Night of the Living Dead (6 page)

Would it be better do this slow or quick?

He opted for quick. Rushing straight through the hellish chaos, he stooped long enough to snatch the janitor’s keys, then jumped away before his arm or leg could be seized.

He needn’t have worried. They remained focused on ... on what was left of the janitor. My God, they were actually
eating
him!

don’t think about that, don’t stop, just keep moving, keep moving before they
notice you
, damn it

In seconds, Ben was behind the steering wheel, the door re-locked behind him. Adrenaline demanded that he get the hell out of there
now
, but he wasn’t entirely sure where to go. In his rush, he had forgotten to ask for directions — which would have required entering the diner to talk to the waitress, anyway.

Think, damn it!

Okay ... okay ... he knew that the two other people who has disembarked with him had started walking up the road to his right, north, away from the old gas station. When Joe’s cowardly friend had taken off running, he, too, had gone in that direction. If he had to bet money on it, he would go with the direction the three locals had taken.

All right. That’s it then.

But now that he was sitting inside a locked vehicle and the three sick people, or whatever they were, remained oblivious to him, he felt secure in slowing down, if just for a moment.

The biggest problem was that he had no idea what was happening. He needed
information
.

Pushing the key into the ignition, he turned it only halfway, just enough to engage the truck’s battery. Ready to turn down the volume at a moment’s notice, he switched on the radio.

For the first several seconds, he heard nothing but static ...

Great, just great!

... but then the instant before he twisted the knob back to
Off
, a male voice broke through.

"
... back on ...?
"
it asked. The signal continued to whistle and scratch, but then the man continued, "
Oh ... uh, ladies and gentlemen ... we’re coming back on the air after an interruption due to technical problems
—"

Thump!

Ben jerked in surprise, switching off the radio on reflex as he turned to the driver’s side window.

The patient, her wretched mouth a ghastly sight up close, had left the janitor ...

Maybe because she can’t
eat him
very well with broken teeth and jaw?

... and was now outside the door, staring in at him with milky, dead-looking eyes. She drew back her fist and pounded on the glass again.

Okay, enough was enough. Ben started the truck and threw it into
Reverse
. The truck swayed a bit as the front tires rolled back over the woman’s feet, but she gave no reaction of any kind — she just staggered after him.

Ben shifted into
Drive
, turning around to his left. He would have to swing around into a U-turn if he wanted to head north ...

Coming from the cross-street, a large gasoline truck rounded the bend, heading straight for him. Well, not
straight
for him
—
the driver was weaving all over the road! Drunk, asleep, or in some kind of distress, the gas truck screamed right across the road without heeding the stop sign.

Ben slammed on his breaks to keep from hitting it broadside.

As the gasoline truck continued forward, tearing through the guardrail, Ben finally understood
why
the poor driver was behaving so. Ten, maybe fifteen people — men, women, even one child — were trailing after him, some of them dragging behind the truck, but most of them chasing after it in the awkward gait which Ben now recognized all too well.

The truck barreled toward the gas station, smashing through a low billboard, shattering the wooden sign into a million pieces
and throwing the hanger-ons through the air. Seconds later, the truck ripped
over one of the gas pumps.

Sparks flew and flames erupted, turning the gas truck into a rolling bonfire.

It didn’t stop moving until it slammed headlong into the side of the gas station’s front wall.

Instincts which had failed him earlier (and thereby saved him from the nurse) kicked into high gear, and Ben was out of the truck before he could contemplate the risk, the danger of such action. All he could think about was helping the driver.

He could hear an agonized scream coming from the gas truck. He did not know if it was the fire or those
things
which had gotten the man, but either way, it chilled Ben to the bone.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know whether or not the truck was going to explode. He didn’t know if he could save the man even if it
didn’t
explode.

He did not know what to do.

The things which had been following after the truck had stopped now. They backed away, staring into the flames as though they were hypnotized, some of them holding up their arms as if to protect themselves even though the flames were a safe distance away.

They’re afraid of fire
, Ben realized.

Maybe he could use this to his advantage, to rescue the driver while they were held at bay. If the man from the bus could help him—

Ben turned back toward the diner, and his thoughts of seeking help stopped dead. Both the patient and the other sick man had emerged from behind the diner. He had not considered what that meant, but now he knew.

From his new vantage point further away from the building, he could see that the field behind the diner was
full
of those things, the majority wearing hospital gowns like the first patient. They had surrounded the place, and because the customers or staff had never gotten around to his suggestion of turning off the lights, he could also
see that the things had somehow gotten inside — even with the tinted glass, he could see the shapes moving around through the windows.

If anyone were still alive, they wouldn’t be for long.

Ben turned back to the burning truck, but there were no more screams.

He was alone.

The fire had spread to the gasoline station itself, and the flames licked high into the evening sky.

He was all alone.

He looked around. There were fifty or sixty of the things in plain view now. They just stood in place, staring at the flames ...

... until, slowly, one by one, they shifted their gaze to stare at
him
.

It was a petrifying, impious sensation. Ben might have frozen, rooted helpless to that spot, if he had not seen one
thing.

The janitor was getting up. With his neck ravaged, with his ear and most of the fingers of one hand bitten off, with one leg mauled to the bone ...
the janitor was getting up
.

Ben was back in his borrowed pickup, was circling around and driving toward the parking lot before he realized what he intended to do.

The things did not move as Ben plowed the truck right through them. The janitor showed no sign of recognition or fear as Ben made a special point of crushing him.

They just stood there, staring at him. They scattered through the air like bugs, but there were no wails of fear, no cries of pain.

Ben sailed over the curb and raced into the coming night.

It was only a precious few minutes before he noticed the gas tank needle. He had not thought to check and see how much fuel the damned truck had, but he now saw that it was very near empty.

What could he do? There was no town center in sight as yet, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be left stranded on the side of the road on
this
night.

In what little light of dusk remained, Ben was barely able to make out the white farmhouse standing in the middle of the field down a long, dirt driveway. A small barn stood on the other end of the property and what
appeared
to be a modest, single gas pump, most likely for refueling tractors and other equipment.

He could also make out movement in the yard, but would it prove to be
people
... or more of those
things
?

Do I have any choice?

No, he didn’t.

Turning off the main road, Ben drove toward the farmhouse ...

TOM AND JUDY

Tom leaned over her, his mouth opening to bite down on the flesh of her throat ...

Judy placed her fingers over his lips to stop him before he could tempt her further.

"Oh, Judy, I’m dyin’ ..."

"Come on, Tommy, you’re
not
dying."

"Judy, we’ve been together so long ... you’re killin’ me..." He craned his neck forward, reaching for her throat again.

"Tom, I swear, if you give me a hickey, I
will
kill you."

With a soul-weary sigh, Tom pulled away from her, straightening back into his place behind the steering wheel so that he could sulk in comfort. It was a familiar routine by now.

Tom and Judy had been dating for four years, since both of them were Juniors in high school. Though they had each left their teen years behind them, Tom often felt like a clumsy, awkward boy in the throes of puberty around her. Tonight was a recurring theme of their Sunday afternoon dates: Lunch; sometimes a movie; driving up to the top of Ridley Hill to park and "check out the view" before heading down to the lake for a swim ... followed, finally, by Tom’s temptation to forego their promise to wait until their wedding night for consummation, and Judy’s reminding him — always with just as much force as was needed — of her own unwavering devotion to that oath.