Humanity's Death: A Zombie Epic (8 page)

“Time to die!” She shrieked and ran with speed
at the jerking zombies. The force of her boot knocked one of them
to the ground. She grabbed another by the back of the hair, forced
its chin up, and drove the blade through its skull. Blood and brain
matter sprayed out as she tore the blade out. The other dead men
leaped onto her sending her down the hard road. The knife fell from
her hand. The dead man nipped for her face. She held him at bay by
pushing against its chest. The foul breath mixed with rank spit
plumed in her face, filling her nostrils with the smell of fetid,
rotten flesh and organs. The other dead man growled as it crawled
toward her. With her left forearm she held it up, and with her
right she removed her revolver, pressed it into the creature's
throat, pointed up, and fired. Brainy blood erupted like a volcanic
explosion. The final beast gnawed at her boot, pulled at her pant
leg, and tried to move up her body. She leaned forward, pressed the
barrel into its open mouth, arched the barrel up, screamed, and
pulled the trigger. Blood exploded from its cracked skull, flew
high in the air, and rained down onto the road in a red
splatter.

She fell
onto her back, breathing hard. Around her the bodies lay
motionless. The sun burned down on her face.
Ride the Lightening
blared in the back ground. She
laughed. Her laughter turned to a maddening cackle. She lay there
for nearly an hour.

2

Her mind drifted. She was back home. Her girls
danced in a circle singing. Jody cooked burgers at a grill. She
watched them while she sipped a Bud Lite. The sky above them had
been cloudless and deep, saturated blue; the sun shining bright and
friendly. They were going to go see the fireworks later; the Fourth
of July was one of the best times of the year for them; Candy had
won the day off during a shooting contest with her follow officers;
she was, after all, the best damn shooter in the South; she had the
medals to prove it—she'd won the last three Southern Conference
shoot offs.

Jody waved her over. The soft, freshly mowed and
manicured grass pressed down under her Birkenstock sandals; she
always said that he extra money for real Birkenstocks was worth it
over paying a little less for knockoffs.

Jody was laughing and jiggling his big belly. “I
told ya! Come look here babe.” Jody said. He removed a burger form
the grill and placed it on a bun, “Taste the perfection.” She bit
into the burger, chewed, and swallowed.

“Perfect.” She said and reached over and slapped
him on his rather large backside.

“Nice and bloody. Just the way I like it.” She
pulled him down to her lips by his shirt and kissed him. “Only my
perfect fat man could cook such a perfect Angus burger.”

“Big bellies know best!” He said, giving it
another fun filled jiggle; belly jiggling was a family past
time.

The late afternoon sun burned over their heads
as they enjoyed the clear blue day. A lite breeze blew, taking the
edge of the humidity. The girls ran up. They both were matching
yellow and blue sundresses that cut off right above the knee. Their
hair was pulled back in matching blonde ponytails, and each wore a
pink ribbon around the knot. “What’s cookin pop?” Tamby asked.

“You still on that kick?” Jody asked. Asking
“what's cookin pop” was their new favorite phrase. “Livin the Salt
Life” was a close second; and was stickered on the back windshields
of their cars.

“Come here you little burger heads!” Candy said
as she chased after them. They ran and frolicked in the soft green
grass. Candy stared back at Jody. He smiled, waved, and patted his
stomach; it had been a wonderful day.

Then she was back at the shooting range, not
long after she’d graduated top of her class. Sergeant Stack stood
beside her, “Best shootin I’ve ever seen from a woman!” Stack was a
large black man, with gray showing on the sides of his head; he was
what he called a “recovering marine.” He stood at six feet two,
around one hundred eighty pounds; at fifty-four years old he was
still a hoss of a man.

Candy had stood, her heart beating fast, and her
eyes still locked on the target she just filled with holes—dead
center, “It ain’t about gender Sarg—it’s about heart. I want to
help people and sometimes that means killing bad guys. That’s OK
with me.”

Sergeant Stack patted her shoulder and held his
ash black face high, “Damn right kid. But you know society don’t
always see it that way and it keeps getting worse for us.”

“I know. If people only listen to the talking
heads, they’d think all cops are racist murderers.”

Behind her, her cell phone rang. It vibrated
against the wood bench she’d laid it on. She turned, stepped the
few steps over, and picked it up. She turned to her Sergeant, “It’s
my lovable fat man. Gotta take it.”

Jody spoke on the other line, “So you promised
to come? You coming right?”

Candy put a hand on her hip and held her head to
the side, “God I guess… you know I hate that place. The people are
as stiff as the wooden pews they sit in.”

“You getting philosophical on me?”

“It’s just a fact of their nature, hun.”

“Momma loves it when we come. She swears we’re
sending the girls to hell. It makes her feel better to see them
dolled up and listening to preacher Ramsey.”

“Listening to that buffoon rattle off his backs
wood hate filled nonsense aint something I like the girls to hear.
I have to detune them every time just to make sure it don’t stick.
Gays are taking over the country and taking our kids to hell with
them! Is that all that man thinks about? I tell you now, he is
gayer than a rainbow on a hot summer’s day.”

“That’s what my sister Betsy says… says she saw
him and Johnny Sawyer kissing down by the marshes.”

“Betsy Sue! She gonna be there? If she does, I
will go.”

“I’ll make her. I’ll drag her fat ass and
promise her a trip to Denny’s and a cheese cake with blueberry and
whip cream topping for reward.”

“Jesus Christ almighty… OK, my fat lover, I'll
go. I'll take your precious angels and let those horrible people
defile and indoctrinate their minds. Then I’ll take em home and do
my best to wash their brains clean. What are you gonna do for
me?”

“I’ll do that thing you love.”

“What thing?” She said with a smile.

“I won’t say it out loud.”

“You bashful pig! I’m going to stick a fork in
you when I get home tonight.”

“And I’ll spoon you till the cows come
home.”

She'd giggled; that too had been a good day.

3

She opened her eyes. The day had aged. Dark clouds
rumbled overhead. She forced herself up. The blood oozed out of the
dead bodies around her. She ignored them. The asphalt clicked under
her boots as she walked back to the Hummer.

The leather seat crinkled as she slammed the
Humvee door. For a moment she just stared. Her breathing was
rhythmic and slow. She adjusted the rear view mirror and stared at
her reflection. Dried blood caked her pale white face, covering the
freckles completely. She opened the glove box and took out a
handkerchief; she spit on it and rubbed as much of the blood off as
she could. She started the engine. She drove away from the gory
scene, making her way down an empty highway 17.

The clouds hung low and shut out much of the
sun. A light sprinkle showered the windshield. She turned on the
wipers. The only sounds were the hypnotic back and forth swish of
wiper blades and the soft purr of the air conditioner on low. She
was approaching an old Army Surplus Depot. She slowed and crunched
onto the gravel parking lot. No one in sight, neither living or
dead. She climbed out of the Humvee and stepped cautiously towards
the front entry doors. She could only see shadowy darkness inside
the store. A bell jangled as she opened the door. She paused and
gripped her revolver. She waited and listened. Nothing. No sounds.
The store smelled like dried oil and old clothes. Dust settled
everywhere. Broken shards of glass from busted lights lie on the
floor and cracked under her boots. She stopped for a moment. She
listened. Nothing. She moved around the store. A row of World II
helmets sat on a shelf, covered in dust. Black boots covered in
more dust set on the shelf below the helmets. The store was a tomb
of America's war history. Open netted hats from every era set on
another shelf. Empty grenade casings from every war on another.
Black and white photographs hung on the wall showing the scenes
from different wars.

She stood in front of a tall, narrow vanity
mirror. Pale white shin showed through torn and battered shreds of
her deputy’s uniform. The material hung loosely on her body. The
badge, smudged with smote and dark, dried blood hung heavily,
barley clinging to a strand of material. Outside, dark bluish gray
storm clouds gathered, sun light disappeared, and a hot bolt of
lightning crackled, lit up the store, and flashed in her graying,
blue eyes. She ripped the badge from her chest, and threw it on the
floor, and watched as it bounced and rolled away, landing face down
on the cold concrete floor. A harsh wind rattled the entry way
doors, and the gush entered the store and brushed up against her,
flowing through her long red hair, and breezing against her pale,
freckled skin. She tore her uniform top off, revealing her hard
abs, and slender, athletic frame, and threw the shirt on top of the
badge. Her bra, white and tight against her bosom. She watched her
reflection carefully as she removed her belt, then her pants, and
stared hard at her white, satin panties, clinging tightly against
her lean, muscled hips. She removed a tight black shirt from a
hanger and pulled it over her body. A ripple of harsh lighting lit
the entire store up as she pulled solid black BDUs over her hips,
and refastened her thick brown leather belt. She looked over, at
the front desk, and just beyond the register, sitting on a stool,
leaning stiff against the wall, was a dead man. Lighting crackled
again and white light lit the dead body. His chin rested against
his chest and above his head a sign stated: FROM MY COLD DEAD
HANDS. On his head was a solid black cowboy hat with a wide brim.
Candy walked over and hoisted herself over the counter, removed her
revolver and pushed the tip against the man. He didn’t move. She
took his hat. She ran her fingers over the brim. She raised it to
her nose and breathed in the scent of old leather. Back in front of
the mirror she put the hat on and pulled it over her brow, just
above her eyes. Another crack of lighting shook the entire building
and a light rain pelted against the metal roof; her reflection
looked like a ghost against the white light of lightning. She
turned and moved through the store and pushed the exit door open.
Another loud crackle of electricity sparked in the sky. A strong
gush rushed against her. Her hair blew under the hat. She stepped
off the concrete walkway and onto the parking lot’s asphalt.
Slanted rain blew against her. She stalked to the Humvee, opened
the door, and slammed it shut. She started the engine.

4

The army surplus disappeared in the rear view. Candy
drove down the black asphalt of highway 17. The road rumbled
underneath the car and a loud wispy wind came through a nearly shut
window. On her right, the salty sea breeze rushed over boarded,
burned, and abandoned beach condos. An old wood sign read PAWLEY”S
ISLAND HAMMOCK SHOP. Dead men jerked around the trees. One found
himself entangled in a swinging hammock. At least 100 zombies
wondered the abandoned shopping area. Candy stared for a moment as
she zoomed past. Dead men jerked their heads up as she drove
by.

A little way up a large golf course came into
view just off the left of the road. More dead men wearing bright,
blood splattered and tattered reds, blues, and yellows moved
aimlessly on the gray and dead golf course grass. She blew past
them without a second look. To her right stood an empty restaurant.
The sign read HANSER HOUSE. A few zombies moved about the parking
lot, bumping into cars at random. She continued down 17. She saw a
sign: SAM’S HOTDOGS. A large red and yellow hot dog stood on top of
the building. The building looked like an old double wide trailer
on stilts. Its windows were shattered. Attached to the hot dog was
a noose with a dead man hanging from its grip. The zombie's teeth
mashed and its arms flayed. It dangled in the salty wind and rain.
She drove past and the sight of MARTIN’S FIREWORKS caught her eye.
Dead kids bumped against each other in the parking lot. She slowed
down and came to a halt.

She saw a boy with a varsity jacket, and
suddenly a memory jolted in in her mind.

Her hair was curled that night. A warm breeze
blew her twirls around. Larry Splat was there. He was a thin and
wiry boy that played basketball. His hair was always greased down
like something out of Grease. His girlfriend, Cherry Baker, stood
holding his thin arm. She was a large girl, over two hundred twenty
pounds and smart as they come, “Yep. I’m headed to Presbyterian on
a full academic scholar ship. Got the acceptance letter today.” She
said and smiled with huge white teeth.

“I always knew you would go far girl.” Candy
said.

“What about you? Still gonna take Criminal
Justice at Horry Community?”

Some fireworks popped in the not so far
distance, somewhere on the sandy beach. “Yep. It’s my calling.” The
sky was a dark blue hue and the sun was setting. A light summer
wind blew and the smell of salt and sun tan lotion lingered in the
air, “What about you?” Candy asked Larry.

“PC of course. Me and my girl’s gonna be
together forever.” He said and reached over and kissed her sun
burned cheek, “Full athletic scholarship. My momma always told me
my long legs would come in handy. What bout you Jody boy?”

Jody stood off to the side with a shy red look
on his face, “Oh I don’t know… all I’m good at is fixin broken
toilets.” He said.