Crowded Yet Desolate: A Zombie Novel (19 page)

The voices grew louder, hollers and whistles. “Roe, are you dead yet, mother fucker? We’re coming for your filthy twin next!”

Another voice, “Does something smell fishy in here? I think I smell some rotten pussy! Come on out you faggots, you can’t hide for long!” The voices were close now. Everyone froze. Was this really happening? Ryan thought. He heard the intruder’s footsteps on the stairs.

Chapter 20

The gun fell from Joe’s hands and hit the ground. With his twin gasping for breath on the floor, he would be no help against whatever evil was coming for them. The noises of the intruders grew louder, echoing across the hall, until Ryan heard the women shriek in terror. Ryan grabbed the gun with a second nature grip; with the lives of women and children at stake, the act needed no consideration. He swung open the door and stepped into the hall. He didn’t get far: a foot slammed into his stomach, knocking out his breath and doubling him over onto the ground. A choking sound escaped his lips as he struggled to find his breath.

His assailant roared, “Whoa there boy! Don’t you know that thing right there ain’t no toy. Rick, will you look at this asshole right here? I swear, if I didn’t know better I’d say he was trying to kill us!”

A small, angry looking man stepped forward. He wore large black boots and overalls, and he had rough skin, looking like he grew five-o’clock-shadow with practice. His head was too far forward and his back hunched too far back, as if it were trying to keep up with his belly. Ryan thought, from his view on the ground, the man looked like a menacing turtle.

“Why yes it does,” Rick said. He bent over with a grunt, picked up the gun up, and examined it, turning it over in his hands. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of my guns. Say, you didn’t steal this from me did you?” This would have been a rhetorical question if the man who said it knew the meaning of the word. After a strange silence, he spoke again. “Let’s not keep our company waiting.”

Rick and the other man grabbed Ryan’s arms and dragged him back into the room, the motion flaring a new wave of pain where he was kicked. As he was being pulled, Ryan lifted his head to measure the situation. There were five intruders: the two pulling him and three more pushing the remainder of the group into the room. He didn’t see Reginald. Two of the men were large and black, with builds and faces not to be opposed, and the other was a smaller-looking white man. Their smell was unbearable, even for someone who hadn’t showered in days. Ryan was deposited in the middle of the room. Terrified and wishing for bravery, he staggered to his feet and faced his assailants.

“Well, Bud, looks like the Good Lord has finally blessed us with some fine pieces of ass worth taking for ourselves,” Rick said, speaking to the man who had kicked Ryan.

“Right you are, Rick, right you are.” The three lackeys simply giggled and nodded, making Ryan briefly think of the hyenas from Lion King. Bud’s next move ripped that comparison from Ryan’s mind: Bud reached forward and cupped Molly’s left breast, giving it a hard squeeze as she turned her head, eyes clenched, trying to stop the tears. As he continued to squeeze and fondle the soft tissue between his fingers, the tears came anyway. And with that, this simple act, Ryan was taken back to when he lay on the floor and plotted to kill Albert, taken back to when his heart hardened and his soul went cold–taken back to a tragic night as a small child full of fear. Ryan jumped on the man’s back and brought his fists down on Bud’s face again and again, splattering blood from his nose and lips, and he felt the warmth stain his hands and heard the man’s cries of pain and brought his fists down and down again, ignoring the pain it brought to his own hands.

“Get him off of me!” Bud screamed, unsuccessfully blocking Ryan’s downpour of fists. With two hands, Rick managed to rip away Ryan, who landed in a crouched position, and Rick kicked him in the face with his steal toe boots. The hot pain brought back rational thought, and he immediately regretted his rash decision. He was lucky, though: an inch to the right and he would have a broken nose, and an inch lower, he would have broken teeth.

“You son of a bitch!” Bud yelled, picking up his gun as he stood. He walked to Ryan, lingered there for a moment, staring Ryan down, and then he moved to Roe. He pointed the gun at Roe’s head, and his eyes wandered to Joe. “Just finishing what I started. You understand, don’t ya?” His smile was dark and large, revealing more teeth than a normal smile should. He was much larger than Rick, so when lightening struck, promptly followed by a deafening bout of thunder, his shadow covered the entirety of Roe’s body. The sound of the gunshot chased the thunder like strong whisky. Screaming, Joe fell to his knees as he watched his twin die.

This can’t be happening.

As Bud joined ranks, nothing was enough to convince Ryan that this was really happening: not the pain in his face, not the sight of these men, not the metallic stench of blood. All were just imagined horrors in a dream that would soon fade. But the scene wasn’t disappearing or shifting in a cloud of mist, as dreams often do, and Ryan had to face that this was all real, he was in shock. Now
what am I going to do about it?

Ryan stood, holding his swelling face, and spoke over his fattening lip. “What do you want from us?”

“Well, that all depends what you’re willing to give, now don’t it,” Rick said.

“You fucking son-of-a-bitch I’m going to kill you,” Joe screamed on all fours. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will rip your fucking eyeballs from their sockets. I’ll–”

“Quiet!” Bud screeched. Joe wisely did. “You had your chance to join us, but you thought it better to be little shithead! I told you it would end badly, didn’t I?”

“He’s right, Joe,” Rick said calmly. “I thought our past would give us a cause to fight together. But I guess not. So shut the fuck up, or you’ll end up just like Roe.” Joe stood, staring into his eyes, but he took no action. “There. That’s better.”

Despite whatever history, most likely dark and illegal, the twins had with this group, Ryan knew that he understood Joe better than they did. Joe was not submitting–he was waiting.

“We don’t need any blood shed, now. Do we?” Rick continued. “We can all get along. Isn’t that right, princess?” He winked at Molly. “I’ll treat you real nice.” Then he spun in a single circle, a stupid grin on his lips, his arms held out wide. “I like the place you got here. You’ve kept it pretty nice for us. Show me where to sign, miss realtor.”

“You can’t just take it from us!” Don yelled. “That’s theft!”

“And who the fuck is going to stop us?” Bud laughed. “You, you little weasel?” He cocked a thumb at the larger of the black men and then pointed at Don. The black man stepped forward to intimidate the former politician, pressing up against him and pushing him back with the size of his body. Don stumbled to the ground, landing in a seated position.

“At’s right fuck-face. Do somethin’. I dare ya.”

Mr. Bennet kept his head down, wisely humiliated.

Bud smiled his creepy smile. “And of course I think these pretty little ladies will be staying with us too.”

Over my dead body
, Ryan thought.

The same black man went to Marge. With one hand he massaged her breast, and with the other he squeezed her ass. “Dis yo wife right here? She got a mighty fine ass, yes sir! Damn bitch, how u keepin’ it so tight at yo age?” Unlike Molly, Marge had no delay between touch and tears. But she took the abuse without rebellion. What other option did she have? The man then placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed down, forcing her onto her knees. He unbuckled his belt. “I bet you never did seen one as big as dis. You in fo’ a real treat.”

Don had been averting his eyes, but at this he looked up, brow creased, eyes narrowed with fury. Ryan had never seen such a ferocious look, especially not on Don. He lunged forward and, arching his arm back, and punched the man in the face. The knuckles in his hands splintered against the large cheekbones with an audible
crack
. Ryan winced at the noise, but the shattering didn’t finish Don. He used the other hand for the next blow, striking the throat, and the man stumbled backwards. Don grabbed the back of the other’s head and slammed his knee into his face. The man staggered, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell unconscious, his head cracking against the tile. His legs jerked twice, his body going limp.

Don smiled in victory. He looked around for appraisal, and he received it, from the wrong group, in the form of a gunshot. The bullet pierced his stomach, and as the dark red stain began spreading out on his shirt, he gripped at the spot with cupped hands and looked down at his wound, bewildered. He made an exasperated chuckle, then looked up at his wife.

“I love you, Marge. I never did say that enough.” His words were choked out with blood. He fell down, smacking the tile face first. He was not dead, still breathing, but gurgling more blood with each breath he took. Mrs. Bennet screamed.

Ryan’s head exploded with so much regret that it felt like there were no thoughts–condemning voices of white noise.

“Stop!” Molly screamed through tears. “That’s enough. Please!”

“I knew you would come around,” Rick said. “That’s fine, we can stop here if you choose. The option was there all along.”

“Now get the fuck out of our building!” Bud screamed.

Chapter 21

The heavy rain had turned to a light mist, and the sun was fading; the sky was dark, the school was dark, the yard was dark, yet enough light persisted to see the horrors through the glittering mist. Zombies littered the front lawn, their shoes, sandals, and bare feet sloshing through the mud that cascaded to the streets. Many were fresh, a surprising number naked. The sight frightened Ryan, so he turned back to the two large men, who were both armed with rifles which they held with command. He had gathered that their names were Diesel and Ruben and that they had the intelligence of budding tadpoles.

Ryan looked at his friends. Kyle cradled Reginald in his arms while Joe was slipped into hysteria. It seemed, since they were unarmed, that their only chance was to do as they were told, to walk out the front and never return. But Ryan knew this plan was false hope. They would die before making it across the yard, nevertheless to another safe house. And they couldn’t leave Marge and Molly behind to suffer through these men’s’ evil fantasies.

Diesel and Ruben had enough sense to keep their distance behind the group, ushering them towards the exit with their weapons and understood power. “All right, no fuckin’ funny business,” Diesel said. “We ain’t takin’ shit from ya’ll. Now go on, open the door.” He gestured opening a door as if they needed instruction.

When no one moved, Diesel took a step forward, saying “Open the fuckin’ door!”

Ryan winced at the powerful voice. He turned and placed his hand on the door. It felt cool from the rain. He unlocked it and pushed it open, but only slightly.

Cam’s courage broke. “Come on, man, you can’t send us out there like this! We have no weapons, and it’s getting dark out. It’s fucking murder!”

“Boy, were you upstairs just now?” Ruben said in a deep, southern accent. “You think we give a goddamn about watching you bitches die? Hells, no.”

“Oh, yes, but they deserved to die,” Albert chimed in a sycophantic tone, giving a weak smile. “That’s what they get for not following your orders. But we’re not causing any trouble! We’re just asking for a little mercy.”

“Mercy?” Diesel asked. “You fuckin’ kidding me? You think we was shown mercy? Look around. ain’t no mercy here.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Ryan said, holding his hands up to shoulder height in surrender. As wind whistled through the door and blew his shirt against his back, a remind of the crack in between the doors, he took a step forward. “Mercy is for the weak. Stupid of us to ask. But what about the baby? Do you really want the baby’s death on your hands?”

This stumped them. They looked at each other, brows wrinkled and deep confusion on their faces, this thought game threatening to blow their eyes from their head. As the two men considered their options, their mouths dropped wide open, Ryan heard the zombies shuffling closer to the building, attracted to the commotion within. Their moans and growls grew louder in their excitement.

Finally Reuben spoke. “Well, nah, but who the hell is going to look after it? We sure as hell can’t.”

“Let the girls do it,” Cam suggested.

“I don’t think that’s gonna work out,” Ruben said, smiling.

“Might I offer a suggestion,” Albert said, stepping forward timidly. Ruben raised his rifle, and Albert stepped back to his original position. “Now of course, I only have your best interest in mind. I don’t know if you recognize my good friend here.” He placed a hand on Kyle. “But he’s only got one hand. What harm can he pose to anyone? He can’t fight. Let him stay here till morning and take care of the baby.”

They carefully eyed Kyle, suspicious of a trick. Kyle held still under their gaze, not even blinking. Ryan felt another gust of wind through the crack in the door, and it creaked as it slammed shut and then ricocheted open again. The breeze, though warm, gave Ryan the chills.

Cam, who had calmed himself, made a bold move. “He’s a priest,” Cam said. “You don’t want a dead baby and a dead pastor on your record before God on judgment day.”

Diesel laughed. “If that just isn’t the lowest fucking blow, kid. I see what’s going on here. A priest, eh? Who gives rat a fuck?” He laughed again.

Dammit, Cam!
Ryan thought.
Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut?

Diesel continued: “You think I give a shit about any of this? There ain’t no fucking God. Just look around you! Where is He? I don’t do see no fucking Christ!”

Ruben did not share his partner’s views. He pulled a silver crucifix from under his shirt and kissed it. “Forgive him father. He knows not what he sayin’.”

Ryan tweaked his head.
Holy shit, that just happened.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Diezel said in a mocking tone. “You goin’ on with that shit again?”

“Nah, brother. We might should listen to these folks. That ain’t some shit I want written in my book. Been enough murderin’ and rapin’ as is. I was real careful not to touch any of them women. And you too! Whether not you say you believe or not, you listened to me and kept your distance from them ladies. And God done rewarded us for that. You saw what happened to the rest of them! God killed them. Every single one of ‘em, he did. And He’s gonna kill them upstairs too when they done. Might not be such a bad idea to have God’s man around!”

“Are you fucking insane? You know damn well if we go back up in there with these fools, they’ll waste the both of us.”

“Better them than the Almighty pourin’ his fury on us!”

“We’ve been over this before, now,” Diesel said, almost patiently, like talking to a child. “There ain’t no fucking God. Look ‘round you. If there was a God, would he let this happen to us. And even if there was a God, he ain’t gonna take requests from the likes of me. Maybe before all this shit went down, but this mother fucking disease done changed all of us.”

“No, no, no,” Kyle said, shaking his head emphatically. “That’s where you’re wrong. This didn’t change anyone. This showed us who we really are.” Confused, Diesel looked at him, and Kyle continued. “When the lights are out and the door is shut, with no one else watching, that’s who you really are. We now live in a world that’s without the constraint of the law or the threat of imprisonment and punishment. Essentially, the door is always shut . . . ” He had been looking down at the ground, but now he looked up at Diesel and Ruben, his expression a mixture of indignation and pity. “This is who you really are deep down. The outbreak didn’t change you. It just brought out your true character.”

Ruben grasped the meaning first. A look of horror spread over his face, and his body trembled with contrition. When Diesel grasped it, he snarled, his eyes lighting with fury. His gun slowly inched its way towards Kyle’s head. “Why you little mother fucker! I’m takin’ your other hand for all that! You don’t know shit about what I’ve been through!”

Ruben placed his hand on the top of Diesel’s gun and lowered it with his superior strength. “No, Diesel,” he said. “They right. We’ve been fuckin’ monsters. Look at us.” He lowered his rifle to his side, keeping it in his right hand, and with his left, he wiped tears from his face. “It ain’t too late, man.”

“Fine. You ready to go see yo God then? I kill all of your mother fuckers. Make yo peace with no one, bitches.”

Diesel turned on Ruben, who made no effort to protect himself. He raised his rifle, and Ryan, knowing this was the opportunity they needed, lunged forward and rammed Diesel in the side, throwing all his weight into the motion. Diesel stumbled to the side and dropped the gun. It slid across the tile. Ryan was prepared to dive for it, but Diesel turned away from it and stood toe-to-toe with Ryan. He had no time to prepare himself; Diesel swung his fist wide, and Ryan barely ducked below it, the force of the swing brushing the hair at the top of Ryan’s head. Instinctively, Ryan did what would harm Diesel the most: he reached forward and grabbed Diesel’s testicles through the stained, gray sweatpants. Diesel screeched like a twelve-year-old choirboy and began pounding the top of Ryan’s head. Ryan’s vision blackened, and his head began to swim. But he took the abuse, tightening his grip and pulling harder with a twisting motion. The flesh in crushing in his hands, his hand moved further away from Diesel’s leg, until Diesel, passing out from the pain, collapsed on Ryan. They fell to the ground. Within seconds, Joe and Cam had rolled the massive body to the side. Ryan refused Cam’s hand, choosing to remain on the ground, waiting till the thudding in his head dulled.

Cam picked up Diesel’s gun and then hit a confused and dazed Ruben in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious. Joe picked up Ruben’s gun.

The moment Ryan stood, a scream pierced through the night like a dinner bell. The four of them whirled towards the noise, stared down at Diesel, and cringed in disgust. He was rolling side to side on his back, cupping his crotch with both hands, blood beginning to stain they gray of his sweatpants.

“What do we do with him?” Cam asked, looking away.

“Leave him,” Joe said, and Ryan knew better than to object.

Suddenly, a zombie’s hand came through the crack of the front door, then an arm and a head–the force combined with the wind slamming the door against the wall.

“Well, shit,” Joe said. “I almost forgot about them mother fuckers.”

The zombie was almost seven feet tall. As it came in, it halted its progress by hitting its head against the top of the doorframe, which allowed Kyle, who was standing close to the door, time to jump out of its reach.

Joe fired and pierced the zombie in the chest. It staggered back outside, letting out an angry screech. The second bullet silenced it. After the giant fell, beyond it the horde became visible.

“There’ll be more,” Ryan warned.

“Right,” Cam said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“We can’t leave Molly and Mrs. Bennet here,” Ryan protested.

Cam collected himself. “Ya, ya. You’re right. But what are we gonna do?”

“Shoot!” Joe yelled.

Their shots lit up the hallway, the smell of burnt smoke mixing withe the stench of the dead as they clambered through the door. They ripped and pushed each other to be the first inside. Ryan knew their only hope was to funnel the large mass of enemies through this narrow entrance, just like the Greeks holding the Persians on Thermopylae.

Joe instructed Cam over the noise. “Fucking shoot slower, Cam!”

“How long do we have?” Ryan asked.

Joe gunned down the last zombie in the close proximity, and then he turned to Ryan. “Not long enough. Get your ass in gear and go.”

Ryan, Albert, and Kyle went for the stairs. At the top, Kyle lay Reginald on the ground, off to the side. His cries sharpened without physical touch.

“I’m sorry little buddy,” Kyle whispered. “You’re just going to have to wait there for a while.” He muttered a quick and quiet prayer, which oddly reminded Ryan of his own father’s mealtime prayers, although the words were much different.

Albert had grabbed knives from the two men downstairs, and he handed one to Ryan. He studied the other in his hand, and then gave it to Kyle. “Even with only one hand you outweigh me by sixty pounds.”

Kyle took it, his expression blank. The three men looked at each other, sweat already streaming down their faces. Ryan felt nothing but anxious energy and a cool shudder down his spine. He longed for the cold hate, the stone anger, but it did not come.

“You ready?” Ryan asked.

“No,” Kyle answered.

“Good. I’ll get Molly. You two get Mrs. Bennet. And guys, be careful.”

Ryan ran down the hall, unconcerned about the clatter his feet made against the tile. His only concern was Molly. Above all the others, he could not bear to see her die. By the time he reached the classroom, his hand gripping the knife had turned purple. Ryan carefully peered through the glass: Rick and Molly were inside, Rick shirtless and pant-less, proudly sporting his patriotic red, white, and blue boxers; Molly crouched in the corner, one of her eyes bruised and swelling, her lip gashed–nothing too serious had yet happened.

Rick was too preoccupied with fornication to take necessary precautions: his gun was disregarded at the door, and he hadn’t noticed–or chose to ignore–the commotion downstairs. Ryan continued to watch as Rick, smiling and rubbing his round, hairy stomach, returned to Molly.
If you touch her one more time I swear to God I’ll kill you.
Ryan opened the door, pausing every time it creaked. Within moments, Molly looked his way, saw Ryan, and dashed her eyes in a different direction. Ryan placed the knife between his teeth, and crept forward, crouching and silent. The room was dark. The rain had picked up again, banging against the window towards which Ryan was walking.

“All right, bitch, time to take this here cock, like the little slut you are. If you’re good enough, I might let you live for round two.”

Ryan nodded, and Molly caught on. “Oh, Oh yes, please let me have it. I want to rock your fucking world.”

Ryan approached.

She removed her shirt, revealing a black bra and cleavage. Ryan could have broken through the wall with a full marching band, and Rick still wouldn’t notice him.

“Oooh baby, that’s more like it. I’m a tell you a secret, honey.” He pulled down his boxers revealing his erect penis. Ryan straightened, coming out of his crouch, and walked quietly towards him. The room felt cold, his hand heavy as stone.