I've Been Deader (25 page)

Another vision, this time of Tanner himself, unrolled itself in Timmy's mind. The man sat on some kind of workbench. There was a wooden table with tools and paper scattered on it, and Jon's gun. Jon kept looking up, like he heard noises. He seemed to be scared.

Good. I'm going to find him and then he's going to have something to be scared about. Mom's not here. She's not anywhere any more and it's his fault.

Ignoring his wounds, he started down the hill.

"I'm going to make that fucker pay."

A zombie shambled out of the gloom a few dozen yards away. A young black man, bald and dressed in his funeral suit, lurched toward Timmy, but he paid it no mind.

First I need to find the rock. Dad needs it. Have to help him first
. He paused for a second, half expecting another vision, but nothing happened. None of his dreams ever showed Dad. He didn't know if that was a good or bad omen.

The thing, a few yards away now, went into zombie lunge mode and launched itself at him.

"No!" Timmy shouted. The zombie stopped. "Go!"

The thing turned and shambled away. He saw its ass peeking through an open slit that ran from shoulders to crotch, and laughed.

Guess no one looks at your backside when you're lying in a coffin.

He started down the hill again.

"Dad needs me," Timmy muttered to himself. "Now more than ever. But first I'm going to find that fucker and make him pay."

A moment later, "I know you're here, Dad. Everything's going to be okay."

Then, "I'm coming for you, Jon. You made a mistake with me, and now you're fucked, Jon. Truly fucked."

By the time Timmy shambled into the town of Comfort proper, he finally had his priorities in order. "It's all right," he said with a smile. "Everything's going to be all right. You'll see."

Chapter 46

Changes

Fred emerged from the second tunnel in a bit of a rage. The brat wasn't returning his calls and the boy, well the boy kept avoiding him. And rubbing salt in his wounds, almost half the army remained in the tunnels. Dozens of zombies lost in the dark, bouncing between cars like pin-balls. Four were even right at the tunnel entrance. They kept bumping against an old Ford pickup truck; if Fred's eye wasn't dead, he'd have rolled it.

Now I know why there are always zombies in tunnels. They're too stupid to get out.

He missed the woman with the pretty eyes. Not the zombie, and not even the woman herself, but the thought of her; the knowing that she was alive and breathing. He missed
life
.

"Braaiinnss …"

Yeah, yeah
. Even as he closed in on his goal, it felt like things were slipping away. The world was his but it was all mercury. He'd keep getting closer and closer and it would keep sliding further and further away. Soon he zoned out again.

When he came back he found himself sandwiched between two corpses; the frail and toasted corpse that looked like it had come back to unlife in the middle of his own cremation; and the pasty naked man with a ragged ruin where his pride and joy should have been. The two of them had been stuck to Fred since Jersey, part of his original band of bitters.

My Generals.

The thought brought him no comfort. As far as he could tell, the burned zombie's strong suit was walking in circles. He'd follow direct orders well enough, but with less initiative than a son-in-law.

The eunuch was another story. He was always doing things without being told - little annoying things, like back at the orphanage. The zombie never directly opposed him or refused any of his orders, but he always left Fred with the distinct impression of disapproval.

Move.
The two zombies shuffled off to the side a bit, giving him some unneeded breathing room.

The rest of his undead were back on the road, more or less heading toward town, and the rock. He felt it in his bones.

The reality of it almost crushed him when he first left the tunnel. So close it practically pulled him along the road now, making it difficult to think about anything else. The visions hit him like a trip hammer, one on top of the other: The glowing mailman kneeling before him, offering the rock, still nesting in his head. Another vision showed the shadow man. He had a gun pointed at the boy, but he looked terrified.

"I need that rock, but you're a bad fucker. You're a bad fucker but I need that rock." The boy kept speaking but his words became indistinct.

Faster.
The command went out and the zombies immediately stepped up the shambling. They were close now. So close. Nothing between him and the rock but open road.

And the boy.
Fred moaned. Several zombies nearby echoed his sentiment. Not the boy. The shadow man was the danger, Fred could feel it. Kill the man quick and the rock was his for the taking. Then he'd be safe and he could have a heart to heart with … with …

The boy wants the rock.

His son. They'd be together soon; the rock, the boy and Fred. Together forever. Everything is working out.

He wants MY rock, and … and … didn't he …?

Anger simmered and began to boil inside him as they made their way to the town proper. Night descended on Comfort but the moon was full, the stars were bright, and Fred with the Undead Marching Band had no trouble staying on the road.

Didn't he call me a FUCKER?

The rock, the power of it, consumed him.

He wants MY rock. Called me a fucker. My own boy. That ungrateful, dangerous boy.

My Rock … Fucker. Dangerous Boy. Fucker.

By the time Fred reached the sign welcoming him to Comfort, Colorado, he was hardly thinking at all.

Chapter 47

An Unfamiliar Face

Timmy had no trouble finding George Potts. In the dead of night, his head blazing green, the undead mailman was no shrinking violet. Even from the outskirts of the small town, he could make out the general direction of Potts and the rock.

His left leg was definitely a mess, but there wasn't much pain. At least the bleeding stopped and he was able to more or less walk on it. It hurt when he lifted it and he'd quickly fallen into the habit of dragging it along the ground, which seemed to help. His hearing had returned as well, whether because of dumb luck or the healing powers of the magical mystery mailman, he didn't know.

Another zombie came from the front yard of a small house, a middle-aged woman in a dirty blouse and skirt that went all the way down to her ankles, with hair done up in a tight spinster's bun. She looked harmless enough, except for the constant moaning of "Braaaainnss," and the outstretched arms.

She might look like a librarian to me, but I look like a Happy Meal to her.

"No. Follow."

The creature moaned and she dropped her hands to her sides. He didn't need to look back to know she was following with the others. Since leaving the tunnel he had gathered a small following. Eleven undead groupies so far; he felt like a zombie bug zapper.

They come for the brains, but they stay for the action.

There would be plenty of action.

"I need that rock." Since the biting incident, Timmy knew the rock was the only thing that could help his dad. No way was he going to let Jon get his hands on it. "Fucker."

He moaned as another wave of nausea overtook him and the world went gray. The sickness kept hitting him every few minutes. He tried not to think about it - about what it meant.

Up ahead a welcoming green glow beckoned him. A tight smile worked its way across his mouth and he shambled forward.

"Let's go."

*  *  *

On the other end of Main Street, Fred and his undead headed to the glowing brass ring waiting patiently in the center of town. The desire to get his hands on the meteorite was greater than anything he'd ever felt.

"Braaiinnns…"

In a way, the rock was the ultimate brain. The food he needed to be whole again - none of which really mattered to Fred now. Now there was only need. Need to feed. Feed the need.

Close now. Unable to think, the zombies were nevertheless driven by the emotions that rolled off Fred in waves. The zombie grapevine was on autopilot and they moved as one.

*  *  *

Timmy reached Potts first and tried to breathe a sigh of relief. Dozens of zombies milled around the mailman, basking in the glow.

"Stop."

The zombies following him stopped. A few of the Potts crowd looked vacantly around but didn't move.

Timmy shambled toward the mailman.
Get the rock, get Jon, and then find Dad.
Everything would be okay. Everything
was
okay.

He stood before the mailman. Potts swayed gently to and fro, mailbag resting against his leg. Remembering his dream, Timmy shot a quick glance at the bag, but it looked empty.
No mail today
. One of the zombies moaned and leaned in toward Timmy. He didn't even glance at it.

"Stop."

The zombie fell to the ground and stopped. Looking at Potts, he spoke again.

"Turn."

George Potts moaned softly and turned away, presenting the back of his head to the boy.

Timmy reached up and put his hand on the glowing rock.

"Braaiinnnsss!"

Timmy pulled his hand away and stumbled backward.

Did that rock talk?

"Braaiiinnns …"

He looked up and saw the other zombies for the first time. The glow from the rock had effectively blinded him to everything that stood or shambled outside the island of light.

"BRAAIINNSS." It sounded angry … and familiar.

Timmy walked around Potts and toward the other undead.

"Stay."

No one moved, except one. He shambled into the light and Timmy froze.

"Dad?"

Even with one eye missing, the bum leg and the general wear and tear of two thousand miles of travel, he recognized his dad.

"Braainns …" Fred came at the boy.

"Dad?"

Timmy backed away.

"Stop!"

Fred didn't stop.

The other zombies were moaning and groaning. A few started forward, then stopped. George Potts spun around and around, face turned up to the sky. Timmy kept moving backwards, afraid to take his eyes off of Fred.

"Dad, it's me. It's Timmy ..."

Fred stopped. He turned his face back and forth between George and Timmy. He groaned.

"Dad? Look at you." Timmy never wanted to cry so badly. But no tears would come. No tears would come ever again. "I - I can help you, Dad. This rock can ..."

Fred moaned and took another step closer, then stopped. Timmy watched as another zombie - a short, pudgy man, naked with a gaping wound where his thing should have been - walked next to Fred.

"Dad ..." His voice shook.

The naked zombie gently nudged Fred. It pushed against him until Fred stumbled a few feet to Timmy's left. Fred moaned again.

"I don't know what to do, Dad. I thought I could help you." Timmy swallowed. "I mean, I knew there was something here you needed, but I didn't know - didn't know you were … like this." A small part of Timmy laughed.
That's the pot calling the kettle black.

The naked zombie shuffled over to the other side of Fred and began pushing again. Fred moved a bit to the right. Pudgy stopped and stood still.

His dad looked right at him then.

"Timmy?"

And then Fred's head exploded.

Chapter 48

Family Business

Fred dropped to the ground.

The zombie army gave a collective moan and promptly went a little ape shit.

Two zombies standing close to Timmy turned and attacked the burned man, who didn't seem interested in putting up a fight. Several were just moaning and walking in circles. Others wandered off into the night. The naked corpse that had moved his dad into the kill zone waited patiently until the zombies eating the burned man were done. Then he slowly shambled over to the corpse and began dragging it next to where Fred lay. To Timmy it looked as if he was trying to line the bodies up, side by side. As more zombies fell to their cannibalistic comrades, the undick would shamble over and drag their corpses back, laying the dead out, more or less in a neat row.

All the while Timmy stood there unable to get a grasp on things.

"What?" His mouth opened and closed but no words followed.
What happened?

Finally he walked over to his dad.

Fred lay unmoving on the street, a small hole in the back of his head.

"Daddy."

In his mind he saw Jon sitting at a small metal table outside the Starbucks, aiming his rifle. He squeezed the trigger and pulled back the lever. The naked zombie took a bullet in the head and collapsed at Timmy's feet.

The boy went cold inside.

"To me," he shouted. Most of the undead responded immediately, moving between him and the coffee shop up the street.

Without any ceremony he turned and walked right over to Comfort's oldest unliving resident, and quick as you please plucked the meteorite out of his head.

Mr. Potts stopped glowing, dropped his mailbag and fell to the ground.

Timmy immediately felt the light work its way inside him. A greenish radiance shone behind his dead eyes. He turned back to his dad. The Fucker had killed his mom, left him for dead in the tunnel, and shot his dad.

"Fetch."

A few hundred zombies with nothing better to do converged on Starbucks.

There was sporadic gunfire, some hoarse screaming, and eventually they brought Jon to Timmy, still kicking and screaming.

He didn't look much like a killer now. Bloody scratches marked his face. Two of his fingers were missing, obviously bitten off, and Timmy was pretty sure he had shit himself.