Less Than Human (8 page)

“Don't worry about it,” Josh said. He quickly wanted to change the topic. “I'm sorry I fell asleep during my watch. Could've gotten us killed if granny here was a little more hungry.”

“
She looks hungry all right,” Ben said. The woman opened and closed her mouth like a fish.

“
I say we get out of here before more come,” Josh said.

T
hey drove west for almost twenty miles, not seeing a single person, living or dead. There should have been evidence that the world had ended, an indication that the dead no longer stayed dead. But there was nothing. Only open roads and derelict vehicles. They didn't stop. Driving slowly, they peered through the windows. No signs of the living. They thought they might see the owners of those vehicles hoofing it a few miles down the road, but that wasn't the case. It had been days since those cars and trucks had seen their drivers.

“
Do you think maybe the infection—or whatever it is—has made it everywhere yet?” Josh thought out loud.

“
I don't know,” Ben replied. “But I find it weird we haven't seen anyone or anything in almost an hour.”

“
I don't like it. It's like the calm before the storm.”

Ben had that feeling, too. The arrow on the Sonata's gas gauge approached empty. Considering they were nowhere near a gas station, it would have been a very bad time to run out of gas. They had no food, with exception of a few packages of gummy snacks Ben had found in the glove-box. More importantly, they had no water.

“Cigarette?” Josh asked, holding the pack in front of Ben.

“
No, thanks. My wife made me quit years ago,” he said. “Well,
ex
-wife,” he corrected.

“
It's the goddamn zombie apocalypse. You're probably not going to be alive long enough to catch cancer,” Josh said.

Ben wouldn't allow himself to think that way. However, it was only one cigarette.
Wouldn't kill you,
he thought. Ben plucked a death-stick from the pack, putting the filter between his lips. 

“
That's the spirit,” Josh said, lighting it for him.

Ben sucked in the smoke, then exhaled. He coughed a lot (making Josh chuckle), and it took a minute for his lungs to adjust to the smoke he once craved so passionately. However, Ben now thought that cigarettes tasted like shit. The smell was even worse. The insane notion that he was going to come down with cancer immediately breached his thoughts. The headache he awoke with that morning was back with a vengeance. To be polite, he smoked the Marlboro halfway, then threw it out the window.

Josh observed Ben's actions, but said nothing. Ben clearly wore the face of a man who didn't enjoy a cigarette anymore. Laughing to himself, Josh shook his head. Then he started thinking about drugs, wondering how long he could go before needing them again. Specifically, the oxycotton. He would kill for a couple, hell, he'd probably bury a body for
one
.

They passed a sign that read, “DOORCHESTER NATIONAL PARK.” It claimed the place was “THE BEST CAMPGROUNDS IN ALL OF NEW JERSEY!” The sign also stated it was the last exit for the next ten miles.

“
We have to stop,” Ben said. “We're running low on gas. Maybe they have somewhere to gas up or something.”

“
Sure. I have to piss anyway,” Josh admitted.

T
hey came to a small clearing down a long wooded path big enough for one vehicle. An enormous recreation center lay before them, comprised of rotting wood shakes that had been stained eons ago. The haven was in desperate need of renovation, but neither Ben or Josh commented on its shabby appearance. Chairs for guests and employees to relax and enjoy the nature around them sat empty on the deck, stained to match the shakes.

Ben and Josh noticed several vehicles parked on the dirt lot separating the building from the forest. There was a Jeep, a few sedans, and some pickup trucks, all mud-splattered, in need of car washes.

“Seems... quiet,” Ben said.

“
Hm, too quiet,” Josh said, smiling at the bad cliché.

Ben smiled too. “Well, here goes nothing.” He swung open the door, expecting dozens of zombies to come hobbling out of the woods. Instead, they saw nothing. Everything was silent. Not even the chirping of birds could be heard. No wind. No distant voices. No low drone of machinery. Ben was most thankful for the smell. The air was pure and odorless, free of that awful stench the dead brought with them. He'd gotten a good whiff of it inside the Yoland's foyer and strong doses of it since then. The worst was when they were outnumbered in Ben's parents' development. He never wished to smell anything like that for the rest of his life, however short that might be. He walked around the lot taking in the fresh air, loving every second of it, hoping it would last forever. Wishing he hadn't smoked that cigarette.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Ben asked.

“
Yes. Simply wonderful,” Josh said sarcastically. “I have to hit the head.”

“
Okay. I'm going to look for a hose. Maybe I can siphon some gas from these abandoned cars.”

“
Good luck with that,” he said under his breath, so Ben wouldn't hear. Ben yelled something about being on the lookout for food and water, but Josh wasn't listening. He was off meddling in his own little world, worrying about how he was going to feed his dragon, the one that had recently awoken and started breathing fire into his veins.

Josh felt like puking.

       
CHAPTER SEVEN

B
obbi-Jo grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter, heading for the basement as soon as she heard the screaming from below. Her brothers were nowhere to be found.
Probably out getting supplies for the next game,
she thought, opening the door. She hopped down the stairs. The Three Little Pigs had been kind enough to leave the lights on for their prisoners, something she wasn't sure Momma would have gone along with.
Maybe they forgot.

She bounded down the steps, leaping onto the concrete floor as John Vander rose from his position on the ground. He had only been dead for a few minutes. Bobbi-Jo noticed a chunk of skin missing from the dead man's leg.
I gone told them idiots to check for bite marks when they brought them down here,
she thought. Now the bastard was a zombie. If she didn't let the cute guy she had met earlier out of the kennel, he'd be its first meal. She quickly rushed to the door where Ben was anxiously waiting. Vander looked around the room, first lashing out at Paul Scott, but the chain-link wall protected him. Then the Vander-Zombie realized there was fresh meat not but ten feet from him. Meat that was accessible. It snarled in delight, approaching its first victim.

“
Hurry up!”
Ben yelled, as Bobbi-Jo fiddled with the lock.

“
I'm goan as fast as I can!” she yelled back.

Finally, the key slipped into the lock. The gate swung open. Ben rushed out of the cage. The Vander-Zombie lunged toward the opening, but Ben and Bobbi-Jo closed it quickly. The corpse crashed into the gate, the momentum driving Ben and the Barker girl backward. They were stronger, however, and able to slam the gate closed, keeping the zombie trapped inside. Ben held it shut while Bobbi-Jo placed the lock back onto the latch. She closed the padlock, backing away from the hungry stiff. It snarled ferociously, stretching its fingers through the spaces in the chain-link barrier. thinking it actually had a chance at the two living beings on the outside.

Ben backed away from the cage.

“
Thank you,” Ben said, trying to catch his breath. “Thank you so much.”

Bobbi-Jo smiled.

“Now, free the rest of them.”

“
What?” Bobbi-Jo asked.

Ben glared at her, wrinkling his eyebrows. He couldn't have been clearer. “I said, open the other cages. Let them out.” He pointed to the rest of the cages.

Oh, silly,
Bobbi-Jo thought.
He thinks I'm setting them free.

“
I don't think she came down here to spring us,” Josh said.

Ben faced her.

“I just came to make sure ya'll didn't get eaten. Wouldn't want to ruin the big game, now would I?” She grimaced dramatically, acting as if Ben becoming food would have been the worst thing to happen. Then she quickly put on a happy face, a smile that stretched ear to ear. She giggled softly, stuck her finger between her yellowed teeth. Ben grew uncomfortable. As she stood there, giggling and winking at him, he realized that Bobbi-Jo was just as insane as her three brothers. “Hey boys!” she yelled. “Ya'll better—”

Ben lunged for her, putting his hand over her mouth, silencing her call for help. He twisted her around, driving her body against the cage. Ben pressed against her, keeping one hand over her mouth, wrapping his other arm across her midsection, keeping control of her movements. Slowly, he separated her from the cage. She tried to wiggle free, but Ben was stronger. She stopped twisting, finally accepting what had just happened. Ben pressed his lips against her ear.

“
If you don't do exactly what I say,” Ben whispered to her, “I'm going to break your fucking neck.”

    
CHAPTER EIGHT

ONE DAY AGO...

J
osh expected to stroll into a room full of disemboweled carcasses, but the inside of the recreation center looked open for business. Nothing looked displaced. There were no traces of a struggle. The desk where someone might have welcomed him sat clean and organized. The cash register on the registration counter looked brand new. For brief second, Josh wanted to smash the register and steal the funds inside. But money was useless now and he knew it. Cursing himself for his thuggish mindset, he continued walking cautiously in search of the restroom.

Instead of finding the commode, Josh found a back office where he raided the desk and cabinets for anything useful. He hoped the desk belonged to an alcoholic, maybe there would be small bottle of brandy stuffed in the back of the drawers. It had been so long since Josh had a drink of anything. And right now, he needed something. Poison coursed through his veins, he could feel it. The dragon was hungry.

After coming up empty, Josh headed for the bathroom. A white door on the opposite end of the building displayed a stick-figure drawing of a man. He cautiously pushed open the door, peering into the restroom. Making sure the coast was clear, Josh sighed. No flesh-eating corpses snacking on someone who had trapped themselves on the shitter waited for him.

Josh tried the lights. Nothing happened. The bathroom seemed relatively spotless. Cleaned recently, Josh guessed. The tile on the floor and walls sparkled, even in the dim light a small window provided. As Josh approached the urinal, the dragon blew streams of fire into his chest.
Try not to think about it,
he told himself as he relieved his bladder. However, that's all Josh could think about. The pills. Putting one in his mouth. Swallowing. The feel-good sensations that soon followed. The warmth that consumed him.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His stomach lurched. He zipped himself up quickly, then stormed into the closest stall. He bent over, vomiting long streams of puke with the consistency of cake batter. Inside, the dragon continued its destructive path.

For what seemed like forever, he knelt on the floor, resting his head on the toilet seat. Thoughts came to him. Ugly thoughts. He wondered if he should even bother carrying on. What was the point, now that the dead had risen and claimed the world their own? He'd seen the movies. How quickly everyone became one. Sure, in the movies the heroes survive, but this wasn't a fucking movie, and he wasn't a fucking hero. He was pathetic. Worthless. He'd eventually end up one of them, one of the dead. And that poor man he was traveling with—
Ben.
He'd only hold him back, probably get him killed too. Ben would probably would never see his son again thanks to Josh and his filthy habit.
Pathetic,
Josh thought.
What's the point? I'm already dead...

What about Olivia? Surely you care about her. Surely she's worth carrying on for.

Sure he cared, but his feelings for her were limited, or else they'd probably still be together. Their good times were in the past. They partied a lot, they drank a lot, they smoked a lot, and they fucked quite often. But there was something missing, something Josh couldn't quite pinpoint, something he couldn't quite wrap his brain around.
Let's face it—you're never going to marry the girl. You never planned on it. So really, what's the fucking point?
The voice that spoke freely was right. The deep feelings weren't there, no sense that he needed to have her. He liked her because she was into the same shit he was, and she fucked like a porn star. That pretty much summed it up. She was plain. Run of the mill. A dime a dozen. There were tens of thousands like her. She was replaceable, the flavor of the month.

So, back to the question:
what was the point of carrying on?

He sat there, head on the toilet, contemplating suicide and not for the first time in his life. He reached low points during the past few years when he thought being dead had its advantages. No bills, no job, no stress. But now, he realized, the world
had
died. None of that mattered. There were no more bills to pay, or jobs to report to. The only stress was trying to survive a nightmare where the dead became living once again, and hey—that wasn't bad, was it? No, in fact, Josh kind of enjoyed the past twenty-four hours in a sick, twisted way. It was like a video game, except... real.

Josh smiled, feeling somewhat better. This was a new world, one where he had the chance to better himself. Prove to himself that he was worth something. He could be anyone he wanted now. He was no longer street scum who stole money from his mother's purse when she wasn't looking. Instead, he could do the right thing. He could help Ben find his little boy. He could be that hero. He could slay that dragon.

The dead new world had given Josh Emberson a second chance.

I can do it,
he thought.
One day at a time. I'll just take one day at a time.

Feeling good for the first time in a long time, Josh stood up, popping a cigarette into his mouth. He lit up on the way to the exit, not wasting time on washing his hands.

As soon as Josh opened the door, he was greeted by the dangerous end of a shotgun.

“
Speak,” the man said, pressing the end of the barrel to his forehead.

“U
m... don't fucking shoot me...” was the only words that fell from his mouth.

“
Put your hands up,” the man commanded.

Josh raised one arm up.

“Both of them.”

“
My right arm is broken. Can't move it.”

“
Is this really necessary, Steve?” someone asked from behind him. Josh glanced past Steve and saw a woman twice his age, leaning on the information center's desk. She rested her hands on the shoulders of a fifteen-year old girl, garbed in a scout's uniform. Josh assumed the woman behind her was her mother. Next to them was another woman, much older, but not quite old enough to enjoy special discounts at movie theaters and all-you-can-eat buffets. She scrunched her face like she had sucked a bowl full of lemons. Something about her irked Josh the minute his eyes found her. “He's obviously not one of...
them
. He doesn't look dangerous.”

“
Can't be too sure,” Steve said. Beads of sweat seeped from his pores. The shotgun trembled in his clutches violently, his trigger finger twitching spastically. Josh feared the man's sense of control, his misunderstanding of what was going on around him. The man in the shit-brown uniform and yellow patches that stated  WILDLIFE PARK RANGER glared at Josh suspiciously. Perspiration ran from under the brim of his cream-colored campaign hat, down his cheeks. Mouth twitched, eyes narrowed. RANGER STEVE, as it read on his name tag, shook his head slowly. “We can't be sure of a single thing, Victoria.”

“
Christ,” she muttered, holding her daughter closely.

“
Christ will help us, Vicky,” the older woman informed her, placing her wrinkly hand on her shoulder. “We should pray.”

Josh thought she was joking. He almost laughed. But as she closed her eyes and started humming a familiar hymn, he realized she was serious. She started reciting the words to “Our Father” under her breath, expecting the others to join in.

No one did.

“
There's someone else. Outside,” another young woman said from the far side of the recreation center, after the woman finished praying.

“
Brittany!” Victoria yelled. “What did I tell you about standing close to the window? One of them might see—”

“
Relax, Mother.” Brittany trudged across the room, joining the others. “Those things are gone...”

“
You don't know that, Brit.”

Brittany glanced down at her sister. “How you holding up, Emily?”

Emily shook her head, her eyes welling. Brittany squeezed her chin lightly, the way her father used to, while shooting her mother a scornful gaze. Victoria stared back. Her look was more intimidating, clearly having more practice.

“
Look,” Josh said. “I'd really appreciate it if you got that gun out of my face, chief. I'm not a fucking zombie.” He noticed the praying woman curled her lips when he cussed.

Ranger Steve held the gun level with Josh's face. Slightly turning his head away from the barrel, Josh expected the thunderous boom that would end his life. At this point, he knew the Ranger wasn't going to intentionally kill him—if he had wanted to, he would have done so already.

Seconds passed. Josh wondered how long before his head looked like a pumpkin smashed against the sidewalk. Gunpowder traveled into his nose, turning his stomach.

“
Dammit,” Ranger Steve muttered, finally lowering his weapon.

Josh sighed deeply. He crouched, relieved that his head was still attached to his neck. He was a little peeved it had taken the man so long to realize he wasn't a flesh-crazed maniac, but he was thankful to still be breathing.

“You really need to work on your manners, Ranger Steve,” Josh said.

“
I'm sorry,” Ranger Steve replied. “I really am. I just thought that you were one of those...”

“
I believe
zombies
is the word you were looking for.”

“
Don't be ridiculous,” the religious woman jeered. “They're just... crazy people. High on bath salts, probably. Seen it on the news. Zombies aren't real, kid.”

“
Hey, whatever you say, lady.”

B
en had finished draining gas from the Jeep through a garden hose he found around the side of the building. It was too long so Ben used the pocket knife he found in the Jeep to cut it appropriately. After he finished transferring the gas from the other vehicles to his own, he raided them for food and supplies. Besides finding the pocket knife, Ben found some bottles of warm water, moldy sandwiches, some warm yogurt, useless camping effects, and a tire iron, which would be handy if things got hairy.
A fucking tire iron.
It was better than nothing. He hated thinking that in order to survive this new world and give himself a chance at finding his son, he was going to have to kill a few of those things, something he wasn't sure he was capable of.
You'll do it if you want to see Jakey again, won't you?
Yes, he supposed he would. Besides, killing something that's already dead really wasn't murder, was it?
They're only dead because they were killed by another one of those things. Shouldn't really be dead, should they?
No, he guessed they shouldn't. But they
were
dead. Weren't they?
There's nothing human about them, not anymore. Right?

Ben started thinking if the zombies could feel anything. Pain. Sadness. Pleasure. Anguish. Did they have thoughts? Able to rationalize? Or did they only have the never-ending motor that ran on the consumption of human meat? He didn't know, although he suspected the latter. His mind reverted to the woman he awoke to earlier that morning, the one mindlessly smashing her hand against the windshield. There was nothing behind her eyes, no signs of humanity lingering within. She was just a zombie, going through the motions, fueled by the hunger. That's it. Nothing more.

It was just like the movies.

Only, was it? He began stocking the Hyundai with the loot he had found, thinking about how the zombie virus worked and how similar it was to the movies he had once forced himself to watch.
Is it passed through bites and scratches? Can animals be infected? How long does it take to turn into one of them?
These were the questions lurking in his mind, anxiously awaiting answers.

In that moment, something changed. A breeze blew through the clearing, moving trees like flames at a rock concert. The leaves whistled to him from above. Ben looked around, sniffing the air, trying to put his finger on the smell. It didn't take long to decipher what it was. He smelled it at the Yoland's house the day before. It wasn't as strong as it was then, but Ben knew exactly what it was. It was an odor Ben would never forget.

It was the smell of the dead heading toward him.

“H
ow long have you guys been here?” Josh asked. Victoria had just finished making a sling for his arm out of some unused tee-shirts that belonged to the recreation center. She had done a good job, too. Josh thought she might have been the camp's nurse.

“
Two days,” Ranger Steve said. “I was out there—with the Girl Scouts. Ranger Rick and I were showing them how to tie knots down by the lake when...” He stopped. The man was covered in sweat, his uniform drenched. Tears found the corners of his eyes, his lips trembled softly. For a second, Josh thought the man had reached his limit. However, he composed himself and continued. “They came out of the woods. Tons of them. Too many to count. Everyone ran. It was chaos. They started attacking the girls. Ripping them to shreds like they were made of construction paper. The chaperons tried to stop them, but... it was useless. They were taken too. Ranger Rick tried to be a hero. Got jumped by three of those fuc—” Stopping himself, he caught the cold gaze of the snooty religious woman. “Got jumped by three of them. They wrestled him to the ground. Ate him.” Ranger Steve wiped a thick layer of sweat from his forehead. “Sorry, darling,” he said to Emily.