The Jack Zombie Collection: Volume 1, page 13
“When they shut us down, I was relieved. Six months away from early retirement and a nice, fat pension. Re-lieved. But I wasn’t thinking it was because we were all royally fucked. I wasn’t thinking the Leering big-wigs saw their fuck-up and decided to jump ship, leaving us all to crash and burn. No, I wasn’t thinking any of that. Besides, I heard all of this almost six months ago. A lot can go through a man’s mind in six months.”
A heavy silence hangs in the air. This is bullshit. I don’t believe Pat. He knew this whole time. He was never in denial. He was probably the cause of this whole thing. That wouldn’t surprise me. Leave it up to a Huber to end the world.
“If the government broke it, they will most surely fix it, won’t they?” Miss Fox asks.
“Honey, I don’t know,” Pat says. “A virus like this is like wildfire. It’ll burn and burn until it eventually extinguishes itself or…until it consumes everything in its path.”
“Will we catch it?” Miss Fox asks, somehow her face going paler.
“If we haven’t caught it yet, I’d say we’re immune. Since the rumors are turning out to be true, what we’re seeing here is an exploding time bomb. Everyone exposed was exposed at roughly the same time, and now the virus is changing them all at roughly the same time,” Pat answers.
I see the seriousness in his face and think back to my own zombie novel. The cause of the dead rising was from some crazy spaceship that crash landed in an abandoned Ohio cornfield, chock full of little green men infected with radioactive alien parasites. Outlandish, yes. Pat’s so-called rumors are not as outlandish.
Miss Fox relaxes a bit, but I don’t.
“Roughly,” Pat repeats. “Which could mean we’re not out of the clear yet. We could turn now, we could turn later. Give it another month for us. Maybe longer for Jupiter, being an out-of-towner and all. Even longer for the rest of the world.” He smiles at me like he’s enjoying all of this.
“So you’re telling us you knew about all of this and you didn’t do anything?” I ask. Another typical Huber trait. “This whole time, you knew a bite could be fatal? You knew Doaks was going to turn into one of those things? In the back of your mind, you knew.”
“They were rumors, kid! I really didn’t want to believe them. Would you believe horse-shit like that? No! That’s the type of stuff you block out. Trust me, what I saw today is going to haunt me forever,” he says. “But it’s not my fault. Sometimes you play with fire and sometimes you melt your face off.”
“Sure,” I say.
“Man, don’t listen to this fool. He’s just blowing smoke out his ass,” Isaiah says to me.
Abby is sitting now, her face in her hands.
Pat just shrugs, walks over to her, and puts his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, don’t get hung up on the big guy. One less person to worry about, right? Those things will be so full when they’re done with him — a big guy like Kevin…it’ll be a buffet. They won’t even want us after him.”
“Stop,” I say. My knuckles crack as I ball up my hands. I’ve had enough of this prick. Gun or not, I’m going to shut him up if he doesn’t shut himself up.
Abby doesn’t answer with anything besides her sobs.
“I think it’s Judgment Day,” Miss Fox says in the tone of someone revealing a dark secret.
“Oh, please,” Pat says.
“No, no, this is God’s wrath. The meek shall inherit the Earth. Those things are the meek — ”
“Then what are we?” Abby snaps, causing me to jump. “We are still here. There’s got to be tons of people still here. This is new. It would take forever for the population to be wiped out.”
“Crybaby has a point,” Pat says.
“Enough! Stop it, Pat,” Abby says. Black streaks run from her eyes, then they smear as she wipes them away with the back of her hand.
“He wants to make us suffer. We have wronged Him,” Miss Fox says. She tilts her head up to the sky, outstretches her arms. “But I have not. I am your humble and honest servant. I’ve done nothing but spread your love for all of my years. I am forever grateful for the life you have blessed me with. Please, do not take it now.”
When she opens her eyes, there’s a sparkle of tears.
Pat laughs. “Yeah, make good with him as soon as the shit hits the fan. Don’t forget to ask for forgiveness for all that money you stole a few months back.”
Miss Fox’s face freezes. Her eyes slowly grow wider.
“Yeah, I heard about that. It’s not like it was a secret. Everyone knew, even Toby. He just felt bad for you. After your husband died, he said you got a couple screws knocked loose.”
“I-I — ” she stammers.
“Am a thief,” Pat says. “Feels good to come clean, huh? Why don’t we all come clean? Here, I’ll go first. Let’s see, well, I’ve been married for twenty-five years. Not one of those years has been a faithful year. Hookers. Interns. Lab assistants. Wild weekends in Vegas with a couple buddies. She knows, too, but she’s too afraid to leave me. Thinks she’ll be stuck on her own with our dumbass kid. I mean he’s almost thirty and still lives at home. What a fucking disappointment.” He laughs like a maniac. “You know what? Since we’re coming clean, I don’t love that bastard. It’s my own damn fault. I stayed away from him like he was the plague. Now guess what? There’s an actual plague! Life’s funny like that.”
I’ve never seen someone break down before — not in real life. It’s hard to watch, but at the same time, it’s entertaining. Knowing Freddy Huber is a momma’s boy comforts me. At least I got my own place. The bastard might have a mean right hook, but I got a two-bedroom apartment.
“I love her, you know. I love my wife. She’s my best friend. I just…I just get bored. Her tits are saggy. She’s wrinkling. I can’t remember the last time she shaved her legs,” Pat continues. “If I can pop one without a Viagra around her, it’s a damned miracle.”
“Okay, too much information, man,” Isaiah says.
“You don’t like it? Then confess, Isaiah!” Pat says. “Tell us about your stint in prison or the drug dealers you’ve popped.”
“You better cut that shit out,” Isaiah snaps. “I ain’t never been to prison. I was in the Army. Five years. Saw some action in Iraq…” his voice trails off. He blinks slowly, then brings his hand up to swipe his bald scalp. “Maybe I should be in prison, man. I saw some fucked up things. I did fucked up things. All for what? For some oil? To stop some terrorists? That’s five years of my life I ain’t never gonna get back. I missed the birth of my kid. I lost the love of my life. Now she won’t even let me see the kid. They live in California, all the way across the country.”
“Good, good,” Pat says. “Let it out. Might as well if Miss Fox is right and God is listening. Come clean and we’ll be saved, right?”
She ignores him, just stares straight ahead of her, past me and Abby.
“How about you, Jupiter? What do you got to come clean about?” Pat asks me. He’s smiling, and the gun is still in his hand. My eyes scan over it. He sees me do it, then flashes it to me.
Everyone looks either stunned or deep in thought with the exception of Ryan who’s taken to a slight variation of the death rattle. His eyes are open, but I don’t think he sees much.
“I don’t have anything to get off of my chest,” I say.
“Bullshit. Anything, Jupiter. A toy you stole in kindergarten. The fat kid you used to pick on in high school.”
He’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I won’t let him.
“I killed my cat when I was younger,” Abby says.
Her words are like a slap in the face to us all. Even Miss Fox is shaken out of her pouty trance. Ryan stirs, too, but I don’t think it was because of what Abby said. I think he’s just in so much pain.
“He liked to climb the tree behind the shed in my backyard. I liked to climb it, too. I was always scared to go past a certain point. It was really high, like maybe fifty feet, I don’t know, but as a nine-year-old, that’s like a million stories. My friend said cats always land on their feet. One day, that dumb cat was up there so high, I wanted to save him. I wanted to be like the firefighters in the movies and stuff. So I did it. I got all the way up there, but he wouldn’t let go of the bark. He was glued to it with his nails, I tried and tried to pry him free. Finally, he gave in. But there was no way I was climbing back down with him in my hand, and Shelly said cats always landed on their feet.”
She cringes. Fidgets a bit with the memory fresh inside of her head.
“I tossed him off. He didn’t…he didn’t die instantly. But he broke all of his legs when he hit the concrete, and he was bleeding internally. My mom had to take him to one of those emergency vets. They said he was suffering. I named him Simba even though he was black, you know, like from The Lion King. Simba had to be put down. I never said I threw him. I said he jumped or fell, I don’t know. No one knows about this but me, and now you guys. God, I’m a piece of shit,” she says and breaks into another burst of tears.
Pat stands there with his mouth hanging wide open. “Wow. Now I’m stuck on a roof with not only a war criminal, a thief, and an adulterer, but also a cat killer. Jesus Christ, today is my lucky day.”
“It was an accident!” Abby cries. “I was only nine.”
“Bullshit. Nine-year-olds aren’t that stupid.”
She nods as if Pat is right. Seeing that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“All right, Jupiter, try to top that one,” Pat says. He crosses his arms and stares at me. The rest of them stare, too, as if it’s expected of me to confess my sins. All their eyes just show the whites. The peer pressure is real, but I’m not a bad person. Am I? I have nothing to contribute.
Of course, that’s what all the bad people tell themselves: I’m not a bad person. I never fantasized about killing all the assholes who picked on me as a kid, never thought about raiding my grandpa’s basement gun rack for something small enough for me to hide in my backpack, never thought about storming Mrs. Grant’s sophomore homeroom and making Freddy Huber eat lead. Yeah, that’s right, Pat, your own damn son and his stupid friends, too.
No, I’m a good person.
“Come clean, Jupiter, and be saved. Right, Fiona?” Pat says. I don’t have to look at him to know that his shit-eating grin is painted on his face like clown’s makeup.
“It’s okay, Jack,” Abby says. “We won’t judge you.”
“Speak for yourself, sister,” Pat says.
“It’s nothing…” I say.
“Can’t be worse than killing people, man,” Isaiah says. He shakes his head. “That shit will be with me for the rest of my life.”
I think of Earl. That old man I barely knew. I think of him clawing into the tile floor, shouting for us to help him, for the pain to go away, of his wife winning the Bake-Off. I think of Kevin, of the dead covering him and tearing away at his flesh so I could go on. I think of these things because deep down I blame myself. I could’ve done something. I could’ve been better. We can always be better, even when we say we can’t. We can dedicate our lives to improving, but we’re too busy thinking of ourselves to do that. Ironic, right?
Maybe if I got out and talked to people I’d have friends, but I hate people. I’m too shy.
Maybe if I had swung the barbell harder and killed that cowboy hat wearing zombie before he got Earl’s leg then he’d still be alive. I could’ve double-checked. Could’ve made sure there were no longer any threats. Isn’t that what Johnny Deadslayer would’ve done?
Maybe if I would’ve never called Kevin, he wouldn’t have been here today. Maybe he’d be at home watching his favorite movie, eating healthy snacks.
Maybe if I stayed closer to home, never left my mom, she would still be alive. Maybe she would’ve quit smoking. Maybe she wouldn’t have gone out to Everson’s to get that pack of Marlboros that ultimately killed her.
I say none of this and shrug instead. Because they wouldn’t understand. They’d say they do, but they’d never truly understand. That’s what makes us different from each other, and I don’t mind that one bit.
“I guess you’ll never be saved then,” Pat says. He turns to Ryan. “What about you, kid?” And Ryan says nothing in return besides letting out a small grunt from between his pursed lips. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
There’s a silence — an eerie silence that hangs over our heads.
Pat tilts his head up to the sky, mocking Miss Fox from earlier. “Well, God…now’s the time to save us.”
Nothing happens.
“Thought not. Well, I’m getting the hell off of this roof,” Pat says. “I suggest you follow me because I’m the one with the — ”
A thud like a sledgehammer pounding against the hatch cuts him off.
Another thud. This one creaks the hinges, lifts the hatch an inch into the air. I see the lines of emergency lights leaking out from the inside.
A finger snakes through the crack. It’s a bloody finger. The nail hangs off like a tilted crescent moon. Dirty skin.
This is the end. There’s nowhere to go but off the roof. I see that flash of Darlene in my mind’s eye again. So vivid. I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.
24
“I thought you said they couldn’t climb the ladder!” Abby shouts at me.
I was thinking of the zombies from my book, but what the hell did I know?
They roll out of the hatch. Bodies and limbs, greasy with Kevin’s blood. Their eyes burn yellow and they still look so hungry.
Pat aims at the first one to come out and pulls the trigger. It’s a woman with hair that may have once been blonde, but the bullet takes off the top half of her head. Brains leak down her sallow skin, staining her face. She slumps forward, dead…again.
There’s more.
They didn’t climb the ladder, I’m realizing. There’s just so many of them and they’re so hungry that they piled up beneath the hatch until they created a mound of zombies which had no choice but to overflow and spill onto the roof.
Pat fires again. I don’t move as the gun cracks. I swear I can feel the bullet whiz right by my face. This shot is wide and hits the roof with a high-pitched whine. A brief spark lights up the snarling faces.
“What do we do? What do we do?” Abby screams. She cowers behind Pat, who is standing with the gun pointed at the hatch, both hands on the weapon.
Another shot goes off. Another spray of blood. The body — an older man wearing his navy-blue service outfit — falls in just the right place for the others to use him as a stepladder. Three of them spill onto the roof, they get up. Pat pulls off two more shots in quick succession. Both miss their heads. One is struck in the stomach, but that doesn’t slow him down. He lumbers over to me. I’ve frozen again, a million thoughts racing through my mind. Darlene, my mom, my books, my brother, Freddy Huber. I feel like I’m going to explode.
“Jack! C’mon, man!” Isaiah says. I hear him faintly as if he’s yelling at the far end of a long corridor. My ears ring from the gunshots. There’s growling and snarling. Wet mouths smacking their lips at me, teeth gnashing.
Blood.
Darkness.
Someone grips me hard. I wince and look up to see Isaiah with a twisted look on his face. He pulls me away, and about a second later, one of the zombies lunge at the spot where I was standing.
I shake my head, slowly coming back into the moment. More have broken through the hatch. I count ten on the roof, lumbering to us. Each step they take backs our group up to the edge. We are surrounded by 360 degrees of blacktop with only a faint strip of bushes and shrubs near the front doors. Oh, and we’re two stories up.
“Fire escape?” I yell at Abby.
She shakes her head.
“Anything? Parachute? Trampol — ”
Pat squeezes the trigger, and in the faint ringing and silence between shots, I hear a soft moan. It’s not inhuman like these monsters who are coming for our flesh. It’s Ryan. He’s trying to pull himself up, but he looks so sick, so pained. There’s no way that leg will be able to hold him and get him to safety.
The monsters are about five feet from him as I make up my mind. I won’t lose him like I lost Kevin. I just won’t.
I grab him, scooping him up in my arms as best I can. It’s not pretty, but it’s effective. He shrieks with pain as I do it.
Miss Fox and Abby watch me with wide eyes. Pat has a perpetual frown on his face, the gun still up and aiming at the legion of dead behind me. I’m a few steps away from being behind him when he looks at me as if I’m the only one on the roof. The gun follows his gaze.
“Drop him,” he says.
“What?”
“Drop the kid, Jupiter.”
Isaiah keeps looking behind him, seeing how close to the edge they all are.
“If you want to live, you will drop the fucking kid.” His voice is eerily calm and his eyes mean business. A couple shades darker and I might confuse him with one of the dead.
“Or what?” I say.
Pat Huber, just another bully.
“Or I shoot you both. I got enough ammunition to do it, son. Don’t make me.”
I don’t believe him, and the zombies are too close for me to go anywhere else but forward.
Pat doesn’t lie.
The gun goes off, and my whole body shudders. My eyes jam shut. I think I’m dead, I think a hole in my stomach will start spewing hot blood.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I hear the high thump of skin and bones smacking the roof. Pat shot one of the things that had gotten too close to me.
“Drop him!” he screams. “I don’t want to kill you both.”
