The Jack Zombie Collection: Volume 1, page 31
Darlene stands on the steps to the second floor, looking at me differently than before. With a look of admiration, of pride.
I smile the slightest bit, an alien emotion in a time like this, but one I can’t help but portraying. “Go get Herb, Darlene. We’re getting out of here.”
She nods, turns and runs up the stairs.
“She’s right. Never seen so many out here. Something is off,” Tony says.
Damn right. It’s been off for half a year.
Tony has his pistol, and he is not hesitant about the pulling the trigger.
My own weapon shudders in my hands. I feel the power surging through my body.
One zombie’s head explodes, then another, and another.
With our combined shooting, the door completely blows off.
The shots stop, and vibration runs through my hands and forearms. My own wound burns, but I hardly notice it over the adrenaline pumping through my body. The little bit of sleep I got definitely helps.
Behind us, Abby’s gun blasts in intermittent bursts. Brian’s does, too.
There is a pile of dead zombies laying over the couch, which is also riddled with holes. Stuffing floats in the air like summer snow. I smell death, not even the smell of gunpowder can drown that out. There is dark blood splashed on the walls of the earth and mud-color wallpaper. A trail of guts and brains on the ceiling, drops swelling then falling. A pool of red grows larger and larger by the second, not even the hallway runner can absorb all of it.
Inside of my head, I hear this terrible eeeeEeeeee noise that I don’t think will leave me for an hour, hell, maybe even a day. My eardrums were not ready for tonight.
Tony says something to me, but his voice is distant and swimmy. I read his lips, basically, and my brain fills in the rest with a cheap imitation of his gruff voice.
“The path is cleared, let’s get the fuck out of here,” he is saying.
I nod.
“Darlene! Come on!” I shout, or at least I think I shout. Right now, the feeling I’m stuck with is having earbuds in with the volume all the way up while trying to carry on a normal conversation.
Through the hole in the wall, more zombies shamble from the dead grass and crop field. I estimate we have about two minutes before another swarm of them hits the porch.
“The Dodge,” Tony says.
His voice comes to me in waves. Sometimes muted, sometimes really loud. I’m like a frayed A/V cable.
I shake my head. “No, we attack Eden now,” I say. There’s too much adrenaline going through my body to lay low.
“Jack,” Tony starts to say, but is cut off by Herb’s heavy footsteps banging the steps.
Herb has his hands over his eyes, his head slouched. Darlene is behind him, guiding his large torso with her small hand.
“Jack, we are not ready,” Tony says. “We are outnumbered, outgunned, injured…” He is looking at me like the teacher who just caught you cheating on a big math test. That look of accusation and betrayal.
“I am ready. I am going. You and Brian can do whatever you want. You don’t owe us anything.”
“I’m in,” Brian says. “After what Butch did to my Tammy, I’d go even if the only weapon I had was a fork.” I imagine the adrenaline is pumping through him, too.
Herb peeks out from beneath his hands and nods his head. “I don’t wanna go back, but I will for you, Jack. You protected me from them now I’ll protect you.”
The way he speaks makes me want to cry. Why anyone would do anything for Jack Jupiter is beyond me. So I smile, hoping no one sees the tears brimming in my eyes, and pat him on the back.
Abby is smiling as she says, “You already know I’m in…even if Norm is an asshole. Maybe they knocked some sense into him, and I want to live to see that.”
I chuckle. “Doubt it. He’s stubborn.”
Darlene says, “I go wherever you go, Jack Jupiter.”
Then everyone looks at Tony. His long beard sways as he shakes his head. He sighs, turns toward the bullet-blown hole in the wall and strokes his beard. “Fine,” he says. “Staying here won’t do me no good.”
A smile breaks across my face.
Humanity may be slowly dying, evaporating from the face of the earth, but there’s humanity here, right now, in this shitty farmhouse.
The dead don’t care for humanity. They still come.
Small triumphs are never as cut and dry as they are in the movies.
I am tired, my wound hurts, I am missing my brother, and I am in a strange place surrounded by zombies. Yet, somehow, I am all right. I am with family.
So I lead the way to the outside, through the hole Tony and I made with our guns, and I think to myself that I am Johnny Deadslayer on a mission to save his captured brother from beyond enemy lines.
But as I step out onto the porch, carefully so as not to step in brains or guts, I am bathed in bright, blinding headlights.
Butch Hazard is on the loudspeaker again, his voice grating and haunting, “Sometimes life is a bitch,” he says.
28
The truck is the cause of the bright, white headlights. I am shielding my eyes, the pistol still in hand, and Darlene cowering behind me. But there is more than the trucks. I see four red lights hovering in the distance like glowing, red eyes. I think of some great beast lurking in the shadows. They are the trailers of semi-trucks, parked a ways off the road. One of the trailers are open. Zombies stream out from inside. Son of a bitch, I think. That son of a bitch flushed us out with zombies —
That thought is banished once I hear the steady beep-beep-beep, and those red eyes get closer. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in the better part of a year, a sound I didn’t know I missed until hearing it just now. The other trailer backs up through the field.
A few of the dead scramble. Just a few. We could take them. The bulk of the zombies are piled up behind us.
“Welcome to Hell,” Butch Hazard says.
Then, as if on cue, a flame lights up in his hands, so does the hands of his soldiers — and he made sure to bring more this time, their guns trained on us. I notice his shoulder is patched as is the bite mark on his hand.
Butch tosses the flaming whatever at the house behind us. Glass shatters as what he throws meets the siding. Fire licks up the side.
“Fire!” he yells to his soldiers.
I involuntarily clench up as I step totally in front of Darlene, Abby, Herb and the Richards.
“Excuse the pun,” Butch says as more fire engulfs the house. The back of my head feels singed. I am sweating. My heart racing. We have no choice but to step forward.
A zombie shambles toward us, orange light glinting off of its yellow eyes. Tony raises his gun to put it down, but a burst of shots rips from one of the soldier’s weapons. Bullets thump the soft earth just inches away from Tony’s feet, sending a spray of dirt and grass in every direction.
“Nope,” Butch says. “No weapons. Put ‘em down!”
Darlene is shaking behind me. I wish I could hold her and tell her it’s all going to be okay, but I can’t because I don’t know if that will be the case. Reluctantly, one by one, we drop our weapons.
Brian doesn’t throw the silenced pistol out in front of him. “You bastard!” he yells, then he takes off running.
Tony makes a grab at him but misses.
In the glow of the firelight, Butch’s harsh face raises into a smile. “Well, would you look at that,” he says.
The soldiers’s guns crack, shooting at Brian’s feet as he rushes forward. But he’s not scared. He keeps running.
“Brian!” Tony yells, and goes after him.
As if there is an invisible wall, Brian stops about ten feet in front of Butch. I can do nothing but sit here and burn.
The dead bushes are on fire, now. Heat radiates off of them in waves. Herb squirms behind me. He wants to run. I can practically feel the springs in his large legs readying themselves for a mad dash to freedom. I turn around and put my hand on his forearm. His eyes are wide and he looks at me like I’m a zombie, not a friend. I shake my head.
He closes his eyes tight. A drop of sweat or maybe a tear rolls down his cheek.
“Slowly,” I say. “We’ll walk slowly, our hands up.” I feel like I’m being forced to walk the plank on some pirate ship, the fall below is the field in front of me. Otherwise known as death.
“We can’t just leave them,” Abby says. “Not Brian.” Her mouth is a thin, bloodless line on her face. She wears a dazed, traumatic look.
“I know,” I say. But as if no one else notices the house is on fire, I point to the side where the flames have burned the bushes to a pile of ash and are now working their way up the porch guardrail. “We have to get away from the house before it collapses.”
I lead the way, creeping down the porch steps, which are already dancing with small flames.
“You remember me?” Brian shouts at Butch. “Do you fuckin remember me?” He has the pistol trained on Butch’s head. But Butch doesn’t seem to notice, or care. He looks tired, fed up.
He blinks slowly then turns his head, sighing. I am close enough to hear his voice without the megaphone. He squints at Brian. “No, kid, I don’t remember you.”
“You took my Tammy,” Brian says, his voice choking up. “You took her from me and she was pregnant.”
Butch arches an eyebrow.
Tony is on Brian’s side. He grabs his arm, tries to pull him away from the truck with its blinding lights and army of assault rifle toting soldiers. “Brian,” he says. “Let’s — ”
“Ring any bells, soldiers?” Butch asks, leaning backward.
A mustached man, wearing the familiar camouflaged outfit as the ones in Sharon answers. “Yeah, boss,” the man answers. “The blonde. Remember? The doc said the kid would’ve made it — ”
“Oh, yeah!” Butch says. He starts laughing. Great, belly-shaking laughs. The kind of laughs you’d hear Santa Claus belting out on Christmas. Except, Butch isn’t an old and jolly fat man. He’s a stern-faced killer. The laughter escaping his throat is about as alien as Darlene with a gun. “Yeah, I remember her. She was a pretty young thing. If she wasn’t pregnant, I might’ve kept her for myself.”
Brian lunges, but now Tony has both hands on him, holding him back.
Where we are standing, we see this perfectly. For Abby, maybe too perfectly. She lunges too, but I grab her before she can do anything stupid. The center of attention might be on Butch Hazard and Brian, but the soldiers aren’t dumb. Half of them have their weapons trained on us. Where the large semi-trucks are, there’s more soldiers. Their guns raised.
“You’ve all been summoned to Eden,” Butch says. “So cool it, kid. Drop the gun and quit being an idiot.”
“Fuck Eden,” I shout. If I’m going to die, it’s going be on my own terms.
“Yeah, fuck Eden,” Brian echoes.
Butch laughs, looking at me. “Just like your brother,” he says. “You know, he’s still alive…barely. He held tough for awhile before he gave this place up. Only lost a few teeth. Maybe has a ruptured spleen. I don’t know, really, we don’t let the doctor utilize his talents on garbage.”
It’s like a stab straight to my heart. I suspected torture, but I had no confirmation. My body starts to shake. I’m a rocket on the launchpad. The fire is burning through me. “I swear to God if you hurt — ” I begin, but Brian cuts me off.
“This ain’t about them,” he says, making a move at Butch, breaking free from his father’s grip. But Butch is there, he wraps both hands around Brian’s neck and both of their faces start to turn red.
Butch Hazard is a man of war. He’s planned this out. No doubt Norm had given him all the details in order to spare his fingers. I don’t blame my older brother for this, either. I would’ve cracked much earlier than he did. Thinking of Norm all bloodied and begging for mercy causes me to grit my teeth.
“That was my wife,” Brian says. I can barely hear him.
“Not anymore, kid. She’s in one of those dead bastard’s rotten intestinal tracts now.”
Brian bucks, kicking his legs out, beating at Butch’s hands.
No luck.
Butch just smiles, but his eyes are harsh. Black onyx set in an aging face. His left hand goes to the knife on his belt, and he pulls it free. I think he’s going to cut Brian’s throat right here on the spot. But he doesn’t. He lets go of Brian, the gun dropping from his hand, and then he puts the blade, handle first, into Brian’s fist. “You’re welcome to try and find her chewed up remains,” he says.
“You son of a bit — ” Brian says, but his voice is drowned out by thunder.
I think, for a moment, as this registers in my head, that a storm has broken out above us. I remember smelling rain and the clouds seemed heavy, ready to burst.
But lightning does not come from eye level. It comes from above. And this lightning did not come from high in the sky. It came from Butch Hazard’s Desert Eagle. He moved so fast I barely saw him.
I do see the rain, though. Not water, but blood. A thick curtain of it suspended in animation. Heavy, red, terrifying.
My head hums with the shot.
The zombies’s strained groans and cries for food are amplified. Yet, some of them seem muffled. In the burst of light, I see smiles on the faces of the soldiers. People who signed up to see exactly this.
Behind me, Abby screams.
I can’t believe this…any of it.
Then, as if on cue, Brian spins around. I don’t know if it is because of the force of the bullet or because this is God’s cruel way of proving to me that what I hear and see is real, but Brian looks at me with one good eye. His other eye is missing. Gone, nothing but a gristly black void. A river of blood flows from a fist-sized hole in his forehead. Despite all of this, Brian looks calm, as if none of this has happened at all. As if I cannot see his exposed brains, pulsing pink in the dying moonlight.
Tony cries out, reaches for his son who is falling over. This plays in front of me in slow motion as moments of tragedy often do. I want to reach for him, I want to grab Brian and stop him from hitting the dirt. Because once he hits the dirt, then it’s all but final.
I can’t move.
And Brian hits the dirt.
Butch laughs, and like an old Western black hat, he brings the gun up to his mouth and blows the smoke away.
Brian is dead.
29
“Don’t look so sad, guys,” Butch says. “Now, he can go see his wife in hell. She was a dead fuck, anyway.” He laughs again. My vision is blacking out. The veins in my eyes feel like they are bulging. It’s taking everything inside of me not to run over and try to kill this bastard.
Tony holds Brian in his arms, blood gushes from the wound.
“You monster,” Abby says quietly from my side.
Orange light seems to stretch high over our heads, casting this macabre scene in a warm glow. Beams and siding crackle under the wrath of the fire. I hear something crumble, glass shatter from the tremendous heat.
“You bastard!” Abby screams.
She takes off from her spot. This doesn’t play in slow motion. She is lightning quick, too fast for either me or Darlene to grab her.
Butch’s laughter dies. He looks at Abby rushing over at him as if he can’t believe his eyes. She stops short once the soldiers' guns raise on her. It must be nice to have your own private cavalry.
“Abby,” Darlene says. “Don’t!”
Butch stands with his hands on his hips. He’s much taller than Abby, looking down at her. She swings at him, at his face, I’m assuming, but misses. Instead, she hits his chest.
Butch doesn’t even flinch.
“Oh, how cute,” he says as she hits him again.
I am still frozen to the spot. I want to stop this before he can blow her head off, too.
Abby swings again, catching the bottom of Butch’s jaw. The playful look of amusement vanishes.
She swings again, and he grabs her fist. Abby cries out in pain as he twists. She crumbles to the ground and Butch stomps a boot down on her, pinning her to the dirt. She lays halfway in a pool of Brian’s blood. She’s screaming.
That’s it. The rage wins out, and I’m rushing across the grass, the fire burning behind and inside of me.
Guns come up in my direction, so many guns. Flames glint off the dark metal of their barrels. All these soldiers have murder in their eyes. That sharp look of recklessness, of hope. Maybe they’ll get to kill something that’s not already dead and moving around like a drunken three-legged dog.
“Leave her out of this,” I say. I stand straight up. My mother always told me to stand up straight. People respect someone who stands up straight. That sentiment was echoed the more time I spent with Norm, except he didn’t want anyone’s respect, he wanted their fear, and that’s what I want. I want Butch Hazard to fear me.
That doesn’t seem to be the case. He stands straight up, too. Perhaps even more straight than myself.
I think we are going to fight again. A fist fight to end all fist fights. One that I will win.
That’s not the case.
Butch snorts laughter, looking at us as if we are not worth his time. He turns to his soldiers and says, “Round ‘em up. Put ‘em in the trucks. I’m sick of this bullshit. One wrong move and you shoot them in the foot.”
I stand helplessly as twenty soldiers with AR15s swarm us.
We are roughly handcuffed, except for Herb. He is too big for regular handcuffs. One man with war paint under his eyes holds him at gunpoint. “Put your hands out. Move the slightest bit and you lose a nut, my big friend. They want you alive, but they don’t need you with a full sack.”
Herb obeys. They put these big shackles around his wrists. A chain dangles from these wrist cuffs and I realize, because the firelight glints off the rest of the silver, there are two other unoccupied cuffs for his ankles. They clasp those around him, too, and he looks like Florida’s biggest escaped convict. The whole time he sniffles and tries to hold down his sobs with not much luck. Seeing him like that breaks my heart.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see the female soldier picking Darlene up.
