This Dying World: The End Begins (12 page)

“Is there anyone listening?  Hello?  Anybody listening, we need help.  We’re stuck on Interstate 90 near Rockford.  We’re at a roadblock and can’t get past.  If there is anyone out there we need to know what to do,” a female voice crackled.

I picked up the mic despite the frozen blood enshrouding it.  I keyed it up, keeping my mouth a safe distance from the gory device.  I spoke slow and deliberate to ensure I would be heard over the static.

“I can hear you.  I’m at an accident.  No one is here, and I really hope the cop doesn’t come back.  You want some advice?  Get what you can and leave.  I think we’re on our own.”

“Oh my God! Who is this?” she shouted back at me.

“This is Dan Fos-, umm, just Dan.  I’m with my family.  I wish I could help you, but there’s nothing here either.  How is your group?”

“Bad.  My husband is here, and a couple of our friends.  They’re all really sick and need help.  Do you know of any safe places?” she asked.

“Maybe, why is everyone sick?”

“Please! We need help.  We’re getting desperate!” she pleaded.

“I want to help.  But I need to know what’s happening there.  Were they bit?”

“Please!” she begged.

“Were they bit?” Her evasiveness told me all I needed to know.  Even if she said they were okay, I wouldn’t tell them where I was going.  It was a shitty thing to do, but my choices were endanger my family or leave this group to their own devices.  That argument will always end with my family on top.

“Yes,” she came back just as I was about to drop the mic to the floor.  I was surprised at her honesty.  I don’t know if my position would have changed, but I decided to allow her more time to convince me.

“Were you bit?”

“No, but they need me.  Maybe they were wrong, maybe it isn’t the bite.  They need help so badly.  Please if you have a safe place, I’m begging you.  Help us!”

“You need to leave them.” The words were foreign to me.  I was shocked at my own tone of voice.  It was cold and callous, and absolute.

“I can’t do that!  They need me!”

“I can’t help you then.”  I let the mic fall from my hands.

“Please don’t leave us like this!  You have to…”  I switched the radio off before she could finish her thought.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to no one.  I closed my eyes, overwhelming guilt crushing me from within.  I couldn’t be sure, but I felt like I had just condemned that woman to death.  She would die cursing my name.

I didn’t hear it behind me until its icy fingers wrapped around my face.  I panicked.  I tried to pull away, but I slipped on the icy blood beneath my feet and crashed to the ground.  Its vice like grip never faltered.  It came down on top of me, its body weight trapping me beneath it.  Foam spilled from its mouth, dripping with heavy taps onto my jacket.  I tried to rock onto my side to work myself free, but the dead thing was too heavy.  I was at the mercy of the undead trooper.  My eyes slammed shut as its teeth bore down on my face.

There was a wet crack, and a violent tug on my head.  Its grip fell away and its body went limp.  I didn’t open my eyes before shoving the thing off me.  I scooted in the opposite direction from where I heard its body land.

I opened my eyes to find Abby standing in front of me, holding my hammer like a Viking warrior.  Her widened eyes stared through me, breaths coming fast and deep between clenched teeth.

“Abby?  Are you okay?”  As hard as my heart was pumping, my wife looked like she was just shy of losing her marbles.  I wasn’t entirely sure if she was contemplating beating me with the same hammer she had just made zombie paste with.  I didn’t want to ask either.

“Do I look okay!?” she screamed.  “Didn’t you hear me calling you?  Do I need to throw this at you to get your attention?  I told you we should leave!” she berated me, stomping her feet on the ground.

I thought for a second that I should defend myself.  Possibly tell her about the radio conversation.  Perhaps even to remind her how much we needed supplies and that the risk was still worth it.  But she was holding the hammer, and contrary to popular opinion, I’m not suicidal.  See, I do think things through.

“Abby, I’m sorry,” is what I said instead.  I stood up, moving to embrace her.  I hated seeing her cry, and I hated even more that I was the cause.

“Don’t you touch me with that nasty shit all over you.  Go wash that stuff off, get whatever toys you think we need so badly, and let’s get out of here before I use this thing on you!” She pointed the hammer at me to accentuate her point.

She spun on her heels and marched back to her car, slamming the door behind her.  Deciding it was best to do as I was told, I grabbed some snow from the side of the road and began scrubbing the grime away.  Abby was the forgiving type over time, as long as I did nothing more to piss her off over the next couple hours.  There was the fact that she had not relinquished the hammer though.  The next few miles would be spent with one eye on her, just in case.

Officer Friendly’s corpse lay on his side near the open squad door.  Most of its flesh had been ripped from its ribcage.  The exposed rib bones looked as if they had been gnawed upon.  Nothing was left in his abdomen, the cavity scraped clean all the way to its spine.  Not a single organ or blood vessel remained.  A white hip bone poked out from under its uniform pants, picked so clean it looked polished.

What caught my attention, however, was the gun belt that hung loosely from its eviscerated body.  It took a moment to decide if I would take it.  I hadn’t realized how little I would struggle with the moral implications of taking things I need from the deceased when I needed to.  They don’t need what I take from them anymore anyway, but it was still surprising how little it bothered me.  However, I wasn’t that eager to put my hands so close to something that only moments before had tried to make me into brunch.

I went to the passenger side to retrieve the shotgun.  There were fewer frozen meaty bits on that side anyway.  The dead cop wasn’t going anywhere, so the chore of relieving him of his sidearm could wait.  A quick poke through the glove compartment yielded nothing but half a snickers bar and enough fast food napkins to wrap the car twice over.  The center console revealed a small black Kevlar bag.  Inside was a small first aid kit, a bottle of water, and a granola bar.

The cold air was taking its toll on me.  My near hypothermic experience that morning still lingered, and my toes were starting to burn again.  My swollen knee was in agony, and my shoulder screamed.  Abby would be furious, but I had to warm up again before continuing my search.

I felt drained as I climbed back into the car.  My headache was matched only by the gnawing in my stomach.  I needed food and water, but so did everyone else.  I fished the granola bar and water from the bag and handed them to Katie.  She snatched them up so fast I had to count my fingers to make sure she left them all.  The bar was gone in two bites, the water in less time.  She may be a little girl, but she can put some competitive eaters to shame when she’s hungry.

“So, are we leaving yet?” Abby broke the silence.  She had returned to staring out her window.

“Not yet.  I still need to search the trunk, and then we can go.”  I rubbed my legs to try and relieve my frozen muscles.

“Damn it Dan, you know I could do that.  Why do you feel like you have to do everything?  I’m not helpless you know.”

“I know you can handle yourself.  You just saved my ass, remember?  But if something happened to you or Katie while I hang back with my thumb up my own ass I’d lose it.  I need to protect you, and Katie.  If that means I get put in harm’s way then so be it.  I can’t let you get hurt.”

“Dan,” she smiled.  She cupped my cheek, gently caressing my face.  “That was so sweet of you to say.  I loved hearing every word of it.  So why don’t you write all that bullshit down while I go empty that trunk.”  She snatched the keys from my hand and was out the door before I had any chance to argue.  She marched over to the cruiser, swinging the hammer as she walked.

“Daddy, what is bullshit?”  Katie had unfurled herself from her knees.

“Oh there are so many ways to answer that.  But for now, it’s a word you shouldn’t say or mommy will yell at me.”  I tried not to laugh. A kid swearing is funny, until mom finds out.

“Mommy will yell at you for bullshit?”

“Yes she will.  And I mean it, don’t say that word anymore.”

“Okay daddy,” she said.  “No more bullshit.”

I shook my head and dropped the subject.  Katie would keep going as long as I kept talking.  I swung the car around and backed up to where Abby stood.  The rear mounted camera made sure I wouldn’t run her down in the process.  I was in enough trouble as it was.  I stopped about five feet from the squad car.  I wanted room to move in case the hungry locals decided to pay us a visit.

“Stay put Katie, I’m going to help mommy.  Okay?”

“Okay daddy,” she smiled.

I heard the cruiser’s trunk pop open as I slid out of our car.  I walked around the back and stopped dead in my tracks.  Abby silhouetted in the midmorning sunshine, a black AR-15 held up to her shoulder and aimed towards the smoking wreckage.  A smile spread across her face when she glanced at me, seeing the stunned look I wore.

“Mine’s bigger,” she smiled, nodding towards my pilfered shotgun.

“I love you.” I tried to keep the drool to a minimum.  I wasn’t doing a very good job either.

“You better.” She turned away.  She glanced back over her shoulder to wink and blow me a kiss.

We dug through the packed trunk, tossing aside any useless junk and piling anything we found useful into Abby’s car.  A small lunch cooler with a couple bottles of water and a Gatorade made its way to the back seat, along with some granola bars and a few blankets.

I almost leapt for joy when I opened a small black duffle bag.  I found a pair of dark blue sweat pants that were about a size too small and smelled like a stale locker room.  I immediately dropped everything I was doing and practically jumped into them.  I have no idea when the last time they met a washing machine was, but the cloth felt as if they were layered with months of workout sweat.  My legs were never happier.

Tucked inside a plastic container we had found two magazines for the AR along with roughly 100 rounds, 25 shotgun shells, and 50 rounds of .40 caliber bullets with two extra magazines.  I set the box to the side to transfer everything into the Kevlar bag I had found earlier.

Inside the cavernous trunk was also a set of riot gear with a spare duty belt, a rain slicker, road flares, a bolt cutter, a box of hand tools, zip ties, and a set of handcuffs.  The duty belt meant I wouldn’t have to fight with the gore covered one officer road pizza was wearing, but the riot gear was too bulky to justify taking.  The rest was packed up and shoved into our car.

“How the hell did all this fit in there?” Abby shook her head at her near full trunk.

“No idea, but I’m glad it was there,” I said, strapping the belt to my waist.  “I looked for the kitchen sink, but I guess this wasn’t the updated model.”

“Oh I saw it.  It was behind the sofa to the left of the TV.”

“There’s a TV in there?!”  I stared longingly into the trunk.  I really wanted to believe in magical TV filled trunks.

“Don’t worry.  It’s not a flat screen.  Budget cuts I guess,” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Damn bureaucrats.  How can they take away such an essential piece of police equipment?  I swear it’s inhumane,” I said.

“It is.  They didn’t even have cable or satellite TV.  It’s just the antenna.”

“It’s barbaric.  Hey, Abby, I’m holding on to these for later,” I said, dangling the handcuffs from one finger.

“Keep dreaming Mr. Foster,” she said, closing our car up.

“Spoil sport,” I said, placing the cuffs into my coat pocket.  No sense in letting go of the dream.

“Are we ready to go yet?” she sighed.

“One more thing and we’re done.  Watch my back.” I walked over to the corpse splayed out on the road.

Abby’s attack had demolished the zombie’s head.  The hammer had peeled the scalp away, and splintered the bone beneath.  Viscous black fluid oozed from the open wound, pooling on the ground beneath its head.  An odd crackling sound seemed like it was coming from around its head.

The smell was vile, like nothing I had experienced before.  My sinuses burned as if I had taken a deep sniff of an ammonia and rotten meat smoothie.  My eyes stung as I neared.  I hunched down by the corpse intent on a quick search before getting away from the irritation.

I removed his sidearm, a .40 caliber Glock with a full magazine.  It seemed that he had died before he even had the chance to draw his weapon.  I holstered the pistol and took the extra magazine from a side pouch.

The officer’s spine cracked as I shifted its torso slightly to remove his flashlight.  The popping sound was amplified through the hollow opening where its guts had once been.  The inside of his head crackled, as if it were suddenly filled with Rice Crispies.  A greenish black sludge oozed out between the splintered skull.

Searing pain suddenly burned into my eyes, as my throat felt as if it were under attack by a swarm of wasps.  My face tingled and my stomach threatened to boil over.  I doubled over as the muscles in my midsection began to cramp up.  Vision blurred to the point that all I could see were blobs of color.  I retreated from the sudden sensory assault, stumbling towards where I believed Abby was.