The Demon Dead Read online

  Back in the barn he put a trash bag over the suitcase and tied it to the four-wheeler. Out of the other bag he retrieved the poncho and put it on. He pulled out a bottle of water and a breakfast bar and sat down on the four-wheeler to eat. He sat not knowing what his next move would be other than to head toward home.

  John sat looking out the barn door. The cloud cover was very low. The fog had lifted for the most part but still hung over the pond. The farmer was still at the end of the driveway, oblivious to the weather.

  After his meal he tied the other bag to the rack and stuck the water bottle in the holder on the handlebars. The fleece blanket he found in the house he tied off then covered with plastic to make a case for the rifles. He slid them in and tied it to the right side of the four-wheeler for easy retrieval. The crow bar he hung over the handle bars.

  Checking his map he saw that he could head southeast for about twenty miles on this two-lane road that roughly paralleled the interstate, then cut over and on to Columbia. He hoped the interstate would be clear. He doubted that it would be but thought it would be worth a try. He folded the map and put it away.

  Inserting the key into the switch, he pulled in the clutch and turned the key. The four-wheeler roared to life. He thought about waiting out the rain but decided to leave now. This looked like it would be an all day thing. Besides, it was only a mist now anyway. He put on the gloves and put the four-wheeler in gear.

  Slowly he pulled out of the barn and started down the hill. The mist was light and the overcast was thick and low. He drove through the gate and stopped. The chickens scattered in all directions. Getting off the four-wheeler he closed the gate and latched it. When he was climbing back on he noticed the farmer had started back down the driveway.

  John put the quad in gear and started toward the road. The farmer was on the right side so John eased over to the left. When he did the farmer moved over too. John slowed down and moved back over to the other side. The farmer followed suit. John played this game with him all the way up the driveway. Each time he changed sides the farmer did the same. Finally about fifteen feet from the zombie John changed sides one more time and stopped. The farmer changed sides again and continued forward. Becoming a little spooked now John tried to think of what to do next.

  When the farmer was five feet from him John had a sudden revelation. In one movement he stood up on the foot pegs of the four-wheeler and pulled the 9mm from his waistband. He raised the gun and fired twice into the farmer’s forehead. It stumbled back three steps and collapsed. John sat back down, put the gun back in his waistband and pulled up beside the dead zombie.

  “Sorry gomer,” John said, “but you’re probably still infectious and I can’t take a chance on leaving you here to infect anyone else.”

  He thought for a moment, and then giving the dead farmer a halfhearted salute said, “Thanks for the hospitality.”

  He put the four-wheeler in gear and drove away. At the end of the driveway he turned left and headed back out to the main road. The mist turned into a slow drizzle. He shivered under the poncho. John wanted to turn around and go back to the dry barn and wait out the rain but knew he couldn’t. He had to keep heading southeast. Home.

  When he got to the main road he pulled through the stop sign and stopped. He looked back the way he came the night before. Coming up the road about five hundred yards away was a group of people. He couldn’t make out exactly how many or if they were friend or foe. Getting the binoculars out of his bag he put it to his eyes. Shuffling toward him was a small group of corpses. There were six in all, lead by what appeared to be one of the demon zombies. He was walking more erect than the rest and several paces in front. He saw John and picked up pace until it was running, if you could call it that.

  Calmly John reached for the hunting rifle with the scope, checked again to make sure a round was chambered and leaned over on the four-wheeler for support. He leaned into the rifle stock, sighted in and, being ex military, remembered to take a deep breath, let half of it out and hold the rest. He sighted in for the center of the demon's face and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked, barked and the round went down range and missed.

  “Damn! Maggie’s drawers!” he exclaimed, using an old military term meaning a clean miss. He worked the bolt and chambered another round.

  “OK, steady, deep breath, exhale, hold. . . .”

  He squeezed the trigger again. A red mist exited the back of the demon’s head as he took a couple of more steps then crumbled to the ground on his face. The others kept up the same pace down the center of the road. John worked the bolt on the rifle and methodically took down the rest of them just for target practice then stowed the rifle.

  Climbing back on the quad he started it and headed off in the opposite direction. He glanced over his shoulder one more time. The zombies lay spread out where they had fallen. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction.

  The rain grew heavier as the quad lurched forward and headed east again. John traveled on in the rain daydreaming as he went. His thoughts kept returning to home and his wife. He prayed that she was ok.

  He contemplated their decision to wait a few more years to have children. Now they may never have the chance, but the more he thought about it the more he was glad there wasn’t a child to worry about. Worrying about his wife was bad enough. He didn’t know if he could take the torment he would be in if there was a child to worry about also.

  They had plenty of time to have children he had said. Plenty of time. He regretted those words.

  After resigning his commission in the navy two years ago he wanted to enjoy his freedom for a while. Susan had wanted to have a child now. He wanted to wait. So he talked her out of it. The more he thought about it the more he realized his argument against was for purely selfish reasons. He knew that now. While he may have said they needed to save more money and become more stable what he really meant was he needed to spend a couple more years playing as much golf as he could without being tied down by a child.

  He continued down the road almost in a daze. The drizzle changed to a mist. Several times he caught himself falling asleep and realized he had to focus and pay attention to what was going on around him. At any minute he could be surprised by God knows what.

  He traveled on. Soon he came upon a narrow bridge that had a creek running under it. As he came to the bridge he pulled over to the side, stopped and turned the quad off. The creek was maybe twelve feet wide and only one or two feet deep. It ran gracefully under the road then took a bend to the left about fifty yards from the bridge. The morning was quiet except for the sound of the water.

  Faintly off in the distance John thought he heard the sound of jet engines. He looked up at the overcast. The rain pattered off the quads gas tank. John followed the sound as it grew louder and crossed the sky in a North Easterly direction. He couldn’t see the plane because of the low cloud cover. The plane gave John hope. He knew that normal people had survived. Where it came from or where it was going he didn’t know but the fact that it was up there was comforting. John sat there for several long minutes after the sound of the plane’s jet engines had faded. He checked his watch. It was 11:00 a.m.

  He started the quad and was about to put it in gear when he saw a pickup truck cresting a hill straight ahead. These were the first people he had seen since he left the city. Quickly, hoping he had not been seen, he pulled off the road and stopped in the woods behind some thick brush. He jumped off the quad, pulled the rifle from its case, laid it on the handlebars and retrieved his binoculars. He checked the 9mm, made sure a round was chambered and put it back in his waistband.

  The truck approached and slowed down as it came to the creek. It stopped on the bridge and sat there idling. Raising the binoculars to his eyes he saw that there were two armed men in the front of the white pickup and a young woman tied up in the back. Her eyes blindfolded and her mouth gagged. She sat up against the side of the bed near the tailgate. The truck had a magnetic sign on the door that said they we
re contractors for a cable company.

  The two men in the cab of the truck stepped out and laid their weapons on the hood. John heard them talking and could tell they weren't from this part of the country. He looked closer at the truck and saw that the license plate was from the mid-west. The driver was tall and skinny, the other short and overweight. They walked to the back of the truck and took two pails out.

  The driver said something to the woman then ripped her shirt down exposing her breast. John felt his face flush as the rage boiled inside him. The woman's face turned red with hatred as she screamed at the man defiantly through the gag in her mouth. She was immediately met with a slap to the side of her face. She fell over and didn’t rise up again.

  “You’ll pay for that you bitch,” the tall man spat. "We’re gonna have a lot of fun with you.”

  “Lets just get the water and get the hell out of here,” the short man said.

  “You get it. I’ll stay here and watch our friend,” the tall one retorted.

  The short man walked into the woods and down to the creek with the pails. He stopped only ten yards away from John and leaned down to fill them.

  While the short man filled the first pail the driver lowered the trucks tailgate and pulled the woman over to him by her feet. He was attempting to remove her pants when she raised her leg and kicked him in the shoulder. The man hit her with his closed fist. She fell back again. She was no longer moving. Knocked out cold. The short man looked up and laughed then finished filling the first pail and started on the second.

  John’s mind was racing. He knew what he had to do. He had a clear shot at the driver. He raised the rifle to his eye and while the tall man struggled to remove the girl’s pants, John squeezed the trigger. A hole instantly appeared in the man’s temple and he fell sideways to the road.

  The short man spun around toward the sound of the gunshot and pulled a revolver form his back pocket and raised it looking around frantically trying to locate the person who had fired the shot. By this time John had worked the bolt and chambered another round. John fired again hitting the man in the chest. He fell heavily into the water his revolver dropping into the creek.

  John dropped the rifle, pulled the 9mm from his waistband, and raced to where the man fell. He was dead. The round had entered his chest and pulverized his heart. John put another round in the man’s head just for good measure and ran up the bank to the road. He jumped into the back of the truck to check on the woman.

  Ripping off the blindfold and removing the gag he propped her up against the bed of the truck and cut the rope tying her hands together. She opened her eyes and started to speak but lost consciousness again.

  Going back to the creek John loaded the full pail of water on the back of the quad, started it and drove back onto the road beside the truck. He took a t-shirt out of his bag and put over the woman’s head. She was a slender brunette and appeared to be in her late twenties.

  Taking a rag he found in the cab of the truck he wet it with the clean water and began cleaning her face. She awoke with a start and kicked her way to the back of the truck bed pulling her pants up as she went.

  “Calm down,” John told her. “They can’t hurt you now. It’s ok. I’m one of the good guys”

  Slowly she slid over to the back of the truck and sat with her legs dangling. She looked down at the dead man lying behind the truck.

  “I’m Amy,” she said still staring at the man on the ground and trying not to cry.

  “My name’s John. Where are you from?”

  “Columbia, I was here visiting my Grandmother,” Amy said wiping away a tear. “She’s dead now. She died this morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” John said. “What happened?”

  “We woke up yesterday, and sat at the table drinking coffee, eating breakfast. It was nice. I hadn’t seen her in a while. I should have spent more time with her.”

  Amy dabbed at her eyes with her shirtsleeve then continued.

  “We didn’t know what was going on you know. After breakfast we turned on the news and saw all the awful things that were happening. While we were watching, the power went out and Grandmother started complaining of chest pains. I picked up the phone to call 911 but it was dead. My cell phone didn’t work either.

  I helped her to the couch and after a while she calmed down and said she felt better. I thought it may have just been a panic attic because of what was going on. She rested most of the day and didn’t complain much. I thought she was ok. We were so afraid. I locked all the doors and barricaded as best I could. We just sat in the dark and talked. We were afraid to burn candles or light a fire. I didn’t want to attract attention.

  Then this morning, when she woke up, she broke out in a cold sweat, complaining of severe pain in her chest and arms and said she couldn’t breathe. So I put her in my car and was taking her to get help. I don’t know where I was going, we’re a long way from a hospital out here.”

  She told the story in a very methodical manner. As if she was repeating the plot from a book she had read recently. Then her face took on a look of hatred.

  “We were coming up on a gas station. The one just down the road here,” she pointed back the way the truck had come. “I slowed down because this truck was sitting near the road. Grandmother had stopped moaning and I was afraid she was dead so I pulled into the store and stopped. I thought they would help us.

  While I was getting out to go around and check on her the truck pulled in front of my car. The two men got out. Both of them were carrying guns. The tall man came over to me. I begged him to help me and told him my grandmother was dying. He just laughed and grabbed me under the arms and pulled me away from the car. I started screaming. The other man walked up to the car and looked at my Grandmother. He raised her arm and let it fall back down. Then he put his finger on her neck for a minute. He looked at me and said she’s dead. Then laughed. I just went limp and started to cry. They tied me up and put me in the back of the truck. I couldn’t even fight back... They just left her there.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. John put his arms around her and held her until she calmed down.

  “I’m from Charleston,” John told her once she stopped crying. “I’m trying to get home. My wife is there alone.”

  Amy walked over to the dead man and stood over him for a moment. She screamed then spat on his body. As it began to rain again she fell to her knees and sobbed.

  John helped her up and put her in the front of the truck to get her out of the rain. The rain was heavy this time and the clouds were dark.

  “Looks like the rain’s not going to be stopping any time soon,” he said as he looked through the truck.

  He saw that there wasn’t very much of use. He had their guns, two hunting rifles, and ammo but not much else.

  “I need to go back and bury my Grandmother,” Amy said, her face grimacing. “Then I need to get home. Can you take me? It’s on your way right?”

  “Right. I was heading to Columbia anyway,” John said. “I can drop you off with your family then I have to keep moving. You do know that what you find when you get there may not be pleasant?”

  “Yeah, I know but I’m not going to think about that until we get there. I’ll deal with what ever we find then.”

  “I just want you to be prepared for what we might find,” he said. “I’m trying not to think about it either. We just have to have faith that they’re alright but be prepared for the worst.”

  She looked up and nodded, “I know.”

  “Who’s there?” John asked.

  “My Mom, Dad and my little sister Jen,” she said. “I say little but she’s nineteen actually. I was ten when she was born. My Grandfather on my Mom’s side is there also. He’s in an assisted living center though. He’s ninety.”

  John put his hand on her shoulder.

  “OK, look. I'll take you to check on your Grandmother. After that we'll decide what we're going to do," he told her. "Right now I’m going to pull the truck down into
the ditch and see if I can drive the quad onto the bed. We’ll take the truck as far as we can or until we can find a better vehicle. If we need to we can always unload the quad and continue on it.”

  He drove the truck down into the ditch and backed it up to the bank. With the tailgate lowered he was able to load the quad and all of his belongings. He wanted to keep the quad for as long as possible. It would give them another option and that could be a lifesaver.

  With the quad loaded he put the truck in gear, four-wheel drive this time, pulled back onto the road and started back in the direction he was originally headed. This little stop had cost him quite a bit of time.

  The store was only three miles up the road and around a curve. As they drew near the rain changed to a mist. The sky was gray and sad.

  "Oh my God my car's gone," Amy screamed and began to cry.

  A body, covered with a bloody sheet, was lying in the middle of the road in front of the gas station. When she saw it Amy lowered her head into the palms of her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

  John pulled the car over to the gas pumps and stopped. Exiting the truck he grabbed the shotgun and walked out into the road to check the body. Pulling the sheet back, he saw that she was lying on her back, her head and face crushed under the tire of a car. Whoever took the car must have pulled her body out and then ran over it. At least he wouldn't have to put a bullet in her head to keep her from getting back up. He thought.

  Hearing footsteps behind him John spun around to see a zombie walking toward the car. He raised the gun to fire.

  At the same instant an old man came running out of the gas station screaming, “Don't shoot, don't shoot. He won't hurt anybody, please don't shoot him.”

  John ran to the car with the shotgun still pointed at the zombie. It stopped at the gas pump and pulled the nozzle out and lifted the handle. Then it stood there staring at him.

  "Please don't hurt him, just tell him to fill her up, he doesn't know he's dead mister.”

  “Amazing,” John said shaking his head.