Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End (28 page)

“My turn,” Hippo says, holding his hand out for the weapon.

“Not on your life,” his mother corrects him, causing him to slouch in a pout.

Without a word, Killian exhales the breath he had held. He fiddles with the levers beside his trigger guard setting to fire a single shot this time. Another unexpected fit of waves has the chain of vessels jumping on the surface of the water. The violent motion puts the female corpse off her balance, she crashes into the railing of the extravagant boat, catching it in the ribs. The unsteady boat turns her putting her back to the family, showing where she has been eaten away from the shoulders down.

Killian fires once the ocean settles, missing her entirely. His next round ineffectually lands in her throat. He tries to relax, as best he can, and takes a third shot that finally falls the corpse.

“Why didn’t you just do that in the first place, like the other one?” his brother pesters him.

Killian ignores the question, as he does when his mother asks him if he’s all right. He just wants to get them onboard the large ship with all their stuff. He unties the lines and pushes the boat aside that stands between them and their prospective home. Rather than use up any fuel he pulls them forward using the other boat until he can tie onto its bow.

Looking up at a shining steel ladder the boy tries to figure out his course of action. He knows he’s to be the first one up to dispose of the bodies and make sure it’s safe, but wonders how they will get all their supplies up. “I’ll make sure it’s clear,” he tells his mom. “You and Hippo stay here. I’ll drop some rope to haul up the stuff.”

He doesn’t ask how the plan sounded to her, he just tells her how it will be before he begins to climb. It isn’t what he has just done, dispatching zombies is not killing in his book. It isn’t the fear that the dead above him may not be ‘dead’, he’s fairly certain they are and he has the revolver just in case. What slows his ascent, makes it feel as if he is climbing the ladder with weights on, is the gravity of what this act of high seas piracy represents. He’s taken the mantle of leader, head of the family, the Captain. From this moment until forever he is responsible for keeping his family safe.

The deck of the boat is a grisly sight, it catches him by surprise and makes his body tingle with a chilly shiver. The expensive luxury cruiser should be gleaming white, instead nearly every surface is coated with blood. Hand prints, spatters, streaks and smears reveal a horror story he can’t help but imagine. The couple came here shortly after the onset, took the small craft here where they planned to wait out the madness. One of them may have been bitten, turned, and caused all this carnage.

Killian lifts his eyes from the scarlet mess to the limp bodies. He clears his throat to see if they’ll move. The dead aren’t likely to play dead, if they detect even the slightest prospect of food they go for it. Nothing. The bodies remain inert.

About to investigate the ship, the new Captain must overcome the sensation of dread he feels, a tension in his body that tells him he’s somewhere he doesn’t belong.
It’s ours now,
he repeats in his head as he takes the first steps around the corpses he knows to be harmless.

All of a sudden he’s alarmed by a voice, his mother is calling up to him with worry, “Honey? Honey, are you all right?”

“Just checking it out!” he answers. “I need a few minutes.”

Verifying that the top deck is danger free by rounding the cabin, Killian heads down a short flight of stairs to investigate the enclosed space. It’s a definite step up from their car, couches and chairs furnish the living area, and a table where they’ll be able to dine. They have a small kitchen, a bathroom, and two cramped bedrooms. Upon the table is a box of supplies the dead couple never put away. From the floor he picks up a partially eaten granola bar.
There’s no blood in here
, he notices.

The man topside’s face is severely swollen, Killian can see on the wrapper that the product may have contained peanuts. Growing up in a household with two healthcare professionals he is able to surmise that the man had an allergic reaction. The story changes, neither was bitten when they came onboard. They were about to settle in when he ate the snack, and it killed him.

Back on deck, Killian prepares to heave the female over the side. He’d rather not touch them directly so he uses one of the man’s Hawaiian shirts as a buffer. He fights a fit of the creeps he feels as he comes into contact with the deceased woman. Her body rolls revealing the horrible mess the man had made of her. The bloody smears all over the deck tell Killian that as soon as he changed, he followed her up here where she was unable to find escape.
Perhaps she couldn’t swim
, he wonders. In her panic, she could only try to keep away from the guy, but he got her, ate away what he could get his teeth on. Her shoulder, back, buttocks and legs have been chewed away. The attack left one silver lining, it made her lighter. Killian would not have been able to heave her over this easily if so much flesh hadn’t been removed, now she weighs less than his brother.

A splash in the water catches Susan’s breath in her throat as she waits on the much smaller vessel. “Honey?” she calls up in an urgent tone.

“I’m fine!” he calls back to her. “Just need a second.”

The man is much heavier. He had fallen on his back onto the largest of the pools of blood, the spot the boy assumes the woman ultimately died. His body had rejected the peanut protein so defiantly it killed him, leaving his face puffed tightly like a balloon. As Killian contemplates the easiest way to toss him overboard he is derailed by the man’s condition.
The swelling happened before he died
, he considers the man’s swollen eyes, the lids are engorged to the point of forced closure.
He was blind.

He imagines the scenario, the woman was probably frantic when the man began gasping for air and inflating. She was probably at his side when he expired. Then when he arose she would have run out of the cabin, with nowhere to run to. He tracked her by sound, her screams, her breathing, until he got a piece of her. Then he was able to track her by smell.

The man’s mouth is a ragged hole, self-inflicted. If Killian was to probe he bets he’d find the man’s tongue chewed off, just as the zombie had ravaged his own swollen mouth to sink his teeth into the woman by pressing his face against her and chewing through his fattened lips. Around the deck he spots gelatinous gobs of meat, the anaphylactic reaction had closed off the man’s throat, killing him. The bits of flesh had nowhere to go, and yet he kept on eating her, letting it fall out as he went back for more.

Killian shakes the dark thoughts from his mind. He lifts the man in sections using leverage to get him onto the rail so he can roll him over the side. The second and much larger splash has his mother calling him once more. The boy uses a rag to grab the mounds of flesh that will be joining the couple in the Atlantic.

“All aboard,” the Captain calls to his family trying to sound as normal as possible.

Hippo and his mother have the same initial reaction to the sight of all the blood that Killian had. The oldest boy helps them onboard.

“A boat this fancy must have something in the way of cleaning supplies,” Susan says dreading the thought of them having to look at the ghastly stains day after day. She locates a mop and bucket, some sponges, and a big bottle of bleach. Her maternal nesting instinct kicks into overdrive, she and Hippo begin cleaning, cleansing the remnants of the nightmare that befell the last occupants while Killian carefully hauls their belongings using a rope he has found. He brings their gear up item by item and sets it in the cabin for his mother to put away. In no time they make the craft a home.

35

“We should get moving,” a man suggests worriedly.

“Not yet, we just got here,” another rejects the notion. They are within enemy territory and can’t risk being spotted.

“Kenny, if they catch us…”

“…We’ll handle it,” the leader interrupts.

“This mission has been a complete fuck up,” one of the soldiers opines. “No guns. No food. And now we’re hiding in this shithole.”

“Do you hear something?”

“A bunch of whining,” Kenny answers.

“No. It sounds like…music,” the man listens to the air, still as a statue, his breath held. There is definitely music outside, approaching. They’ve all heard about their neighbors, those who’ve run into them speak of them like bogeymen. They travel the land with their music blaring, loud and bold. “Oh my god! They’re coming! It’s the Rubies!”

####

The house within Rubicon territory was newly acquired, it stands on a stretch of road roughly halfway between them and Florida. It was meant to be an outpost to monitor the highway, mainly to give them an advanced warning about movement, both living and dead, but mainly military. The Army has a base south of Rubicon and have been coming periodically trying to recruit them. The Rubies have only two people stationed at the house currently to get it set up for surveillance, a half hour ago they realized they had lost contact with them when the hourly radio check went unanswered. All available vehicles are now converging on the run down dwelling, the last to arrive is an old, black Buick Riviera.

“I like these crackers,” the driver says licking his fingers. “They remind me of Jumpin’ Jack Doritos.”

“Were those gross too?” his passenger asks.

“You ate plenty of them for someone who doesn’t like them, Abby.”

“It’s all you brought,” the younger man remarks.

“You’ll be less crabby once you have some pudding,” the driver consoles. “Abacab makes the best butterscotch pudding, you can taste love in every spoonful.”

“You said they were pudding cups,” Abby says, he hasn’t known the little man long and is often confused by him. For some reason Brass has taken a special interest in him, taken him under his wing.

“Trust me, you’re gonna love it,” the man assures. “Speaking of love, you’ve never met Abacab, have you?”

“No. What’s up with her name?”

“Are you kidding? It’s the Mortal Kombat blood code from the old NES,” he says as if everyone should know this. “She’s our resident adorable techie. Out here rigging our new post with cameras and sensors. Setting up communications.”

“And, eating pudding,” Abby adds.

The last to arrive, the Riv joins the vehicles that surround the house. The Rubies have been waiting for Brass to show up, he carries a lot of respect among his people. They all look up to him.

“There’s a big ass bus parked out back, Brass,” one soldier reports since from the front one would only notice the small hatchback Abacab had taken here.

“Thank you, Soul Train,” Brass ponders what they may be in for and grabs something from the trunk of his car, a back pack that he slings by one strap. “We’ll make contact. Everyone hold positions. Come on, Abby.”

Brass knocks on the door and waits. A second knock is required to elicit an answer, a male voice trying to sound confident and in control tells them to go away.

“This is our place,” Brass says calmly. “We have people inside.”

“It’s our place now,” the voice says sternly.

“Who is that?” Abby asks.

“Shh. Let me do the talking,”

“Do you ever stop?”

“Good point, but it proves mine. I have more practice at it,” Brass says then addresses the unseen man. “Now look here, we have the place surrounded, and we are all deeply concerned about our friends. I don’t think I should have to tell you what will happen if even one hair has been harmed, do I?”

Nothing. There’s no response from inside. They’ll have to barge in. Brass motions for one of his men to come to the door with Abby and himself. “Rough Rider, if you’d please?”

Brass and Abby flank the door, Abby has an AR-15 shouldered, Brass holds a western six-shooter with both hands as Rough Rider prepares himself to kick in the door. One swift kick is all it takes to gain access, the three wait off to the sides in case those inside are jumpy. All that is fired at them is a command, “Go away!”

“Not gonna happen,” Brass responds. He holsters his weapon and enters without fear, but slowly. He jingles spent shell casings in the palm of his hand with every step making it sound like he’s wearing spurs. Scanning the faces that stare at him, Brass reads the reactions that range from relief to rage. Some, like his friend Abacab are happy to see him, others, like one man he recalls expelling from Rubicon look at him from down the barrel of a gun. There is a pair of faces that are scared, unsure of what’s going on. “So, what’s up?” Brass asks the room.

“Just livin’ life, being awesome,” a mullet headed man answers coolly, to match Brass he relaxes his weapon, resting his rifle against his shoulder.

“’Livin’ life, being awesome’,” Brass repeats slowly as if pondering each word. “I like that! Mind if I use it?”

“Might as well,” the mullet replies and then utters under his breath. “Ya take everything else.”

“What was that?” Brass asks, leaning in a bit.

“Forget it.”

“I know you fellas are aware that you are in our territory,” Brass explains. “You’ve entered one of our houses actually…”

“It’s ours now!” the man Brass had to banish from town seethes from behind his shotgun. He’s hardly recognizable now. His nose has been recently broken, the area is crusted with dried blood and swollen. Obviously, there’s a lingering sense of resentment and he’s still upset over the matter of being ejected. His personal politics didn’t mesh with what the Rubies were trying to build, he was simply poison to the community.

“I brought you a housewarming present,” Brass sets down the bag from his shoulder. “Who among you is the leader of this outfit?”

“That’d be me,” Mullet replies. “Name’s Kenny.”

“Well, this is for you, Kenny,” Brass hands him a metal box.

Examining what he has just been given, Kenny turns the steel, olive item. It’s a long curved rectangular box with raised letters on the convex side that spell ‘FRONT TOWARD ENEMY’. His eyes widen in recognition of the device, his knowledge doesn’t stop Brass from explaining it.

“The United States Military has a habit of naming their modern weapons after historic ones; the Tomahawk, the Trident, and of course the Claymore.”

Kenny stands as still as he can, the object feeling much heavier every second he holds it aloft. Shakily, his eyes raise from the anti-personnel mine to the little man who bestowed it to him, the little man that now twirls its pin on his finger and aims his six-shooter at the box. The standoff becomes even more tense for everyone but the leader of the Rubies. With his gun aimed at the explosive he looks around until he finds a friendly face once more.

“Abacab, what happened?”

“They came, got in, smashed my equipment,” the petite girl with electric blue hair explains adjusting her black rimmed glasses. “They said we were to become brides for their men. Peace Maker wasn’t too happy about it, they locked her in a room down the hall.”

From the door, Rough Rider enters upon hearing that. “Brass, can I…”

“Of course. Go,” Brass encourages him to find and free their comrade. “Abby, can you call for some backup?”

“You don’t think we’ve got this?” the younger man asks, motioning for more soldiers just the same.

“They aren’t coming to protect us from them, but to protect them from Rough Rider once…” Brass trails off, his eyes have landed on a disturbing sight. A red cooler on wheels is on its side, the floor around it is littered with small plastic cups that are all visibly empty. “Is that my pudding?” Brass inquires angrily.

Brass takes a closer look at the contents of the cooler, or the lack of contents. The plastic cups he was expecting to have waiting for him are all gone. He crushes one of the empties. “My butterscotch.”

There’s a commotion down the hall, howls of rage over the mistreatment of Peace Maker. Rough Rider is hollering, trying to get down the hall to the scavengers as Peace Maker tries to calm him. Rubicon soldiers enter and are directed toward their out of control comrade. Flanked by allies the man is lead out through the living room, his eyes locked on Kenny as he bucks trying to get away just for a second. His girlfriend, Peace Maker, follows exchanging a nod with Brass letting him know that she is all right.

The house becomes eerily calm. Brass, still by the pilfered pudding cups, stands. “Who ate my butterscotch?”

The question remains unanswered for several seconds, brass asks again, louder. He kicks the empty cooler against the wall. “Who ate my fucking butterscotch?”

Just like Rough Rider, Brass throws himself at the leader of the barbarians. Abby holds the small man at bay easily. “There’s a special place in hell for the sort of man that takes another man’s butterscotch!”

“I’m s…sorry,” Kenny manages to say between flinches.

Brass settles down with a calming breath. Abby lingers, unsure if he should let go of him or not, he isn’t even certain if the outburst was real or not. Brass has a flair for the dramatic. “I’m fine,” he tells his younger apprentice.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Brass assures with a nod. “Didn’t I tell you to let me know when I’m acting childish?”

“You’re a child, Brass,” Abby says. He hasn’t been with the Rubies for very long, he’s still acclimating to Brass’s erratic behavior and antics. The small man may be weird, but Abby knows he can trust him.

“Abacab?” Brass, much calmer now, asks.

“Yes, Brass,” the girl answers.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “My equipment is toast though.”

“They didn’t hurt you, or…?” he lets the idea trail off, not wanting to speak the unthinkable.

“No. They haven’t had the chance,” she assures. “They barged in just a bit ago with these women.” Abacab indicates a few ladies off to the side. “They just said they were taking the place over, that they planned to ‘nest’ here. I was to become a ‘wife’ for one of their men.”

“At least they didn’t eat
your
pudding,” Brass coos tenderly, cradling his young friend in his arms. “Why don’t you take the ladies out while I have a chat with these boys?”

Abacab rounds the relieved women up to usher them to safety, one remains seated on the couch. Brass, about to address the invaders, is taken a little aback by this. “You are free to go, miss,” he tells the woman with short, spikey hair.

“She’s one of them,” Abacab flatly states.

“Oh.” Brass is taken even further aback. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Rocky,” she answers.

“Well, Rocky, not to pry or be sexist, but what are you doing with these men?”

“I’m one of them.” Her words come out with ease, but her eyes tell a different story. Subconsciously her eyes tell him that she wishes to be heading out the front door as well, she watches the train leave the station and her chance elude her.

“You don’t have to be,” he offers, extending a hand to the departing train’s caboose.

“I’m fine,” Rocky affirms, her tough exterior never wavering. Brass knows there has to be something keeping her with these guys, but leaves the choice up to her.

“Suit yourself,” he lays the topic to rest. “Listen up. This place is ours. This is how we keep an eye on things. I doubt you ever want our eyes falling upon the likes you, now do you?” he asks the group.

Kenny still holds the olive explosive in his sweaty palms. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead that he’s too afraid to attempt to wipe away, he’s barely able to answer the question but manages a quick, breathless, “No,” cringing as if the single word might detonate the claymore.

“Good!” Brass says with cheer. “All of you can rise and file out through the back door. Go and just keep on going.”

The group rises to their feet and begin to depart to the bus parked behind the house, all except for Kenny. Kenny remains behind, his feet cemented in place. The device in his hands seems to grow heavier by the second.

“Just set it down gently,” Brass instructs, “and step away.”

Taking up the rear is the only woman of the group, she lingers waiting for Kenny, perhaps still debating her choice. “Rocky,” Brass is compelled to say, “if you are ever looking for a change of scenery, and are able, find me in Rubicon.”

She only nods, but walks with Kenny out through the back of the house. Brass watches her go, he can’t help but think there was something he could have said to make her join them. At the moment it troubles him even more than the barbarians’ trespass. He buries his thoughts, a new concern floats to the top of his mind. “Abby, do you know if these things can be re-pinned?”