The Week of the Dead (7 page)

“Yeah, we hit him with the truck.” Erica turned away from the window to lean against the wall with her head in her arms.

“We’ve been through a lot. But there is more to be done,” Devin calmly said.

“What’s your plan? The hideout with the people you don’t even know?” Stephen joked.

“They called it the ‘Dungeon,’ said Erica.

“Yeah, that sounds like a real winner there, sport. Is that some kind of code talk for those wackos who like whips and chains?” Stephen was always full of it.

“I don’t know, but it sounds a lot better prepared than this.” Devin and Stephen were back and forth.

“Yeah, if you want to get butt-raped.” Stephen stopped to look at the redhead sobbing against the wall. Devin met him with a look of awe on his face.

“Look, we’re grabbing some stuff, and we’re heading out. You can come with us, or you can stay here,” Devin offered.

“Kiss my ass, I didn’t survive Vietnam only to be killed running aimlessly in my own country. You need to stay here. We have food, and I’ve got my deer rifle. We can sit on the roof and pick them off and wait for the service to help us,” Stephen countered.

“Swell idea, Uncle. The only problem is that there aren’t any planes in the sky, no boots on the ground. You know what’s next!” Devin hinted.

“Nukes! Never. Not on American soil!” Stephen placed his hands on his hips.

“Whatever. What does the TV say?” Devin asked. “Same ole. Stay inside. Don’t touch them. Blah blah. All coastal cities and places up and down the Mississippi are being attacked. Europe and Asia are dark. No word from Canada or Mexico,” he explained.

“How can this be? How the hell can this happen?” Devin asked inquisitively.

“Look, kids, this is war, you can both sit still and let the army take over, or you can go get yourself killed looking for Narnia. Your choice.” Stephen felt hip and cool for making pop-culture references.

“Narnia sounds nice,” Erica interjected. “But Narnia isn’t real. This is real.” She showed them the blood on her clothes.

“She’s right. This isn’t an invasion, Uncle. This is something different. Erica, go in the back room. In the closet, there’s my duffel bag. Go and get it. Start filling it with food and water. Stephen, help me take inventory of the guns. Will you do that for me?” Stephen nodded as he closed the shades.

Erica went slowly into the back room and found Devin’s army bag with his name on it.
D. O’Connor
was printed on the bag. Erica hoisted it over her shoulder and brought it into the living room with the men who were looking around for weapons. “It’s my bug-out bag. Everything we should need: compass, canteens, radio, solar charger, survival filters, a few medical needs, and some MREs. Erica, you can’t run in that jumpsuit. Go grab some clothes and change.” Erica did so as she was told.

She found herself back in Devin’s room. She opened his closet to find a mass array of graphic shirts and freshly pressed slacks. She unzipped her crusted bloody denim jumpsuit. She stripped down to her black bra and ripped panties. She rubbed her hands over her cold skin trying to forget Ivan and his bad breath. She looked at herself in the mirror of Devin’s small bathroom. Her red hair was pinned in her makeshift ponytail. She washed her hands and face and made her way back to the closet. She found a white wife beater and some cotton sweatpants. She found some tennis shoes in the bottom of the closet. They were far too big for her feet, but her flats had given up on her.

Devin knocked on the door to his own bedroom. Erica slowly opened the door to find the man with a broad chest looking down at her with hollow eyes. “How do they fit?” Erica smirked lightly. Her day was filled with chaos, and she did little to improve her current mood. Little did she know that her day had only just begun.

Coffee Break

Chapter 16

Monday 1455 CST

Memphis

“M
’kay. We have a bow, two long rifles, and two shotguns: Frank’s double-barrel and .357, the auto shotgun, a 9mm, a .45, and about a box of ammo apiece,” Devin said as he began to stuff things into bags. “Erica, ever used a gun?” Erica nodded silently.

“Look, we’ve all had a shitty day, but we need to leave. Stay with me. OK?” Devin said to her. Erica eyed the 9mm handgun. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Shoots straight, seventeen-round magazine, and we have a few magazines.” Stephen grabbed the .270 deer rifle. “You’re not going to do dick with that, Uncle. Take the Auto.”

“I have a better idea. You go ahead. I’ll stay here. You’re both young, and I can’t run.”

“Stephen, you know we never leave anyone behind.”

“Oh, put it up your ass. I’m sixty years old. I can’t run. I sleep with oxygen on. The docs gave me six months. I’m going out with a bang. Help me set up, and I’ll cover you while you take the back way. Find a new car, and go find your weirdo friends. I don’t know what these fucks are, but a .270 lever action to the head will ruin their day. Go to the shed, and get me some of them paint buckets and the gasoline. And meet me in the kitchen.”

Devin knew it was the only option. “You stubborn bastard. It’s like punching a donkey in the face…What are you going to do with paint cans?”

“Not any of your goddamn business. Where’s the sugar?” Stephen began to clank around in the kitchen loudly attracting the creatures outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” Devin said as he pointed the gun at the windows.

“Looking for sugar, vegetable oil, and the coffee beans. Where’s my goddamn paint cans? Girly, go in that room, and bring me my oxygen tank.”

“Pantry, on the floor,” Devin said as he opened the back door going to the back shed. He quickly came back with a few paint cans, mostly still full, and a five-gallon jug of fuel.

“What are you making?” Devin asked intently.

“In my day, you never leave the area until all enemies are dead. I’m making something that will get their attention, and I’m making coffee while I work. Got a goddamn problem?” Devin shook his head silently. “Get your shit, leave me the rifle and a handgun, and let me do my thing,” Stephen said as he punched buttons on the coffee machine.

The youngsters said their good-byes and made it out the back door. They began to climb over the back fence and into the backyard of the neighbor’s house making as little noise as possible. Stephen sipped on his coffee as he began putting the ingredients into the paint cans. “
A bunch of flammable shit and a gun. Going out with a bang indeed
,” he told himself.

He lined the floor and counter with the vegetable oil. He dumped silverware, spare change, and salt rocks into the paint cans. He ripped up towels and stuffed them into the cracked lids of the cans. He poured gasoline into a line that connected the kitchen to the couch where he positioned a box of ammunition on its side aimed at the door. He had a plan, and it was going to work. Stephen finished his cup of coffee.
Hope they have better coffee in hell.
He stood at the door, armed with the handgun Devin had given him.

He unloaded the chamber, and the creatures began to barge the door. More and more they pressed against the wooden portal until it gave out. Stephen moved to the couch. He stopped and threw his coffee mug at the approaching red eyes advancing on him. “Wrong house assholes!” he exclaimed as took the lit cigarette from his lips, took a few drags, and then threw it onto the gasoline trail. Stephen didn’t know how well his plan had worked, but he knew he needed to get out of there. He grabbed a chair and threw it out the window. He then crawled out the window cutting his hand on the cracked glass stuck in the frame. The attackers began to hurdle into the living room chasing him. Stephen found the ladder and climbed onto the shingled roof with his rifle slung over his shoulder.

He knew the fire was getting close to the paint cans by now. Soon the house was going to be demolished under his feet. He took the time to pick off some of the creatures in the street. He aimed down the sight to pick his targets. Being an army sniper, his aim was true; being an old man, it was fuzzy, but he could still pick out friend from foe. After well-placed rounds, Stephen noticed that the noise was bringing the creatures into the house. He didn’t know if the fire was having any effect on them, but by now he didn’t care. The house under him let out a quick roar followed by another.

Black and white smoke began to bellow out from under the roof. Then a small explosion happened. Followed by a quieter one. Then suddenly there was a familiar sound. A sound that Stephen had to dig deep in his memory to triangulate; it brought him back to his days in Vietnam, the sound of rapid gunfire. Stephen leaned over the side of the house and saw twelve distinct bullet holes in the next-door neighbor’s house.
Holy shit, it worked
, he thought as he gave himself a smirk. “Come and get me, you Charlie sons of bitches!” Stephen expelled as he reloaded his rifle and began firing wildly into his new audience of red-eyed listeners. “You’ll never take me alive!” he shouted as he reached in his pockets to find more ammo.

He had only one round left. He loaded it. “
Do I take myself or one more motherfucker out?
” Then he saw her. His sister, Devin’s mom, had become one of them. He knew he couldn’t allow that to continue. He took aim down his scope and centered it on her forehead. He said a silent prayer as he made sure his safety was off. He recentered his aim. He pulled the trigger. When he heard the blast from the other end of the rifle, the roof beneath his feet began to give way.

He fell to his side and rolled on his back. Stephen didn’t focus on his sister, he didn’t focus on the shingles beneath his feet, and he simply took out another cigarette and lit it, closed his eyes, and let the fire take over the house. When Stephen finished his cigarette, he flicked it over his head without a care. Staring at the blue sky and the white clouds that seemed to connect with the smoke bellowing out from the house underneath him, he closed his eyes. He was ready. Inside the house, one of the rounds had pierced the gas line through the wall. The fire was now raging against the curtains and furniture. Tearing through the carpets and filling those creatures that were still standing with smoke.

As Stephen lay on the roof with closed eyes, he began to drift into a dream. He dreamed of a lighted path. With a thunderous boom, Stephen seized to be a part of this physical world. The explosion was mostly noticed by Devin and Erica who had made their way into the neighbor’s minivan and down the opposite street when the small black mushroom cloud appeared. “Jesus! That crazy bastard!”

Steam Rolling

Chapter 17

Monday 1108 EST

Philadelphia

P
hil drove his red jeep down the street weaving in between cars and other debris clipping the side of his car now and again. “We can’t take much more of this. We need a new vehicle…We need a tank or something!” Harrison turned from looking out the window watching his beloved Philadelphia be destroyed by something he did not yet understand.
Were they sick? Were they infected? Are we infected? Did I kill some of them?
His attention returned to the present situation. “What was that?”

“I said we need a tank.”

“Can you drive a tank, Phil?”

“Hell, if I know. I’ve never tried. Can you?”

“Couldn’t be that hard. I’m sure you can use the Internet to learn,” Phil retorted, thinking back on how much the young kids at the office had to depend on their computers. As they veered toward the turnpike, Harrison looked out the window, and a slight smirk came across his face. “What about one of those?” Harrison nudged Phil’s elbow as he pointed out the window.

“That might do.”

Phil drove the SUV across the median. The Cherokee bounced with every piece of concrete Phil leaped over with a crushing blow. He swerved the vehicle to a complete stop outside a wrought iron fence with a closed gate. “Do you see anything?” Phil asked as he ducked his head looking around.

“No. The coast looks clear,” Harrison said as he gripped his familiar golf club.

“Think we can knock and ask to come in?” Phil retorted jokingly.

“Doesn’t look like there is anyone to answer the door. You stay here. I’m going to have a look around. Anything happens, you drive away…,” Harrison said as he locked eyes with Phil. “At least honk the horn for me if you do.”

“I’m not going to leave you here!”

“I’m an old man. There’s something you don’t know about me. Besides, you have Paul to watch over,” Harrison said as he exited the car with a glance over his shoulder.

“What did he mean by that, Daddy?” Paul chimed in from the backseat.

“I don’t know, buddy.”

Harrison peeped through the glass windows of the building. “Damn government buildings. No one’s ever here when you need them.” Harrison chuckled as he raised his golf club. With a single swing, he broke the glass off the door. He looked around and made eye contact with Phil. Harrison shrugged his shoulders and stuck his hand in the door and unlocked the door. Harrison opened the door with an audible creak. The sun shined through the windows of the small office. Harrison crept around what he could make out was a desk with a chair pushed in. He didn’t hear anything except his footsteps and his hard breathing. He tried to slow down his breathing. He was scared, but he had never had this feeling of excitement in his body. Not long ago, he was planning on ending it all, and now he has the light back in him.

He felt like he has a teenager again, a very old teenager nevertheless. He moved swiftly through the building toward the side door on the other side of the wrought-iron fence to the prize. He exited the door and felt the cool air on his weathered face. He made his way to the eyesight of Phil and Paul who were still idling in the car. Harrison moved toward the gate. The gate was chained closed with a padlock. Phil rolled down the window. Harrison met his surprised face. “Gate has a lock. Once we find the key, we’ll be o…”

Getting Out of Town

Chapter 18

Monday 1500 CST

Memphis

D
evin jerked the door of the minivan open. “Watch my back,” he said to Erica as he threw his bags into the van, took a knee, and began hot-wiring the vehicle.