Redemption of the Dead (5 page)

Through teary-eyed vision, she wondered if sacrificing
himself had really happened or if she had
actually
pushed
him, had gone through with her sick idea of using him to save her
own skin.

Heart aching and pounding in quick,
sharp thuds, she slowly moved forward on the branch, hands out
beside her for balance, heading for a more stable spot.

Below, the moans of the dead grew in
volume. Others from further up by the tree trunk slowly turned and
shuffled toward their kin.

Forcing herself to keep her eyes
forward, Billie maintained her balance, doing her best to stay
quiet and hoping the undead were so preoccupied with . . . Hank . .
. she’d be forgotten.

“I’m sorry, Hank,” she said, tears rolling down her cheek.
“I didn’t mean to push you.”
Did I? Did he push himself? Am I a . . . killer?
“Was it me or him?”

The branch snapped.

* * * *

It took a
while, but finally Joe and Tracy found a house that fit their
criteria. They broke in by squeezing their way through an unlocked
kitchen window. It was convenient but it was welcomed.

They kept back-to-back as they toured
the house, each room approached with caution and the expectation
that something might jump out at them and try to eat them. Only the
faint light coming in from outside lit their path.

“Don’t have a match or anything, do
you?” he asked.

“No,” Tracy said. “Why?”

“
Make it easier to see. Make
a torch or something.”

The two headed toward the basement,
each step cautious. Joe was confident in his partner, though. If
something were to happen, not only would he lay it on the line for
her, he knew she’d also lay it all down for him as well. It was
almost like he was backing up himself, in a way.

The stairs
creaked, and when they got to the basement door, he stopped short
when he noticed the knob was loose in its place, the door cracked
around the knob’s edges.

“What?” Tracy asked, clearly noticing
his hesitation.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Door’s
cracked.”

“Could it have been like that
before?”

“Maybe. I know it seems like a small
thing, but you and I both know that small things can quickly become
big things.”

“Tell me about it.”

Joe gently
tested the knob. It turned over, loose and quick. He put a hand
behind him, guarding her. He felt her hand touch his arm as he did,
dwelt on it a quick second, then took a step back and pushed the
basement door open. The basement was dark except for off in the far
corner where a faint bit of gray light came in through the tiny
basement window, turning everything into various shades of dark
gray.

Joe sniffed
the air. Musty, but he couldn’t detect anything that might be
rotten.

“Ready?” he
said.

“Always.”

They went down the four steps leading
to the cement basement floor.

Both stepped
quietly, and Joe didn’t need to ask to know she had her ears perked
as much as he had his. No grunts, no groans, no deathly
wheezing.

So far so good,
he
thought. To the side were the furnace, the side-by-side washing
machine and dryer, and the metal pantry shelf. It was hard to see
everything that was on it, but what looked like torn-up toilet
paper and paper towels littered the shelves, probably from
mice.

The basement
was filled with stacks of records, books, cassette tapes, reams of
fabric and an entire row of sewing machines that were side-by-side
on two eight-foot-long gray, plastic-topped craft
tables.

“Busy people,” Tracy said.

“Indeed. Scan the room again, just in
case, then we can finally get some rest.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Joe was
relieved and even a little surprised that, thus far, nothing had
happened to them and all had been more or less smooth sailing. Ever
since leaving the Haven, it’d been one life-threatening situation
after another, most of which were barely escaped from. Was Someone
looking out for them? Pure luck? Was there even such a thing as
luck?

“Some of these records are really
old,” Tracy said.

“Same with some of these
books.”

“Didn’t you say you used to be a
writer?”

“Comic
books, yeah, but I still read novels, too. Can’t write good comics
without reading good novels. Just the way it is.”

“Must’ve been fun.”

“Used to
be,” he said, thinking back to that simpler time, the one before
zombies, before death, before even meeting April, the one girl he’d
ever fallen in love with, so quickly, so easily. Her beautiful
face—black hair, gray eyes, cute demeanor and such utterly soft
lips—and the way she looked when he found her the day of the gray
rain, when the world transformed and the dead began to rise. Her
blood-covered mouth, an old woman’s trachea hanging between her
teeth like a stringy turkey neck. Every time he thought of it, his
heart broke anew, and the crushing defeat of his spirit when he
recalled what it was like to accidentally break her skull with a
rolling pin swung full force.

“Joe?” Tracey said.

“Yeah.”

“You’re crying.”

He blinked
his eyes. She was right. A couple tears leaked down his
cheeks.

“Sorry,” he
said, embarrassed.

She simply
looked at him, eyes glazed over in compassion. Tracy understood his
pain. She’d gone through something similar with a boy named Josh.
He had been the one for her and all had been set for a happy ending
until the day of the Rain and the world transformed,
died.

The two had
finished most of the basement, the last place to check in, and
around the washer and dryer. Joe knew nothing would be there,
unless some undead creature was lying about with no legs and no
mouth, the hunger for human flesh the only thing to keep it
company. Still, had to be done. Safety first.

Joe stood by
the washer, Tracy the dryer. Together, they opened the lids, ready
for something to pop out. Nothing.

“I guess we’re in the clear,” Tracy
said, sounding relieved. Joe knew she needed a break just as bad as
he did.

He nodded.
“Let’s head upstairs and catch some shut-eye. We’ll get a fresh
start tomorrow.” They left the washer and dryer lids up.

“Food?”

Joe checked
the pantry. Aside from the torn bits of toilet paper and paper
towel, there wasn’t much save for a can of chickpeas, a box of
crackers with tiny holes around its bottom—probably from rodents
chewing on the cardboard—and a fresh pack of No Name saran
wrap.

He grabbed
the can and handed it to her. “Maybe there’s a can opener in the
kitchen.”

“There’s a freezer over there under
all those books.”

“’Kay.” He
went to the freezer and began to take down some of the books and
place them on the floor.

Behind them, a loud metallic
bang
of a gunshot made
them both duck, legs and arms already positioned for defense. Tracy
stood by the dryer, its lid down.

“
Sorry. I got dizzy. Must’ve
bumped it,” she said.

Heart
racing, he said, “It happens.”

Releasing a
sigh of relief, he moved closer to Tracy to help her, but stopped
short when the books on top of the freezer began to shake as
something pushed the freezer lid up from the inside.

* * * *

4

T
aking
Chances

“M
ove!” Joe
said
, shoving Tracy toward the
basement steps.

The freezer
lid lifted then thunked down, lifted then thunked down, the books
on top of it jumping and jostling with each thump. Some fell over,
others spilled to the floor, lightening the weight on top of the
lid.

Tracy was already halfway up the
steps, Joe at the bottom. He backed up into her, nudging her closer
to the stairway’s top.

The freezer
lid jumped and thudded again, this time the height of its opening
having doubled. Hands appeared between the lid and the rim. It was
too dark to make out the exact details or their color, but it was
most definitely one of the creatures and not somebody using the
freezer for protection, even if someone else secured it by putting
the books on top. The putrid funk of deceased flesh instantly
filled the air like a punch to the face; Joe immediately gagged.
How long that creature had been pent up in there, he didn’t know,
and could only guess the sudden sound of the dryer lid slamming
down set it off. Either that, or the monster had smelled them even
from inside the freezer. So much for whoever’s idea of locking the
creature in there.

Joe pushed
back into Tracy, forcing her all the way up the stairs. Once at the
top, he pushed her through the doorframe.

“Find
something to protect yourself with,” he said, quickly shut the door
and locked it from the inside.

Tracy banged
against the door. “Don’t you dare, Joe. I’m not leaving you alone
in there with that thing. Get out of there!”

“Go find a knife or
something!”

“Joe!”

“Discussion over.
” He
ignored her pleas for him to come out of the basement and get away
from the monster.

The basement
reminded him of another one, the one with Blue and his gang, those
men that had tormented the girl in the ragged, pale yellow dress,
using her to tease one of the creatures. He killed the men, and the
zombie in an effort to save the girl. He was too late. She had been
bit, so he had to kill her, too.

The zombie in front of him snarled and
made its way forward in the dark, its sliding footsteps indicating
at least one ankle was broken. The creature hissed. Joe stepped
forward, hands up, ready.

Tracy yelled through the door in the
background.

Grimacing
and ignoring the terrible smell, he stomped toward the creature and
swung out, punching it in the head. The zombie stumbled back, then
growled and lunged forward, grabbing him around the neck. Joe
grabbed onto either side of the undead’s forearms and kicked
straight out, nailing the creature in the chest, forcing it back.
Its scraggly, decaying arms slipped between Joe’s hands and it
tumbled backward. Not wasting time, Joe kept moving toward it,
minding his own footing to ensure the thing didn’t lash out and try
and take him down at the knees. Reaching forward, he gripped the
zombie at the back of the head by the hair, pulled it up, all the
while jerking the thing’s head to the side as it tried to lean
forward and snap at him with rotten teeth. Punching the creature in
the throat, then ramming the palm of his hand up against the
underside of the zombie’s jaw, forcing its mouth closed, Joe threw
the creature at the freezer. The monster slammed into it. With a
hard kick, Joe took the creature’s knees out from under it, causing
it to collapse. As it turned around, mouth open again, he punched
it in the forehead, slamming its skull back against the freezer.
Quickly, Joe opened the freezer’s heavy lid, grabbed the zombie by
the back of the head again, and put it face down over the freezer’s
edge. He jerked the heavy lid down as hard as he could, crushing
the creature’s skull in between the lid and the freezer’s rim. Bone
cracked, followed by the wet squish of compressed flesh. He raised
the lid and brought it down as hard and as fast as he could again,
mashing the creature’s head to a pulp until the thing’s body fell,
its rotten skull having been cut off around the mouth. The top of
its head thudded as it dropped inside the freezer.

Sweating,
careful not to breathe too deep lest he throw up, Joe opened the
lid, picked up the zombie’s body, and tossed it in the freezer. He
slammed the lid shut, hands shaking, legs rubbery. His eyes ached
from fatigue.

Tracy still pounded against the door,
screaming for his safety.

* * * *

Billie hung on with all she had. The
branch had snapped and swung down like a pendulum. She clung to it
like a rope in gym class, the dead below feasting on Hank’s
body.

Have to stay focused,
she thought, though already her hands were beginning to
slip against the rough bark. She could only imagine the splinters
that would ravage her palms if she slid all the way down its length
and onto the mound of the undead below.

The loud
munches of the walking dead were enough to give her an extra boost
of strength to hang on as tightly as she could. She squeezed her
eyes shut, doing so somehow making her feel stronger and making it
easier to hang on.

“Pleasedon’tseeme, pleasedon’tseeme,
pleasedon’tseeme,” she whispered, mouth pushed into her arm. Heart
racing a mile a minute, sweat bursting out all over her body, she
hoped and prayed she’d somehow get out of this.

The groans
and wheezes grew louder below, so much so she opened her eyes.
Zombies gazed up at her, milky-white eyes fixed on her, mouths
agape, their bodies swaying back and forth. Others remained focused
on Hank, his body nothing more now than red mush mixed with some
fabric and bones.