The Demon Dead Page 10

  “Tuck, it’s contagious,” John said.

  “I know. I saw the news. Here,” he said handing John an old style military issue 45 caliber pistol. “I won’t be needing this.” Tuck turned to walk out of the kitchen and back outside. He stopped in the doorway and turned to them. “It’s not your fault,” he said then winked. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

  John and Amy looked at each other not quite understanding what he meant.

  “Tuck let me bandage that,” Amy said.

  “No need,” he said, “there’s not much time anyway. I have to take care of this before it’s too late.”

  Tuck walked back out onto the deck, down the steps and down to the dock. They watched as he climbed into the boat and rowed out to the middle of the lake and stopped. He stood up and waved at them one more time then picked up the rifle.

  They knew what he was going to do but couldn’t look away. Putting his back to them he put the barrel of the weapon under his chin and pushed down on the trigger. The round exited the top of his head sending his hat flying and a fountain of red and gray into the air. He then fell to the side into the lake. They watched as he slipped beneath the surface and disappeared.

  The turn of events stunned them as they watched the ripples on the water die down. Stepping back into the house they suddenly felt their situation wasn’t as secure as they had thought. They barricaded themselves inside and settled down on the mattresses on the floor. The warmth of the fire was calming.

  “I want to go home,” Amy said.

  “It’s too dangerous,” John said.

  “I don’t mean it literally. I’m just homesick for the way it was before. For my sister, my Mom and Dad you know?’

  “Right. I feel homesick too.”

  The rest of the afternoon was spent quietly talking. After the sun went down they made smores and drank a toast to Tuck with the bourbon he brought earlier.

  "You know," Amy said giggling. "I don't normally drink this stuff but it's going down really easy. It's like liquid valium."

  John laughed. "Right," he said downing another shot. "Don't even think of trying to take advantage of me now."

  "Keep dreaming," Amy said taking the bottle from him and shooting him a stern look. "That... would never happen."

  John sat in silence for a moment. Not quite sure if he'd just been insulted or not.

  “It’s a shame,” he said finally. “I think Tuck was looking forward to this.”

  They talked quietly for a while then just after sunset Amy fell asleep curled up on the mattress. John lay in silence lost in his own thoughts.

  Sometime after dark John stoked the fire, put more wood on and settled down beside Amy to sleep. He had to fight the urge to snuggle up closer to her. He was becoming alarmed at the level of his attraction to her. He hoped it would disappear as soon as he was with Susan again. He forced himself to push the thought out of his mind.

  SIX - DAY FOUR: WD-40

  John startled awake and looked at his watch. It was 05:00 a.m. The fire was now just a pile of glowing embers. He lay there holding his breath listening and wishing he had left the bourbon alone. Then, he heard clearly what had awakened him in the first place. Gunshots. He shook Amy awake and grabbed the shotgun before going to the back door. He pulled back the curtain.

  Tuck’s house on the far side of the lake was on fire. He could clearly see four men standing on the dock, holding beer bottles and obviously drunk, shooting into the air. They were loading things into a large bass boat tied up at the dock.

  “What’s going on?” Amy said groggily from behind him. “God my head hurts.”

  “It’s Tuck’s house. It’s on fire.”

  “Let me see,” Amy said pushing him out of the way. “Oh my God. Who are those men?”

  “I don’t know but I’m sure they’re trouble.”

  “John, look in the boat,” Amy said stepping back.

  John looked again. There were two people tied up back to back and sitting on the bottom of the boat.

  As John watched the four men got back in the boat and pushed away from the dock. He saw the bow rise. At first the boat headed off to the left but then veered suddenly and headed straight for the dock at their house. They smell the smoke, John thought.

  “Amy we have to go. Now,” he said trying not to sound panicked, “they’re coming here.”

  They scrambled to gather their things and headed down the stairs to the garage. John opened the garage door and looked around the side of the house to see how close the boat was. He could clearly hear the throttle on the motor cut back as he saw the boat slow and pull up to the dock.

  He ran back to the truck and started the engine.

  “You set?” he asked Amy.

  “Yes.”

  John put the truck in drive and pulled out of the garage. He raced up the driveway and up to the gate.

  “Just bust it down,” Amy said, “I don’t have the key.”

  John didn’t slow as the truck approached the gate. There was a shattering sound as the wood splintered and flew apart as the truck plowed through.

  On the road now John put on the headlights.

  “We have to go back the same way we came yesterday to get back to the interstate,” Amy said.

  John pushed the gas and sped up. At the main road he turned right again and headed over the bridge. Suddenly from behind a small convenience store on the other side, a car pulled out behind them and gave chase.

  “We’re being followed,” John said.

  Amy looked back and fingered the trigger on the rifle. The car pulled right up on their bumper and flashed its lights several times.

  “They want us to stop John.”

  “Right. Like we’re that stupid.”

  The car suddenly veered to the left and pulled along side the truck. They heard a gunshot and a metallic thud as a round that was fired at the back tire punctured the left rear of the truck bed.

  “John,” Amy screamed “they’re shooting at us.”

  Before they could shoot again John hit the breaks, waited a split second, then jerked the wheel to left just as the front fender of the truck was at the back bumper of the car. The car spun around in front of them then slid into a gully and over turned twice before coming to rest on its roof. Amy looked back but could see no-one climbing out. The headlights of the overturned car cast an eerie light through the woods alongside the road.

  John kept his eyes forward as they sped through the night.

  “I hope they’re hurt bad,” Amy said. “God is this ever going to end?”

  “One day we’ll look back on all this and laugh,” John said without smiling.

  “Maybe, but right now I don’t see how this will ever seem funny.”

  Amy moved over closer to John and slid down in the seat. “Look’s like we’re getting an earlier start than we had planned,” she said snuggling up closer to him.

  “Right,” John said trying to ignore the warmth of Amy's body against his.

  They drove on to the interstate without any problems. John slowed as they passed the school playground. They both looked for her but the little gomer girl was gone.

  At the interstate the truck rolled slowly down the on ramp. The highway seemed to be clear as far as they could see in the dim light. John picked up speed to forty-five miles an hour and sat back and tried to relax.

  He tried to pretend that he was returning from one of his many trips to the upstate. It didn’t work. They were heading into the unknown. The unforeseeable. John’s eyes began to burn before he realized he was staring ahead so intently he wasn’t blinking. Beside him he felt Amy go limp as she fell asleep on his shoulder. He drove on in silence.

  He had to slow several times to weave through mangled cars and trucks here and there. Many times the undead were wandering around in the highway. They gave chase as the truck passed. John was tempted to roll the window down for target practice but decided not to.

  Forty miles out of town the truck topped a
hill and stopped. John tapped Amy on the shoulder to wake her.

  “Hey, look at that,” he said as she sat up.

  “Amy looked up to see a crashed jetliner in the center of the interstate. Debris covered both lanes.

  Walking around the wreckage were five charred zombies. Obviously from the crash. Somehow they had managed to stay intact enough to return. Other mangled and burned bodies littered the area around the crash. A wisp of smoke rose from the center of the jumbo jet.

  “Well,” John said. “We can’t stay on the highway. We’ll have to go around. Any ideas?”

  “Turn around and go back to the last exit. We’ll just have to take our chances and try a detour.”

  “Do you know the way?”

  “No. I’ve been through here but never left the interstate. You?”

  “Nope.”

  John made a three point turn and headed back the other way. The exit was only a mile back. He drove up the ramp and stopped.

  “Which way,” John said, “Left or right?”

  “Doesn’t really matter.”

  John took a coin from the ashtray.

  “Heads left, tails right,” he said as he flipped it.

  He caught the coin and slapped it down on the seat.

  “Heads,” Amy said.

  John turned left and headed away from the interstate. They followed the road for a couple of miles then turned left onto another two-lane road.

  “Logic says if we follow this road until we come to another one, then turn left again we should get back to the interstate,” Amy said.

  “Right,” John answered.

  “No left,” Amy said laughing. Then added. “You say right way too much... you know?”

  “Right,” John said grinning.

  They drove on for several miles more before coming upon the interstate again. John stopped in the middle of the overpass, looked at Amy and started laughing.

  “Well,” he said, “here’s the interstate but no on or off ramps. Just an overpass.”

  “Naturally,” Amy said.

  Looking up the interstate they could see the plane off in the distance.

  “Look,” Amy said pointing to a sign by the side of the interstate, “exit three miles. If we go back to the last road and turn left, we should run into the road that takes us to that exit.”

  “Yeah,” John said, “theoretically.”

  Once again they made a three point turn and headed back in the opposite direction. At the road they had just turned off of John turned left and started in the direction they thought the main road to the interstate would be. Coming to a four way stop the truck slowed down then proceeded through. On the right was an open field with a small house sitting several hundred yards off the road. Amy saw it first.

  “John stop,” she said grabbing for the binoculars.

  “I see it,” John said slowing.

  Amy put the window down then raised the binoculars to her eyes. The house was a small A frame with wood siding and a covered porch. A barn sat in the back. There was smoke coming from the chimney.

  “Take a look,” she said handing John the binoculars.

  He stopped the truck.

  “You see what I see?” she asked.

  “Yep. Somebody’s home,” John said as he watched the front door open just a crack. He couldn’t see anyone. “The door just opened a bit.”

  “Should we go over there?”

  Before John could answer a metallic thud shook the truck just a split second before they heard the gunshot.

  “Duck,” John said dropping the binoculars, hunching down in the seat and punching the gas.

  The truck sped away as the sound of a second shot rang through the air. This one missed completely.

  When the house was out of sight they rose up and looked at each other in disbelief.

  “Don’t tell me,” Amy said sarcastically, “one day we’ll look back on this and laugh.”

  “Right,” John said smiling. “You know that’s the second time you’ve broken your own rule don’t you?”

  “Yeah. We keep having to learn that lesson the hard way don’t we?”

  “What do you think it was?” Amy asked.

  “A scared survivor probably. My guess would be that they’ve run into some bad guys at some point and aren’t taking any chances.”

  “Yeah but that’s no reason to shoot at us. They could have killed one of us,” Amy said her eyes wide.

  “Right, but, I can’t really blame them. Maybe they were just firing warning shots.”

  “Maybe, or maybe they were trying to kill us but just happened to be really bad shots.”

  “Maybe.”

  At the next intersection they turned left and came upon the interstate after a couple of miles.

  “Made it,” Amy said.

  The on ramp was clear of vehicles but a tanker truck partially blocked the highway in front of them. John slowed as they passed. The driver was still strapped in his seat. Undead.

  “Evidently zombies don’t know how to work seatbelts,” John said.

  The driver struggled to free itself. They passed in silence as they watched the zombie smash his face against the window leaving a bloody greasy smudge wherever he touched it.

  “I have a strong urge to stop and shoot the damn thing,” Amy said.

  “No point. I don’t think it’ll be bothering anyone.”

  “Oh I’m not concerned about it bothering anybody I just want the satisfaction of blowing its brains out.”

  “Nice,” John answered smiling.

  “Well, you know.”

  “Yeah…I know.”

  They traveled on slowly making their way Southeast. The interstate was littered with the occasional crashed car or truck. They stopped a couple of times to eat or use the bathroom.

  Around two o’clock that afternoon it began to rain. A light drizzle at first then becoming heavy.

  They continued on until the wind picked up to the point the truck was being buffeted around. Soon after the rain came down so heavy they could hardly see to drive. As they came into North Charleston at mid afternoon it was decided to stop until the rain passed. They were close now and John was becoming anxious. He pulled off the interstate and into the parking lot of a hotel.

  “What do you think?” he asked Amy.

  “Looks safe. I don’t think any of them will be out in this.”

  John pulled the truck in under the awning at the entrance to the hotel and shut the engine off. Sitting back he exhaled and took a deep breath.

  “We’re almost there,” he said looking at Amy.

  “How far?” she asked.

  “Ten, maybe twelve miles. As soon as this rain eases up we’ll go,” he said.

  Exhausted, they checked their weapons, made sure the doors were locked and leaned back in their seats to rest. Amy closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of the rain hitting the awning. Soon both were sleeping soundly.

  An hour later Amy woke. The rain was still coming down heavily although the wind had died down. She thought about waking John but decided to wait a while. They could both use the nap. She took a blanket from the floor and covered them both being careful not to wake him. She was soon asleep again.

  John opened his eyes and looked out the side window. The rain was still falling but it was light. He sat up in the seat and rubbed his eyes. Then he noticed a shopping cart sitting right in front of the truck. It was stacked high with items he couldn’t identify. He grabbed the rifle and turned in his seat to look all around the truck. He saw no one.

  The movement woke Amy. “What is it John?” she asked.

  “We have company.”

  Amy sat up and stared at the cart for a second. She jerked her head around but saw no sign of whoever had left it.

  “Where are they?” she asked John.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see anyone.”

  “Lets just leave.”

  John nodded and turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned
over but didn’t start.

  “What now,” Amy asked.

  “It’s not firing,” John said trying again.

  “John I smell gas, is that good?”

  “Uh...no. I need to check it,” John said reaching for the hood latch under the dash. “Do me a favor and turn the key when I tell you.”

  John stepped out of the truck and walked to the front where he pushed the cart away. He lifted the hood and looked inside.

  “Ok, try to start it,” he said.

  Amy turned the key. The engine turned over but didn’t start.

  “You want me to pump the gas,” she asked.

  “No no no. That’ll just flood it. I’m going to check a few things,” he said unlatching the clamps on the distributor cap, “hold off for a minute.”

  As he spoke Amy got out of the truck and started to speak to him when she saw a figure standing behind him.

  “John, I don’t mean to scare you but there is a gomer standing behind you. You should be more careful about watching your back.”

  “That’s what I have you for.”

  John turned to see the zombie standing behind him. Staring at them. He was looking back and forth between the two. He was dressed in old clothes and appeared to have been a homeless person. The shopping cart full of junk obviously belonged to him. John eased around the side of the truck and stood by Amy.

  “Should we shoot it?” she asked.

  “No. We don’t need to draw attention to ourselves. Besides, I don’t think he’ll try anything.”

  “Shoo,” Amy said gesturing at the gomer, “go away.”

  The zombie looked at them with hazed over droopy eyes then turned toward the cart. He put both hands on the handle and started pushing it across the parking lot and out to the side walk where he stopped and looked back.

  “Go on,” Amy said gesturing again, “keep moving fellow.”

  “You’re so mean,” John said laughing. “Zombies have feelings too you know.”

  “Yeah right.”

  John turned his attention back to the truck and removed the cap from the distributor. He examined it carefully.

  “Here’s the culprit,” he said matter-of-factly, “it’s cracked.”

  “What does that mean.”

  “It means,” he said rubbing his unshaven face, “that moisture can get in and keep it from sparking properly. No spark, no fire. No fire, no start.”