Summer Of 68: A Zombie Novel (19 page)

“Take that,” Jake smiled, plugging the stairwell with the dresser’s cumbersome width.

The dead howled, piling against it. They thrashed, the dresser rocked forward. The haphazard barricade wouldn’t last forever, as the congregation in the stairwell grew, the dresser began to move—not by much—enough to remind them that they needed to move quickly, soon it would collapse.

Jack stepped back, gasping for breath, his hands pressed to his brow. His body ached and screamed. Russell fell backwards, sagging against the wall. His chest heaved; he looked back and forth, searching the length of the hallway. A fire burned within his eyes and far from satisfied with what they had done. He stood, grabbing Jake.

“We’ll rest when we get to mom,” he yelled against the onslaught of moans.

Jake nodded and broke into a run, sprinting to her bedroom. He found the door open a couple of inches, the flickering candlelight playing against its frame and realized he’d left the flashlight by the dresser. He looked back and considered grabbing it when Russell pushed by.

“Mom!” he yelled, shoving the door aside.

Jake followed, not to be one upped by his brother and hurried to the lead. Engulfed by the dazzling tendrils of amber candlelight, a calm euphoria crept through their hearts. Everything looked as it should’ve been, even the persistent moans fell by the wayside the moment they saw her. She stood beside the window, peering through the curtains at the anarchy below and remained strangely serene as the monster violated her homestead.

Russell broke from his brothers side, “Mommy!” he said.

Something about it didn’t sit with Jake. As his stomach took its first upheaval, he grabbed Russell’s wrist. “Wait!”

“Let me go!” Russell fought back, his brother held tight.

“No,” Jake hissed. It was his grave demeanor, which calmed the other.

Russell hitched his shoulders and drew a breath, looking back to their mother and realized himself that something wasn’t right. The realization was a crushing one at best.

She remained turned, her attention drawn to the window, oblivious to her sons. It was then, they saw the blood puddle spread around her feet. Their mother swayed, tilting from side to side as though teased by a subtle breeze.

Pain and heartbreak swelled. Jake released Russell’s hand, vision blurred as tears. “Mom…,” he whispered, “are you okay?”

Then they heard it, it was singlehandedly the worst moment of their lives. Their mother, the loving woman who had gave them life, groaned with a long and exasperated sigh. No doubt, she was dead.

Jake caught his breath, his throat tightened.

Russell cried, “Mommy!” thick tears fell across his face.

She turned slowly, looking upon them with unfamiliar eyes. Her lips or what remained of them, hung suspended against an exposed jawline, blood glistened black in the light. Another groan and her teeth snapped shut, grinding her jaws like nails to a chalkboard.

They staggered, stumbling over each other as they moved. After much trouble and panic, they found themselves in the hallway, never taking their eyes from her as she shuffled after. With her arms outstretched, she cried a haunting siren song.

Jake shook his head and tried to reason, “Mom, please…please don’t do this—mom,
please
…just stop, please stop. Please!” 

In response, she swiped at the air.

“I love you, mom,” Russell cried. “Don’t do this to us…”

Her pace faltered, not from memories or remorse but because she rolled her ankle. A couple more steps and she regained balance. It lasted for a second, which was all Jake needed to grab the door and slam it shut.

Furious, she howled and lunged at the wood, as she shook and hit the door. The intensity in her attack was unsurmountable. As sudden as it began, it stopped. If it weren’t for the dead in the stairway, the hall would’ve been deathly silent. Panic crept through them in vomit-inducing waves, the doorknob began to jiggle. The first time it happened, it was soft as though by accident. The second and third time, the metal knob slowly turned.

“We’re dead,” Jake said.

“Don’t say that—” Russell reaffirmed and soon after, ate his words.

The door creaked open. From within came her bloodied hand, talon like fingers found purchase upon the doorframe.

“I told you, we’re dead…” Jake was certain, more than he had been of anything in his life.

Russell had enough. He reeled back and punched his brother as hard as he could. Jake yelped, and grabbed his arm.

“We’re not going to die!” Russell said, frowning.

Jake shook his head, his eyes locked on the open doorway and their mother, who stood within it. “What can we do, we’re trapped…” never once did he look to his brother. “We’re going to end up like everyone else…we’re going to die, can’t you see that?”

The sound of Jake’s cries stirred the dead into a deep frenzy, rallied behind the dresser like a pack of starving wolves. Their assault commenced, going at it with purpose. They stood in the middle of the hall, awkwardly located between their mother and the stairwell—screwed either way.

“We’ll find a way,” Russell said. “We always have.”

A loud crash rang from behind. One after another in a quick succession of thunderous booms. The ghouls had built at such an incredible rate that their sheer numbers caused the dresser to tilt. As it did, the drawers rolled free from their coasters and fell to the floor. Knickknacks and clutter spilt across the floor. The dead continued to jostle it some more and with the drawers gone, it moved more freely. It was a realization that seemed to spark excitement in their rotting minds.

Hopeless, Jake screamed, “We’re trapped!”

Down a ways, Russell watched his mother, watching them. She cocked her head like a cat, waiting to attack. All around, moans swirled like fog, built to a deafening crescendo.

“We’re not going to die,” Russell turned to Jake.

“What are we going to do then?”

Something caught Russell’s eye, he looked up and smiled. “Up,” he said. “We’re going up.”

Jake looked, having made up his mind that his brother had lost his, he saw it.

Across the hall, the mother charged her helpless children. At the opposite end, the dresser tilted some more, catching atop the drawers and held for a moment. So many things were happening at once, Jake’s head spun, his vision blurred and time slowed. He let out a frantic laugh, seeing the drawstring for the hide-away ladder leading to the attic.

“No way,” he said, it was a wonderful moment. His thoughts returned to their mother. She was closer now—six feet and counting.

Jake jumped at the string, his hand swung and missed, barely gracing it and caused it to sway like a metronome. “Damn,” he grumbled.

“Momma, stop!” Russell yelled.

Her corpse hesitated, looking from one boy to the other. Her cold eyes narrowed as though in concentration. It soon passed and in a moment of clarity, lunged.

“I’m sorry,” Russell said, kicking her as hard as he could in the stomach.

She hissed, stumbling back. Her uncoordinated feet intertwined and sent her to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated with the utmost sincerity. She flailed. It was a pitiful sight, their mother reduced to a helpless shell.

Jake tried again and missed. “Forget about her and help me,” he said.

“Okay,” Russell said, keeping her in focus.

Jake grabbed his brother, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Hold still,” he asked, hoisting him as high as his tired arms could reach.

Startled, Russell yelped, before realizing what his brother was going for.

“Can you reach it?” Jake coughed, steading himself. The added weight bore tirelessly down upon his shoulders. He tightened his grip just before Russell began to slip from his grasp.

“Almost,” Russell replied.

Down the hall, the dresser fell. The influx of weight caused the drawers to shoot out from beneath it, like a torpedo. It hit with a resounding crash, obliterating all hope. Not a second was wasted before the dead spilled into the hall, spreading like ants.

Jake, overcome by terror had dropped his brother.

Russell offered a sharp snort as he hit the ground. Before he fell, he somehow caught the drawstring, taking it and the ladder with him. On his back, he groaned. He would have been a goner, hadn’t Jake grabbed his shirt and pushed him away as the ladder crashed to the floor.

“Go!” Jake shouted, shoving Russell up the rungs.

Russell made no objection.

Ghouls continued to file up the stairs and into the hall. Like water, they filled any and all space. The ladder had fallen in the center of the hallway, dividing the narrow space in halves. Between both walls, remained a foot of clearance on either side. The small gap kept the zombies at bay. Angered, they reached through the rungs and snarled. A couple of the smarter ones tried to squeeze between the ladder and the wall only to get jammed.

After Russell, Jake followed, scrambling up as quickly as he could. Through the rungs, dead hands reached for him. They caressed his face and slashed his clothes and hair. He kicked and swatted them away the best he could, but their assault seemed never ending.

Something tugged on his shorts, backed with enough force for him to stop. It hadn’t come from between the rungs but the other side. Over his shoulder and to his surprise, his mother had risen and nearly pulled Jake from the ladder in her quest for leverage. Her mouth opened in a bitter sigh, allowing her bloated tongue to loll across her gums. She snapped her teeth, severing the dead muscle with a soft trickle of blood as the tip dribbled from her lips.

Through the rungs, cold hands pinned him in place. He fought against them as she went in for the kill. Above, Russell cried, begging his mother to stop. Jake kicked as his shoe grazed her face and snapped her neck with the shattering of bone.

She snarled and stumbled, nearly taking Jake with her. She reeled back and arched her head forward.

Again, he kicked. The sole of his shoe smacked her face with a gut-wrenching snap. The cartilage in her nose shattered, leveling it with her face.

He tried not to think of the damage inflicted or that it was his mother he had kicked. She was different, like Jane and everyone else and still, the guilt was immense.

She offered a parting cry as she fell. Her clawed fingers slashed, desperate for support. They found nothing, save for the exposed flesh of his calf, but only for a moment.

Jake cried, biting his lip as her nails raked his skin, and felt the chilled sting of beading blood and the resulting warmth that spread. His aggression built, fighting back and pulled free. Without wasting any more time, he scrambled up the ladder.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Pulling the ladder back up was a task in itself. They couldn’t retract it fast enough and as they tried, the dead swarmed through the newfound space and reached up to thwart their escape. They crowded the steps, holding tight and pulling it down. This additional weight was too much, and wouldn’t budge with all of the dead clustered at the bottom.

“They get up here, we’re done for—ain’t got anywhere else to run, you understand?”

Russell nodded, grabbing the first box. It was a selection of their father’s collection of forty-fives—Johnny Cash, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, and of course, the King—Elvis.

“Move,” he said and threw the box down the open space. It wasn’t heavy, but heavy enough to dislodge an undead mailman, who was already halfway up the ladder. When he fell, another was quick to take his place.

Jake forged forward, on his wounded leg, the thin scratches burned and radiated with a smoldering flame that burrowed into his thigh. He pushed through the hurt, grabbing a box marked: X-Mas. It was heavier than the last and moved faster when scooted. He pushed it to the edge and kicked it over. Their hands reached wantonly for the box, ripping through the cardboard and showered themselves with a flamboyant array of ordainments, Santa’s, and tangled strings of seasonal lights.

It took some time but before long, their struggle for survival lead them to clear half of the attic of boxes. The constant clutter forced the dead back, giving them enough clearance to hoist the ladder back to where it belonged. When it was done, they took one look at each other, wiry smiles upon their faces and collapsed, thankful for the respite.

Panting and desperate for breath, Jake checked his leg. Droplets of blood formed along its length. The scratch itself wasn’t severe, far from that of a scrapped knee, but it was the blistering burn that radiated which spoke volumes to its severity.

Something was terribly wrong, Jake knew.

It wasn’t until he
stood, walking towards the small, slatted window at the far end of the attic that he even became aware of the pain. Every step felt like splinters of glass methodically stabbing his shin. He winced, forsaking the window and sat cross-legged on the floor, his back propped against the wall as he studied the abrasion. On the surface, the blood had dried, when he touched it gingerly, the scab popped, oozing a viscous black fluid, and smelt like garbage on a hot summer day.

Russell stood nearby, watching. When the rancid smell filed the attic, he furrowed his nose and pursed his lips. Disgusted, yet utterly enticed. “That doesn’t look good,” he said.

Jake reckoned the worst and knew it best if he kept it to himself. “It’ll be fine,” he said and quickly corrected the statement. “
I’ll
be fine.”

With doubt, Russell nodded. Sheriff Baker had said, whatever it was that turned man into monsters, had something to do with their saliva and bites—what about scratches, did it hold the same damnation? Jake drew a breath and closed his eyes. He wanted nothing but to push the thought from his mind. He could not. Guilt trudged coldly though as he thought of Russell, left alone in this cold cruel world.

“I’ll be fine,” he whispered.

“What’cha
say?” Russell asked.

“We’ll be alright,” Jake said. “We’ve made it this far, there’s no reason why we can’t see this through until the end, right?”

With the flashlight long since lost, he spied a traceable outline of his brother, due to the slivers of moonlight and house fires filtered through the slats. His head began to throb, forcing his eyes shut, once more.

“We will,” Russell said. In no time, he was asleep.

Once he heard the measured pacing of breaths, Jake looked around and smiled. It was a joyous smile, regardless of the sorrow of his tears. He was happy to have pulled through and survived the night, his brother by his side. He missed his mom and dad, and even Sheriff Baker and Jane. He knew and prayed they were in a better place. A place far removed from this Hell.

When the pain got worse, his eyes began to cloud and his vision blurred, he closed them. The muffled sounds of the dead served as background noise, like water down at the fishing
hole. Yes, he knew. That was exactly where he wanted to be. It was thoughts such as these that ushered him to sleep.