Jack Zombie (Book 3): Dead Nation Page 5

  I look to Norm and then to Abby. She looks pleasantly disappointed. I can hear her saying in the back of my mind: But he licked me. He does deserve to die.

  “Deal,” I say turning to Croghan.

  “No hard feelings,” he says. “You must understand our situation. We have lost too much and cannot risk losing anymore. But why you would want to keep a cannibal alive beats me.”

  He walks across the faded white line, his hand extended. “We could form a great alliance. If not from these cannibals then from the zombies.”

  I holster the gun, the tension gone, shake Croghan’s hand. This man’s not so bad. He is just protecting his group, like me. “Maybe we could,” I say.

  “Take in mind that I do not speak for the group as a whole, though I do have some pull. We will have to discuss it with Mother,” he says.

  I exhale a deep breath. There’s always a bigger fish. I nod and smile. Then I say, “Before we head to your…court, can I have a word with my group in private?”

  Croghan tilts his head, looks us all up and down. “So be it. I may be in awe of you, young man, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

  I smile. “You can call me Jack Jupiter,” I say.

  “So be it, Jack Jupiter.”

  And he turns away from me, motioning for the rest of his own group to follow him. They go, but they are not looking ahead. No. They are looking at me as if I’m some type of extinct animal now resurrected. It makes me feel slimy. All of my years, I’ve wanted to be noticed and loved.

  But not for murder, not for destruction.

  13

  We are all around the back of the van, talking in low whispers.

  “You trust ‘em?” Norm asks me.

  “No,” I say, “but they seem harmless enough.”

  “You call wearing masks and carrying big ass guns harmless?” Abby asks, cocking an eyebrow.

  “No, but — ” I begin.

  “And why the hell are we keeping this sleaze-ball alive? He tried to l — ”

  “Yeah, we know. Tried to lick you. Heard it the first eighty times,” Norm says. Then he looks at me, cocking his head. “Wait, why are we keeping this bastard alive?”

  “I hate killing. I’ve done it, but that doesn’t mean I like it,” I say. The back of the van is dented and as I pull the door up, it makes a terrible screeching noise. Froggy is inside, barely conscious. The meds he took hit him hard. He smells close to death already. Or maybe he just really stinks.

  “Th-Thanks,” he slurs.

  I reach in and pull him out.

  “You’re lucky I’m feeling gracious,” I say. I pull him up by the collar, stare straight into his dilated pupils. “If I see you again, Frog-Man, I’m going to do a lot worse than I did to your friends back on the highway. Got it?”

  God, I sound dumb.

  He nods groggily.

  He’s even dumber for believing me.

  “I mean we could just throw him off the bridge and be done with it,” Norm says.

  “No,” I say.

  Darlene catches eyes with me. The stern look she had given me before is all but gone. Now her eyes are gentle, soft. Accepting, even. She smiles at me then looks away.

  That’s my guy, her telepathic voice says to me. She makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Yeah, I’ll admit it. That’s love, my friends.

  I smile back, then turn to the van and start taking out all of the weapons and the medicines. There is a grocery bag, crumpled and ancient. I take it and throw in a bottle of pain killers and amoxicillin, a knife and a flare gun. With my own blade, I cut Froggy’s bound hands and feet.

  “You have about thirty minutes before the sun goes down all the way. And around here, I bet it gets darker than anywhere else,” I say.

  Froggy stands up, his legs wobbly, his eyes fluttering. “Yeah, I g-got it,” he says. “If you see me you’ll kill me.”

  I nod. “Good, now get out of our sight. And if there’s any more of you bastards back at your camp, you tell them Jack Jupiter doesn’t mess around.”

  I really try not to roll my eyes at myself.

  There’s what looks like fear in Froggy’s gaze back, yet somehow I know it’s fake. Maybe he can read that this really isn’t me. I’m not a tough guy. I’m just a writer who got stuck in the wrong situations and had to defend himself.

  Froggy nods fast. “Yeah,” he says as he slowly backs away down the bridge toward the way we came. I am staring at him, trying to muster up as deathly of a look as I can. And I think it’s working because he doesn’t linger long. Even with the painkillers making his muscles and brain muddy, he turns and starts running. While he runs, swerving back and forth across the road, I hear him giggling to himself, giggling like a mad man.

  Maybe that’s the last I’ll see of Froggy, and the last I’ll see of any cannibals.

  As if reading my mind, Abby says, “Let’s hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, Jack.”

  “Yeah, let’s hope,” I say.

  14

  We walk toward the end of the bridge, our weapons and medicine in hand, toward the men and women known as the Wranglers. It sucks our van is gone, but I get it. They were protecting what was theirs. And where we’re going, I don’t think we’ll need a van. It was a sucky van anyway.

  Croghan drops back, smiling. I come up on him.

  “That was an admirable thing back there,” he says. “Unfortunately, a man like the one you let go would not do the same.”

  “That’s not how I use my moral compass. I did it because I felt it was right, not because I hoped he’d do the same. I already know he wouldn’t. He would’ve killed me and ate me the first chance he got. I’m not stupid,” I say. This is the truth, this is how I really feel. Or maybe I’m just trying to cover my ass for what I did back on the highway. I don’t know. This world is not forgiving, why should its God be any different?

  Croghan’s smile disappears. “Oh, I’d never say you were stupid.”

  We walk on. The trees reach out and try to grab us with gnarled branches, like the hands of an old crone. The road we are walking on narrows until it disappears. Up ahead are most of the Wranglers, about fifteen. Behind them is my group, walking with beaten postures. Then there is Croghan and I. He is not a man I trust so I keep my hand close to my pistol. I don’t think he notices and I wouldn’t much care if he did.

  They move like an army, more organized and orderly than Butch Hazard’s soldiers. This is a funny observation. None of them wear camouflaged uniforms or war paint, they are just everyday people who know what’s what.

  Maybe I should be more afraid of them than I actually am.

  Croghan breaks the silence. “You are quite the talent,” he says. “Mother will be pleased.”

  “I’m nothing special. Just been through it all. Zombies. Bullies. Crazy cowboys. Now cannibals and people wearing burlap sacks like that movie Friday the 13th.”

  Croghan laughs. “That’s just a scare tactic.”

  “How much longer until we get to your village?”

  A slow grin spreads across Croghan’s face. He stops walking and before I realize I should stop walking, too, I run into Herb’s broad and sweaty back.

  The whole crowd has stopped.

  We are looking over a cliff’s edge into a valley that seems to stretch for miles. There are tall trees full of leaves, stretching up toward us, but in between these trees is a small city. Buildings. Roadways. Abandoned railroad tracks. I see a babbling brook still frosted with ice. It’s picturesque. It’s art.

  Then my eye moves to the bottom of the slope where the fences are, the bloodstained, rusty tips of spikes, the barbed wire, the lookout tower where a man stands wearing binoculars around his neck and a sniper rifle over his shoulder, and the feeling of awe and beauty fades. Not even a place as sacred as this was untouched by the plague. I should be used to it by now, but sometimes I long for the day without all of this. That’s why I need Doc Klein.

  “Welcome,” Croghan says.<
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  15

  “Did you hear that?” Darlene says. She speaks in a whisper. I can barely hear her, but I recognize the fear in her voice. The crowd of Wranglers are already heading down the slope of the land toward the constellation of small huts and wooden houses. The man on the watch tower gives a wave.

  “What?” I say, walking up to Darlene. Her eyes dart around the beaten path. As the drifting voices of the Wranglers fall farther down the land, I focus in on the noises of the forest. Birds tweeting. The rustling of leaves. And — something else…

  “It’s Bigfoot,” Norm says. “Don’t you — ”

  “Quiet!” Croghan hisses.

  I step forward, my heart hammering in my chest. It really never ends, does it? There’s always something, always a cannibal, a mad cowboy, or a zombie. I push Darlene back and grip my pistol. The sounds of footsteps breaking across the twig-littered forest fills my ears.

  Snap. Shuffle shuffle. Snap.

  “Dead-head?” Norm asks.

  I nod. Him and I walk toward the sound, he has his gun in hand.

  The sun is basically gone, the sky nothing but the last embers of a glowing fire. We cannot see much besides shadows, tree branches, and wild, overgrown shrubbery. My throat feels like it’s closing up. I don’t want to move forward, but I have to. I always have to, if not for myself then for my group, my family.

  Norm points at his eyes then at the forest. He pulls his earlobe twice. My face screws up and I shake my head, What? I mouth.

  He mimes shooting a gun at his temple. There’s the old Norm.

  I walk past the tree line, peaking my head around a large hollowed-out trunk. There are no glowing eyes. No glint of gold coins. No sounds, either. And I’m not about to keep walking into the dark forest. I’ve read enough fairytales and seen enough horror films to know that is never the right choice.

  “What?” Norm says a little louder.

  “Nothing, I guess it went the other direction,” I say.

  “Let ‘em go,” Croghan says. He sidles up next to us, and pokes his head around the same tree I did. “If it gets too close to camp, it’ll just wind up impaled on one of our fences.”

  “Wow! You guys got zombie-proof fences?” Norm asks, sarcastically.

  “The finest,” Croghan answers, not catching on.

  Darlene and Abby are standing side by side. Herb looks around nervously.

  “I can’t wait to show you what we’ve got,” Croghan continues. “Finest defense mechanisms from here to Timbuktu. Mother has done us proud.” I barely hear him because I’m thinking of the snap shuffle shuffle snap, the zombie-gait.

  Darlene shakes her head at me and smiles uneasily, probably because Croghan wants us to let the zombie go. Her and I both know you should never let a zombie get away. Never. They always come back to…well, bite you.

  “I’ll only show you on one condition,” Croghan says, “you tell our camp the story of how you survived Eden.”

  I begin to move toward Darlene.

  I’m about three steps away from her as her features go sour. Her mouth opens in a scream, but no sound comes out — or maybe I don’t hear it over the SNAP from a nearby tree branch. Herb’s thick arm comes up shaking and pointing at something behind me.

  “Fuck!” Norm shouts.

  Then Croghan is screaming.

  I spin around, my revolver leveled and ready to take the shot before I even know the situation. My stomach clenches when I do see the situation. It’s not one I’d ever want to see. Two blood and dirt stained hands have wrapped themselves around Croghan’s neck. He also tries to scream and he’s able to muster up something that sounds like a dying moped engine. His own hands go to the zombie’s fingers, trying to pry them free as his weapon falls into the soft earth.

  Darlene is screaming, now. I see Abby grab her out of the corner of my eye and try to shut her up. Noise, noise. It just attracts more.

  Two yellow orbs hang in the darkness.

  Croghan falls forward, the zombie falling with him. But that doesn’t matter.

  I have a clear shot. I have —

  It’s too late.

  Flesh rips. Skin snaps. Croghan screams, the sound shrill and piercing…the sound of a dying man. I shoot once. The bullet blows the zombie’s head almost clean off, cutting off the screams and cutting off the death rattles that came from the back of the monster’s throat.

  “He’s been bit! He’s been bit!” Norm says.

  He is on his knees.

  “Oh Lord, p-p-please,” Herb is saying behind me, sobbing his thundering sobs. Then, “La-la-la-la.”

  I hear the clapping footsteps of the Wranglers who must’ve just caught wind of what happened. A gunshot in the zombie apocalypse can really only mean one thing. Death is on the horizon, whether it comes in the form of walking corpses or crazy humans, it’s here.

  My head is thrumming. I’m seeing red. I’m confused. I feel vulnerable. This isn’t supposed to happen. We aren’t supposed to let our guards down. And here we are, Croghan bleeding out onto the dark grass, the group and our defense scattered.

  Abby screams, now, and I’m spun back around.

  There is more. Zombies pour out of the woods. Ten maybe fifteen of them. I aim and fire, taking one emaciated skeleton in the jaw, knocking it down a full three-sixty degrees.

  “Run!” I shout at Darlene.

  Herb is frozen, his muscles bulging. Darlene sees the the dead surrounding them and turns and grabs Herb’s hand. She pulls him and you wouldn’t think this small woman would be able to drag the three-hundred pound frame of Herb away, but she does.

  The smell of gun smoke hangs heavy in the air. It’s almost as heavy as the smell of death and decay.

  “Hold on, man!” Norm is saying. He is crouched down by Croghan, holding the wound on his neck, blood gushing out of it in waves. His gun comes up, cracks three times. Three zombies fall each time his finger squeezes the trigger. “Just hold on! Just hold on!”

  They say the earth rotates at over a thousand miles per hour, but we don’t feel it. Right now, I do. The trees are a blur. The golden eyes are a blur. Darlene and Herb disappearing down the slope of the hill with grocery bags full of ammunition and medicine are a blur. My legs are weakening. My aim is off.

  I shoot once and watch the bark of a nearby tree explode when it should be the gray and red brains of a diseased corpse.

  Abby aims her weapon at the one I missed. There’s a rifle burst of shots and the zombie falls into a bloody heap. The Wranglers take the ones closest to the path. The older man with the beard, Jacob, and his wife swing low with their own rifles. Two zombies collapse at the knees and the married couple begin beating the zombies’ skulls in until the heads look like raisins. Now nausea replaces the fear. I’ll never get used to this.

  There is shouting. Gunshots. Screams. Death rattles. Death shrieks.

  “Jack! Jack!” someone says, but it sounds very far away as if I am under water or at the end of a mile-long hallway. I’m trying to catch my breath, though I haven’t moved. The loamy forest floor comes up to meet me. I am falling.

  My knees burn as rocks dig into my flesh. A zombie lumbers over to me, quick — or maybe I’m just moving in slow motion. It was once a woman. Her hair sways in muddy clumps. Skin is tight enough against her cheekbones that the sharpness of her skull pokes through the gray flesh. My sweaty hands scrabble at the metal of the pistol. She’s getting closer, closer, closer.

  Oh, God.

  Her eyes glow like a car’s high beams. Death has never been so near.

  Finally, I get ahold of the gun. Point, aim, fire. The slug sends her flying back into the tree line minus a head. I take a deep breath, inhaling the coppery blood.

  Something grips my arm. I feel my heart do one of those kickstarts and the feeling I get whenever I jolt myself awake from a falling dream invades me. It is not a good feeling at all. I think a zombie has grabbed me and is ready to take a chunk out of my shoulder when I spin around and see Abby’s
face twisted in fear, blood speckling her brow. My heart doesn’t calm down. Not yet.

  “Let’s go! Let’s get out of here! There’s too many!” she’s yelling, and she’s right.

  I look around and it’s as if I’ve been slapped across the face. I can hear everything in perfect clarity, every crunch, crack, squelch, and gunshot amplified. I see it all, too. The blood, the entrails hanging from gashed open stomachs, the jagged bones poking through pallid flesh, the sunlight looking on like a frightened eyeball, half-closed by the darkening horizon, too afraid to see and too afraid to look away.

  Abby pulls me up. Behind her are the trees they came out of, to my right is the slope Darlene has disappeared to. The Wranglers buzz around like worker bees, unaware of any and everything that is not zombie killing.

  “Norm!” I shout.

  He perks up, still holding the wound on Croghan’s neck. Croghan, meanwhile, jerks and twists, screeching in pain. “Oh God it hurts it hurts oh god,” he says.

  Norm looks down at him and shakes his head. At first glance, he is in almost as much pain as Croghan. But he recognizes there’s not much he can do for him. A bite is fatal, one especially on the neck. You can’t cut off your head to stay alive. My stomach lurches. I feel sick again.

  Norm stands up, his pistol smoking four zombies in the blink of an eye. The lost finger on his right hand hasn’t slowed him down one bit. It was all mental. For that, I am glad.

  As he rushes over to us, avoiding the corpses of the dead and the living alike (two Wranglers have since bit the dust and one zombie is down the path with what looks like an arm dangling from its mouth) Norm points behind Abby and I.

  “Look out!” he yells, aiming.

  I turn just in time to see a man whose face looks like a lump of dried clay, shiny maggots squirm around his right eye socket where an eyeball should be, teeth broken and sharp, lips peeled back by rot. He falls on Abby.

  She screams.

  The fog invades my brain. I’m in that long, dark hallway hearing her shout.