us, help us make it out to Heathway’s settlement and I’ll let you thank him however you see fit.”

“Lady, no offense,” I answered, “but who the hell are you and why would I want to help you? The first thing I knew about your group was when three of your people broke into my house to do something terrible to my neighbor’s kid. Not exactly the best introduction.”

“Fair enough,” she shrugged. “My name is Courtney Darby, but most people just call me Dar.”

I tried not to laugh. This mountain of a woman, hands calloused and curled like two baked hams, was named Courtney. I could understand why most people called her Dar.

“Look, Lucas,” Dar continued. “If you haven’t noticed, things have changed. Those guys were looking to let off a little steam, de-stress. Who am I to judge how they do it?”

“You won’t need to,” I said. “I did.”

“You’re not one of those born again, preachy types are you?” Dar feigned concern. “I might need to retract my offer if it means that I’d have to listen to you preach the entire way to South Dakota.”

“No,” I answered. “I just do not have tolerance for sickos.”

“The world is sick, Lucas,” Dar said. “People are just the byproduct of it. Always have been. Always will be. Don’t over complicate things.” She spun the handle of the meat cleaver. “By the way, I’m glad you mentioned that kid. Seems the rest of my people found them on the interstate in my friend’s Hummer.”

I told Danni and Jared to stay off the major roads. The abandoned cars would have been bad enough. Knowing that this group was possibly on the roads and still using them was a death sentence. Why had they been so stupid? Why had I?

They were never going to make it to South Dakota alone. They must have been scared; trying to put some distance between them and whatever else they ran into. The interstate probably seemed like the best option.

“So what’s it going to be, Lucas?” Dar was getting impatient. So was the husk.

“Get me up,” I said.

“Glad you’re a reasonable man,” Dar nodded.

“Because I can’t kill you from down here,” I finished. “It’d be much appreciated if you could help me out with that.”

“Kill me?” Dar laughed. “That’s great.”

“No,” I said, “that’s a promise.”

“A promise?” Dar aimed her gun at my head. “Promises are for sleepovers and deathbeds. I guess the second isn’t too far off. Last chance Lucas.”

“Just shoot me already,” I answered.

Dar shook her head. “Too bad.” She turned to the two men holding the husk. “I’d love to watch this deader strip your face. These two will get that pleasure, but I’ve got to get moving. Heathway was trying to sell some bullshit about the settlement being overrun – that it wasn’t safe anymore. I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with you filling in a few blanks for him regarding us. Can’t wait around for him to gather reinforcements.” Dar let out another laugh. “Be seeing you, Lucas.” She nodded to the men, “Let it go.”

-49-

The husk scrambled across forward, its leathery fingers clawing the fabric of my NBC suit. One of the men wanted to take my mask, but Dar stopped him. Felt it would be better to allow the zombie to chew through the plastic, give me some more time to think about how stupid I had been.

The two men watched – their laughs muffled by the cheap respirators covering their faces.

“Ten minutes,” one said.

“Ten? He won’t last five,” the other answered. They were taking bets on how long it’d take for the husk to kill me.

Boney points dug into my suit, a blunted pain blossoming with each grasp. I bent my knees and forced my feet flat on the ground. My shoulders screamed in protest.

“Look he’s starting to squirm,” one of the men laughed.

“Like a worm on a hook,” the other added.

I pulsed upwards and twisted my hips to the left. The husk tumbled off and landed on the cracked asphalt with a dry
thud.
With no legs, it struggled to right itself. There would only be seconds to get free.

Pushing off the ground, I swung my legs over towards the pile of debris pinning my left arm. I pushed and wrenched my arm free. One of my captors rushed forward. I drove both of my feet into his lead knee. As the joint popped and twisted to an unnatural angle, he screeched and collapsed to the ground. I freed my other arm.

The second man lunged forward, a hammer raised in a half swing. I waited for him to get closer. Launching from a low crouch, I drove my shoulder into his gut. The hammer collided with the lower right side of my back, but most of the swing’s force had been lost. He stumbled backwards, tripping over his fallen friend. The hammer spun across the cracked macadam.

“Please,” he begged, holding his hands out defensively.

There was nothing to say. The decision had already been made. I picked up his hammer. “Consider yourself the lucky one.” The clawed side of the hammer connected with the top of his head. A sickening bolt reverberated through the handle of the tool. I wrenched it free and let him fall to the ground. He sputtered, drool and blood mixing. Then he was silent.

Turning my attention to the other man, I pointed with the gore-caked hammer. “I’ll give you three.”

“Three?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Minutes,” I answered.

After a few minutes of heavy lifting and a few well-placed hammer swings, I had the second man pinned to the ground. The husk continued to scuttle forward, pulling itself along like a slug. I would let it get close before pushing it back with my boot. I wanted him to know what was waiting for him.

Confident that the man was securely in place, I picked up the husk and tossed it towards him.

There were a series of screams. Something wet popped and snapped. Then nothing. Three minutes was a bit of an overestimation.

-50-

My Bronco II was wrecked. Dar and the others took most of my supplies. I scavenged what I could. A few dented cans of food, a handgun, a small medkit and some other odds and ends, but nowhere near what I previously had in my truck.

Kara: Daddy, we’re waiting for you.

The bag slipped from my shoulder and fell to the pavement. I turned the .45 over in my hands, as if it were the first time I had ever held a firearm.

Kara: Daddy?

The hill loomed at the end of the street. Kara and Lisa were waiting for me. I slid the gun into my bag and threw it over my shoulder. My steps stuttered a little as I walked past the cab of my Bronco II. The dome light was dark. The battery must have been cracked in the crash. I imagined Danni or Jared’s panicked voices pleading through the tinny receiver, begging for help, for me.

I was glad that it was silent, unsure of whether or not I could have ignored their voices. My feet were heavy. Radio or not, I was still ignoring Danni and Jared. I knew they needed help.

This wasn’t my problem. At least I tried to believe that it wasn’t. I never asked them to join me in the bunker, never told them that I would be responsible for them. I told them I would help them get on the road and I did that. My job was done.

Since my parole, all I’ve been trying to do was get to Lisa and Kara and now they were a few blocks away. Jared and Danni would be okay. Everyone was responsible for themselves that’s how this world worked. Hell, it worked that way before the husks showed up. It was simple human nature.

I forced my boots to move. I hadn’t come this far to stop.

-51-

It rained most of the day. I watched through the small window in my cell. Somewhere dirt was being thrown. Somewhere sod was being rolled into place.

I couldn’t be there. I was never going to be there again.

The man sleeping on the bunk above mine snored softly. The weather kept us inside and sleeping helped pass the time. I still hadn’t adjusted to the new routine. I still wanted to be outside.

I longed to stare into the rectangular voids that received the remnants of my previous life. More than that, I longed to throw myself into them. To disappear. To be done with this life that was beyond repair – let my sins and worthlessness slowly rot away beneath six feet of dirt.

Many inmates dealt with similar feelings. Every so often the guards would find someone pale and dangling from the bars in his cell. I couldn’t fault them, but I wouldn’t be like them. I wouldn’t let this place by the last thing that I saw. I would survive, serve my time and find my family.

I would see Kara and Lisa again.

-52-

The gates to the Brookview Cemetery hung slightly ajar. I was surprised to find the grounds empty. No husks stumbled between the markers or clawed free from the spongy earth.

A laugh fogged my mask. I had watched too many zombie movies. There was no reason for the husks to pay attention to Brookview. There was nothing to eat and as far as I could tell you had to be alive before whatever made you a husk did its dirty work. A cemetery was probably one of the safest places to be.

I walked the rows, unsure of where to look being that I hadn’t been allowed to attend the actual funeral. I remembered buying the plots and vaguely remembered the numbers.

“Sixty-five A through F,” I read from the small bronze signs that sectioned off the cemetery. A few more to go.

The row waited for me. My girls waited for me. I stumbled between the stones, desperate to find Kara and Lisa.

Two spots waited a little more than halfway down the row. They looked no different from the hundreds that surrounded them. Simple gray stone, slick with rainfall, jutted from the ground, a plant of pure despair grown from the cadaverous seed planted beneath them. A small depression in the ground pooled water over each grave.

Lisa never liked the idea of buying grave plots. I liked to be prepared and never wanted Kara to worry about making the arrangements. The thought of me not being in one of the plots never crossed my mind. But here I was standing in the rain, a day similar to the one when the graves were filled. Lisa and Kara were gone and I was here. It was by far the cruelest punishment I had suffered. 

The ground was soupy. I sat there, letting the water pool around my legs, my mind drifting back to prison. Frank should have let that other inmate stab me. He would have been doing me a favor. There was nothing left for me out here. I had fooled myself into thinking otherwise.

I slipped the NBC mask from my head. Rain cascaded down my face. A cold breeze drifted between the gravestones. It felt good to feel the air, to breathe something other than the musty air of my basement or my own stale breath. There was always the chance that whatever created the husks was still in the air, but I figured that I wouldn’t be around to care if it still was there.

My phone vibrated.

Kara: Daddy? Are you coming to see Mommy and me?

“Soon, baby girl. Very soon.” The pistol trembled in my hands. My teeth clicked against metal. I could taste oil and the tang of spent gunpowder.

Kara: Daddy?