Fountain of the Dead (24 page)

“Just do it, Frank.” Catherine said.

“Hold on ladies, we’re going to cut back through South Carolina. Look for route 77 it will bring us to 95. And if you want to hit a few potholes to bounce Williams around, feel free. We still have Georgia, but not so much of it.”

* * * * *

“Myrtle Beach,” Frank said pointing at the sign. “I played golf there once.” He sighed as they drove under the sign. He aimed for a pothole and gritted his teeth. The wind whipped across the tarp. “We should have gone back for the soft top.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Gerry said. “I wish it had taken out a few of those assholes.”

“You and me both.” Frank looked at Pierce, strangely quiet. He looked lost. Frank shook his head.

“Used to be a strip club in Myrtle Beach too. Went there once during a conference. Whole bunch of us there for team building. So after all the meetings and extraneous bullshit, we went there to unwind. Wasn’t a full nude place, no contact at all, but I remember the girls taking folded dollars out your mouth with their tits.”

“I used to know this place in Rhode Island. God, I wish I could remember the name,” Gerry said scratching his chin. He watched the sides of the road for ambushes or roaming dead. “You could get a private dance and throw the girls an extra twenty for a happy ending.” Pierce turned to look at them.

“You two need to focus, talking about whores and tits is fine, sitting around the house watching the fucking football game. We’re going into the Everglades full of snakes and wild boars and gators. You don’t focus in there and you’re dead. Fuck zombies. The Glades will kill you slower and more painful. Take one wrong step and you’re sucked into a marsh or carved up by saw grass. Get a little stagnant water in your mouth and you’ll shit and puke out everything inside.”

“True words, psycho,” Frank said. Gerry turned to the side and fired off a couple shots.  A zombie exploded and rained down to the ground.

“Save your ammo,” Frank said.

* * * * *

Frank drove down 77 watching for hostiles more than the road. The sun had started its trek down the sky; the hot air turning cold. Frank yawned and rubbed his eyes with one hand. The Jeep swerved sharp as he tried to dodge a zombie in the road, still up and walking. He struggled to regain control and slowed to a stop. Gerry turned with the rifle and dropped it. The headlights to the explorer blinked on; there were groups on the road. The other cars swerved to not hit them.

The other vehicles slowed, Sharon started to fire, the dead turned towards the Monte, the closest target. Sharon shouted something and Sam jumped from the Explorer pistols blazing. Frank turned the Jeep around spinning the tires. He pulled up along-side the Monte.

Gerry fired into a group near the car. Sharon was shooting through the window. They fell in clumps, arms outstretched; mouths open eyes staring at darkness.

* * * * *

“What are you thinking about?” The voice was cold and gruff.

“Thinking about the ponies, and throwing some dice, and playing roulette. Then drinking a bottle of wine naked, in the hotel suite’s private whirlpool,” Tony answered. The small room was small and confined. There was a desk that Alexander sat behind. Tony never could figure out his accent. In the corner was the goon. Alexander called him Phillip, but it was a safe bet that neither man used their real names. Phillip kept his hands folded in front of him, caressing the .50 Magnum between them. On the desk in front of Alexander was the money counting machine and an empty brown paper bag.

“How much?” Alexander asked.

“25K too much?”

“Depends if you can pay it back or not.” Tony nodded and rubbed his hands together greedily.

“I’ll pay you back everything and the interest when I get back.”

“I hear that line a lot.” Alexander took a notebook computer from the desk drawer and added Tony’s name, the date, and amount to an already lengthy spreadsheet. He nodded to Phillip who stuffed the newly counted money into the paper bag. The gun was always in his left hand. Tony pulled out the collar on his shirt, suddenly warm and looked around the room. He hated this part. He looked at the cobwebs on the ceiling and some of the dirt in the corner. Anything to pull his attention away. Phillip pressed the cold metal barrel of the gun to his temple. Alexander cleared his throat.

“You got one week. Seven days to pay me that back with twenty five percent interest. You fail to pay or try to run, we’ll kill you. You think of maybe ratting me out to the police, we kill you. They’ll never find your body.” Phillip pressed the gun harder into Tony’s cheek. “Don’t waste my money on drugs or whores. There’s no profit unless you’re dealing or being a john. Not to mention, I get you all the whores and drugs you want.” Alexander nodded, Phillip stepped back. Tony stared at the bag on the desk and licked his lips. In a few hours he’d be in the casino looking for the sweet spot and letting the dice fly.

“Don’t fuck up my suite and make sure the cleaning service is in that room when you leave,” Alexander said. Phillip reached out and opened the door. Tony grabbed the bag and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Have a good time.” Alexander said. “Remember, every day you’re late, I take a finger. On day seven, Phillip drowns you in a bucket of bleach.”

“Best time in the world. Be better than Disneyland”

* * * * *

“What happened?” Frank yelled. The driver’s side door opened and Tony staggered out holding his throat. Blood squirted out from between his fingers. He dropped to the road, gasping for air, through his fingers the ragged hole in this neck was exposed.

“Oh fuck,” Frank said. Tony looked up at him with pleading eyes. He fell onto his side and blood pooled around his head. Frank turned to see a zombie kneeling near the bumper, chewing on the flesh of Tony’s neck. Frank walked up to it, clenching and unclenching his hands. His nails dug into the meat of his palms. It looked up at him, a chunk of gnawed on skin clung to its rotted teeth. Frank kicked it in the head until it fell forward on the road.

It scratched at the ground and tried to stand. Frank kicked it again and again until the crunch of bone echoed through the twilight. He waited for movement, anything, spit rolled out of his mouth. The zombie’s hand twitched; Frank lifted his foot and brought it down on its skull. He ground brain and bone under his heel. He came back wiping his mouth.

“What happened?”

“He swerved to miss one and while he was checking the mirrors, one latched on to the car. It happened so fast,” Beverly said. Frank looked down at Tony.

“There is no white light,” he choked out.  Catherine stared at the hand still clutched to Tony’s neck. At the dark puddle under his neck and the stain spreading across the road. His eyes rolled up and breath rattled. Frank pushed him over with his boot; the lifeless eyes stared up at the first star of the night. By the headlights of the cars, they cleared the road of the walking dead, wasting their ammo and not caring.

“What do we do?” Beverly asked.

“I’m getting tired of shooting my friends,” Frank said.

“I got him, Frank,” Gerry said. Frank stared at the road and walked back to the Jeep. He jumped at the single gunshot after a long slow moan.

“You ok to drive, Sharon?” Catherine asked.

“I can’t drive and shoot. Well I can, but not well.” She looked over at the Explorer, Micah was half out of the window watching the happenings.

“I’ll drive,” Beverly said. “It’s been a few years. But all we’re doing is following the others.” Beverly opened the door and looked sadly at Tony’s body; she got into the Monte and changed the mirrors. “Looks like you get to stretch out back there.”

“We need to stop for the night,” crackled across the radio. “I can’t drive with this thing open to the night. There’s too many dead and the God-damn tarp flapping against my head is pissing me off.” Frank let the radio go, the groans of the dead sung out like peeper frogs. “I saw signs for a rest stop. We’ll secure it and crash there.” Frank pulled the tarp cover off the Jeep and wrapped Tony’s body in it.

* * * * *

Frank pulled off the highway, following the blue signs for the rest area. The headlights from the cars revealed the dead walking in packs down the road. The dead turned at the engines and lights, changed directions, followed the movement and noise. Frank drove into the parking lot. It was a small place, a few picnic tables, two porta-johns and a map of the state behind cracked Plexiglas smeared with blood. There was a small building with tourist info. The other cars arrived next to him.

“They’re going to follow us up here.” Catherine said and grabbed the radio. “Sharon and Gerry watch the road, shoot anything that moves.” Williams pounded from the inside of the trunk.

“The asshole is awake,” Frank said and looked over the grounds. The small lot in front was for cars; the entrance wrapped around the other side for a lot for overnight truckers. Frank reached into the bag in the back of the Jeep and took out the shotgun. “I’m going inside.”

It seemed darker than it should be. With no streetlights and lights from other cars, Frank was quickly swallowed by darkness. He walked up the sidewalk to the building, a small alcove outside held vending machines. All of them looked like someone had taken an axe to them, to get at the food and drinks inside. He reached inside one and dug out the last can of cola, pressed it to his forehead like a lover and stuffed it in his pocket. The machines that held candy and snacks and been ripped apart ages ago.

He tested the doors and they both swung in. A sign hung loose on the outside of the building “No Sanitary Facilities.” The sensors on the doors didn’t trigger them to open. Frank pushed his way through and went inside. The doors were heavy glass with large silver handles; Frank had to coerce them a little with his weight.

The inside floor was littered in blood spatters and brochures. He checked the tourist info booth and there was nothing there. The blood trail led out the opposite door towards the truckers’ lot. The place was empty. He locked the doors on the truckers’ lot side and stepped out and whistled to the others. They ran up the walk, carrying enough supplies for the night. Frank held the door open.

“The place is empty, couple of benches that’s all. No lights and no toilets. Even the emergency lights are dead.” Frank locked the doors once everyone was in; he looked around at the group. “Where’s Williams?” They looked out the doors to see the dead around the cars.

“This might be a rest stop but we cannot spend the night here,” Catherine said. There was one other exit, nothing to be used for defense if or when the dead got in. With nine people in the small building it was crowded. People would be rubbing against each other for every minute spent there.

“If he stops banging and screaming, he’ll be safe in there. It’s not like those things can open the trunk on the car,” Gerry said. Frank dropped down on the bench and set the shotgun against the wall. “Something wrong, Frank?”

“Aside from being trapped in a rest area with ‘no sanitary facilities?’ No.” He made quotes with his fingers for emphasis. He looked out towards the parking lot with the two blue, plastic toilets. “One of the strippers I used to know at that club...her name was Raine. I wonder if she’s still alive. Gonna be a long painful night with no toilets in here.”

“This was a bad choice,” Catherine said. “The doors are thick glass, probably safety glass at that. We can keep an eye on the dead, and they can keep their eyes on us.”

“What do you want to do?” Sam asked.  

“Zombies are eating the planet, and you’re thinking about a dancer?” Pierce said. “Remember what I said? Everglades, death is everywhere?”

“I think about strippers,” Frank spat. “Because when I think of my dead family it’s too painful. It makes me so angry I want to murder everyone in sight. When I think about leaving Tony on the side of the road wrapped in a cheap blue, plastic tarp it makes me so angry I could choke the shit out of the first person I see. And right now you crazy asshole, I’m looking at you.” Catherine stepped between them, when Frank reached for the shotgun. Pierce went to the doors, grabbed the handles and pulled to check the lock, or check for a fast escape.

“I really want to kill him, Catherine.”

“It will have to wait. We need you on your game. We’re surrounded by zombies and they have two sets of glass doors to see everything we do. We’re like the Food Network to them right now.” Frank nodded and got up. Catherine reached into her pocket and pulled a bundle of photos. “These are yours, I’ve been holding them for when I thought the time is right. I think it’s now.” Frank took the pictures and leafed through him. Tears welled in eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “I pulled those from your mail truck when I found you. They were taped all over the dash. I got as many as I could.” Frank took the photos and then kissed Catherine on the forehead.

“Thank you, Catherine.” His fingers trembled as he looked at each one. “Give me a moment.”

“We need to get out of here,” Catherine said. “Find a better spot to hold up for the night.” 

The first wet slap of decayed flesh against glass sounded out. Frank wiped his eyes and slid the photos into his pockets and picked up the shotgun. The dead skin left long discolored smears against the glass. Frank loaded a shell. More and more dead, vacant faces filled the doorway. Frank took the cola from his pocket and set it on the bench.