Redemption of the Dead (4 page)

“Do you know the reason for this?” she
asked.

“Haven’t a clue.”

“You know, I’ve been part of this
whole zombie thing from the beginning.”

“Haven’t we all.”

“I mean,
aside from the Rain not harming me—and I still don’t know why that
was—and trying to maintain a network of survivors for close to a
year before hitting the road, I’ve really been in the thick of
getting all involved with this weird, undead, supernatural stuff.
I’ve lost friends, have almost been killed and eaten so many times
I’ve lost count, have seen things that there’s zero explanation
for” —she flashed back to the Storm of Skulls and the weird event
in the past at a bank and Nathaniel’s first appearance, at first as
an old man who had got a safety deposit box out to reset an old
pocket watch, his seeing her, the craziness after— “I’m hoping it’s
all going to end soon. I’m tired of feeling lost and always on the
run.”

Hank just sat on the large branch, his
legs hanging over the edge, hands in his lap, and didn’t say
anything.

“It’s clear you met Nathaniel before,” she said. “Wanna
tell me
about it?” At least
the story would help pass the time.

Hank didn’t respond.

“Hank?”

“Hm?”

“Want to tell me how you met
Nathaniel?”

He looked at her as if he didn’t know
what she was talking about.

“You met him before,
right?”

“Uh, yeah, but . . . can’t remember
right now.” He scratched his head and looked up into the
trees.

She’d lost
him and he was back to his old self again, it seemed.

Across the
lake, the moans of the dead rose in volume. Billie got on her hands
and knees and crept closer to the edge of the wide branch to get a
closer look. The zombies shuffled in all directions, some going
back into the forest, others sliding down the rocks and falling to
the lake in heavy splashes.

She kept an eye out for—
I don’t want to use his name. Too creepy. I’ll call him
“Bad Man.”
It was difficult to
discern anyone specifically out of the crowd of the dead beyond.
The most she could do was just sit tight and watch.

Hank came up behind her. “Them things
are on the move.”

“Wonder where they’re
going?”

“Maybe back
where they came or some such?”

“Maybe.”

The two
stayed on the branch and watched the movement below. The foul
stench of the dead grew worse, their movement stirring up the funk
and casting it on the air. Billie pinched her nose. Hank didn’t. A
few minutes later, the gray water moved on their side of the lake
and undead men and women began to slowly walk out, their raggedy
clothes drenched and clinging to their bodies like cloth to
skeletons. Some were able to smoothly transition up the shore onto
land whereas others needed to climb the large rocks that separated
the slanted forest floor from the lake. Dry branches snapped and
dead leaves crunched beneath the creatures’ feet as they shuffled
below them.

“Don’t make a sound,” Billie
whispered.

“I won’t,” Hank said at normal
volume.

Her heart
skipped a beat. She hoped the undead below hadn’t heard
him.

Below, the
creatures marched in rank, their presence and stride seeming to
emit an ambience of purpose and not just random
shambling.

Perhaps Bad Man’s visit changed everything?
she thought. Even calling the devil
“Bad Man” didn’t help make his presence any less surreal. It was
one thing to imagine this creepy guy in a red unitard stalking
around in some invisible way, causing mischief—it was another to
actually
see
him and have every preconceived
notion as to who he was cast aside like refuse.

“Don’t dwell
on him, don’t dwell on him, don’t dwell on him,” Billie whispered
to herself. The evil one’s very image was disturbing, sickening and
spirit-crushing, yet she found herself slipping into a moderate
trance when his image—that beautiful white light when he first
emerged—went before her mind’s eye. Something about him appealed to
something within her . . . she just didn’t know what.

“Billie?” Hank said, still not seeming
to understand the concept of keeping one’s voice down.

“Shhh,” she said.

“I’ve called you four times. Where
were you? You were there, but not there, you know?”

“Keep your voice down!” she said,
quickly slapping a hand to her lips when her own voice rose way
above where she meant it.

The grunts
and groans of the dead grew louder, the steady shuffling footfalls
of the creatures falling more and more in unison the longer they
passed beneath them on the forest floor.

“Do you think they can see us?” Hank
said.

Billie
clenched her fist and sent a hard shot to his chest, shushing
him.

The dead
marched on, then one of the creatures with a broken neck that had
no choice but to keep its head lolled back caught sight of them.
The undead man with stringy hair and strange black boils on his
skin stopped, the other creatures coming up behind him, bumping
into him then stopping themselves. They all stood around, seemingly
clueless as to what was happening until a few more of the undead
looked up in Billie and Hank’s direction.

“Don’t.
Move,” she whispered.

Hank scratched his nose.

She rolled her eyes.

Some of the
zombies below started to move again and her heart rose with relief,
then began wildly thumping when a half dozen of the creatures
started to move in the direction of the base of the tree. More
followed suit and soon a pack of at least thirty of them were
hording around the bottom of the tree, dead fingers scraping and
clawing against the bark, moans of hunger and need growing louder
and louder.

Billie got to her feet; so did
Hank.

“What do we
do?” he asked.

“I
don’t know, shoot your gun!
”

Hank blew off a couple of shots,
taking out two of the creatures below before having to
reload.

The undead horde
beneath them crowded in upon itself and the group pushing
in from the edges began to claw and climb their way on top of their
brethren, gaining height. Some were reaching up and swiping at the
air as if they could already grab Billie and pull her
down.

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” Hank
said.

His panic
was enough to send her own over the edge and she had to restrain
herself from feeding him to the undead below.

Okay, stay cool,
she
told herself. She glanced up and down the length of the tree
branch. There weren’t any options in terms of escape and climbing
the tree itself to get to higher ground would be impossible given
the trunk’s girth and the height of the other branches above their
heads.

The undead
continued to climb. The sharp snaps of finger bones breaking as
they forced their hands into the cracks in the trunk and its bark
sent shrills up and down her spine. Some of the creatures’ fingers
completely ripped off when they tried to support their weight by
them. Others were able to hang on, the muscles and skin along their
fingers stretching like elastic bands but still remaining
intact.

Other undead
climbed on top of those hanging as if their comrades were rope
ladders; soon a handful made it to the branch where Hank and Billie
stood with rubbery legs.

Reloaded,
Hank raised the shotgun. “Come on, you rascals, I ain’t afraid of
you.”

“Shut up!” Billie searched up and down
the branch.

“It’s not
nice to talk—”

She grabbed
him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him down the length of
the branch, away from the trunk and the undead that climbed up it.
The ones that made it onto the branch began fumbling their way down
its length toward them. One tripped over its own feet and fell off
without a sound. The remainder kept coming, seeming to understand
the idea of keeping single-file so they could keep
going.

Billie pulled as hard as she could
against Hank’s shirt until, it seemed, he finally understood to
follow her.

“Don’t think
we should be runnin’ this way none,” he said and blasted off
another round. It tagged the zombie in the gut, sending it back a
step but it kept its balance.

“Don’t have
a choice.”

“There’s nothing ahead of
us.”

“I know!”

The massive
branch began to taper thinner and thinner, culminating at the end
in a fan-like series of smaller branches and dead leaves, all
tangled and meshed together in a large clump.

Billie
stopped short before a weave of branches. Hank took another shot
and stumbled up behind her and bumped into her. Appearing
panic-stricken, the shot went wild.

Swallowing a
dry lump in her throat, she tried to catch her breath. The undead
kept coming up along the branch, each of their steps adding to the
weight toward the end, the branch starting to dip lower a few
inches at a time.

“I don’t
think we’re going to make it,” she said. “Help!” It was directed at
Nathaniel or Michael or any other of their kind who’d care enough
to swoop in and rescue them.

Only the
deathly groans and moans of the undead returned her cry.

The zombies
clamored closer, limp fingers outstretched from raggedy-clothed
arms, mouths already opening and closing, preparing to
feast.

The branch dipped lower. The ground
was a solid three stories below, rock covered with dry dirt and
dead leaves.

Her stomach twisted at the momentary
idea of shoving Hank toward them, thinking maybe they’d grab onto
him, start eating, and get themselves so off-balance they’d tumble
over the sides of the branch and hit the ground. It might also be
enough to draw the others off the trunk and swarm Hank’s body like
vultures to a carcass.

As
much as she hated to admit it, it
was
tempting, but only
because of its purpose for survival. One look at Hank changed all
that, his face set with determination yet carrying an air of
innocence. He had this very subtle smile, a confidence that
everything would be okay.

“I’m sorry,” she said
quietly.

He didn’t
seem to hear her as he went about reloading the gun.

“I’m scared,” she said, the words
tumbling out.

“You’ll be okay,” he said. He sounded
normal again.

Maybe he got his faculties back?
she thought.

“I’ve seen squirrels bigger and badder
than these guys.”

Maybe not.

Billie
inched back, her heels dipping into the curves and grooves between
the interwoven branches.

Hank backed
up, too, and bumped into her. She was going to tell him to be
careful but bit her tongue as penance for her terrible thought
moments before.

The undead
advanced without care.

The branch
began to crack and snap beneath her feet.

Come on, don’t give out on
me.

Another of the dead fell off
. The rest kept coming, two walking, two others crawling
along the branch on their hands and knees.

“Are you
okay?” Hank asked. He shot the nearest undead. It went flying off
the branch.

She didn’t answer.

“I said, are you okay,
Billie?”

“No. I think we’re going to
die.”

The undead were a mere four or five
feet from them.

Hank looked
at her, his lips quickly opening and closing as if saying, “Yeah
but, yeah but . . .” He shot another off the branch. With no time
to reload, he swung the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads. It
connected, sending it off the branch. The impact putting him off
balance, he dropped the gun when he shot his arms out to steady
himself.

“I’m sorry, Hank.” She tried to sound
cheery for his benefit. She wasn’t sure if he truly understood the
concept of death. “It was nice meeting you.”

The last
zombie was three feet away.

“It was nice meeting you, too,” he
said. “I like you, Billie.”

“Um . . . I like you, too,
Hank.”

Two feet.

“I’ll say hi to Jesus for you,” he
said.

“Wha—”

One foot.

Hank smiled then turned and hugged the
undead man in front of him. He tipped over the side, the zombie
falling with him. They tumbled to the ground. Billie yelped then
put a hand to her mouth as her breath caught in her
throat.

Below, Hank lay on the dirt, his legs
bent beside him like chicken wings, blood pooling around his head,
the undead that had been with him in the tree climbing on top of
him and beginning to tear and chew on his flesh.