The Fractured Earth (9 page)

You can shoot them.

But don't just jump out into a hallway in your
Christmas Story
jammies holding your 12-gauge, or slam open a door and push your gun through the opening, hoping to catch the criminal by surprise and just ruin his day. You'll be more likely to catch a bullet in the gut.

No, you slice the pie, looking quickly at a small section around a wall or doorway and ducking back again, then a slightly larger section, then ducking back. It'll take you at least eight slices to check through an open door.

It took me twelve slices to check around the corner of the building.

I made my way toward the truck again, slicing at least a little bit around every big vehicle. I crawled underneath it again and checked out the store. 

The gruesome feast was still ongoing, and it looked like the shamblers who'd been chasing the running and yelling shoppers had returned. I counted six crazies.

I didn't see anyone else except the guests of honor for dinner.

You gotta make light of this, or else go insane.

I crawled back out and headed toward the back of the store, and made my first huge mistake.

I didn't slice the pie going back around, just assuming it was clear like it was five minutes ago.

I rounded the corner and almost screamed as a face stared back at me.

The face—belonging to a young woman—did scream.

Do zombies scream?

I reached back for my gun, my senses in overdrive and my hands fumbling to move my shirt out of the way. It was taking way too long! My brain finally caught up as I got my hand on the gun, and I realized it was the young woman from the truck, Jen.

She'd stopped screaming.

"Oh man, Jen,” I said quietly, shakily. "You scared me to death!"

She had her hand over her mouth, but took it away to speak. "Oh my gosh, sir, it’s-it's you! Am I glad to see you! The guy you shot, the woman, at the hospital, you … they…" She stuttered and gasped, trying to get the words out past her terror.

I belatedly realized that I had seen that truck in front of the store before.

"Please, what happened?" she asked frantically, making little sense.

I was beginning to settle down. "Come on," I said, taking her by the arm. She came willingly, but I could feel her arm shaking as I guided her behind the store and past the fence with the mowers, into the trees well away from the road. I sat down in the gloom where I could watch the store. I was afraid her screams might have attracted some unwanted dinner guests.

I took out my last water bottle and gave it to her. She started to talk again, but I waved her quiet and said, "Drink the whole bottle first, then you can tell me what happened."

We sat there under a spruce tree, almost completely hidden, for about five minutes until she calmed down.

"Tell me again what happened. How did you get to the store?"

—————

Jen

"Well, after we dropped you off, we did like you said and drove to the hospital. Things went pretty well until just after we dropped off the older folks and their granddaughter…"

---   ---   ---   ---   ---

"Give me the keys," said a man walking up to me. "Give them to me now, lady!"

I was standing next to the truck, watching as the old woman and her granddaughter helped the old man into the hospital. One of the men from the back jumped out and helped them. The others in the back just stayed there. One of them coughed loudly.

It didn't look like the hospital had power, but there were a few people dressed in hospital blues, so it looked like they were still operating. I tried to ignore the guy and started walking into the hospital, but he ran up and grabbed my arm. 

"Give 'em to me!" he shouted, grabbing my hand and pulling them out. That's when I finally turned and looked at him, and gasped. It was the man from the accident, the one who had hit the old man in the first place!

"How … how did you get here?" I asked stupidly. I should have screamed and ran into the hospital.

The man who helped the old man came out and asked, "What's going on? What happened?"

"It's him," I said, "the man from the accident! It's him!"

Then he grabbed my arm again and grabbed the other guy too. "Both of you, in the truck.” He probably could have just picked us up and thrown us in, he was so big. We both were pulled along. I was too scared to scream, and the other man looked pale, too.

The old woman from the accident was already in the truck, sitting in the driver's seat. "Here you go, Mom," said the huge man, handing her the keys. "You," he said, pointing at the other man. "In the back seat. And you, pretty lady, you can sit up here with me."

I couldn't protest, I could only squeeze in between the fat old woman and the huge man. 

"Now," he said, "We're going to go on a little scavenger hunt, in that we're going to hunt the bastard who killed MY SON!" He punctuated the sentence with a yell and brandished a tire iron.

I flinched and whispered, "I don't know where he is." He slapped me and I looked at him, completely shocked, and started crying silently.

"Hey," said the guy in the back seat. "What do you want?"

The huge man leaned back and thrust the tire iron hard into the guy’s chest. The reluctant passenger gasped and wheezed, his breath knocked out. "Shut up, I'm having a conversation here, and I don't like interruptions."

"Mom," he continued, "head back to the highway." He looked back to me and I shrunk away from him, as much as the little room between these two allowed me.

"Now, where were we? Oh yes, you were about to show us where you dropped off our friend, now weren't you?"

He paused as though it was my turn to talk. I guess it was, because he grabbed my chin and pointed it up to his face and said, "Weren't you!"

"It was, it was just before, uh, uh..." I couldn't remember.

"It was 70," gasped the man in the back. "Route 70. He walked north from there. You don't have to hurt us, just let us out. I told you where we last saw him."

"Yes, perhaps you did," said the big man. "We'll see."

We headed out to the highway, going back to where we dropped off the hero guy, as I thought of him. I was afraid for him, but especially afraid for myself.

"Please," I said, "why are you doing this? Just let me go."

The man looked at me again. He raised his hand and slapped me again. I couldn't believe it! What is this, the Dark Ages? I sobbed quietly and remembered what the hero guy had said, how he had warned us. He told us to be careful at the hospital, but I didn't really believe it was this bad already, despite what had happened at the accident.

I'd never imagined they would follow us here.

"Now where were we?" said the big man again. "I suppose introductions are in order. I'm Richard, but you can call me Rich. This is my mother. My dead son, murdered by that other guy—oh, what was that guy's name?"

I didn't say anything.

"I said, what was his NAME?" he yelled, raising his hand to strike me again.

"He never said!" answered the guy in the back seat. "He never told us."

I silently thanked our hero for never telling us his name, although I had been a bit put out at the time. "I asked him," I said, "but he just told me he'd rather not say."

"Hmmm, I believe you. Now, what else did he tell you?"

I thought about the gazebo, and looked down at my knees, trying to look like there was nothing else said. Obviously I failed miserably.

"Interesting," he said. "Clearly he said something. Now what was it?"

I looked back at the man in the back seat. He looked confused, so maybe he didn't hear about the gazebo. I looked back at my knees. Richard—I was going to call him Rich—looked at me, then at the guy in the back seat. He smiled an evil grin and lifted his hand. I shrunk back, but he didn't hit me. Instead, he hammered the guy in the back seat right in his temple.

The guy cried out, then moaned and leaned over in the seat, wobbling back and forth. Richard looked back at me, still grinning. "What. Else. Did. He. Say?" Then he reached over and punched the guy in the gut. His breath whooshed out and he vomited.

Richard glared at me and stopped grinning. I'm not sure which was worse—the evil grin or the evil not-grin. "Tch, tch, now look what a mess you've made," he said to me. "I'd hate to add blood to that. Vomit is easy to clean up, but bloodstains, now they're tricky, ain't they, Mom?"

"They sure are," replied the old woman, who I'd practically forgotten about. "I remember it took quite bit to get that stain on the front rug when that Witnesses fellas came back the second time. And we didn't even get a quarter for the tooth he left!" she cackled.

"Now where were we?" asked Richard. "Oh yes, at the part where you start talking or gimp there starts bleeding."

"A gazebo," I blurted. "He ... he said he'd check at a ga-gazebo in a park seven or, uh, so miles from where we dropped him off. Every, uh, few days, in case we needed help."

Richard laughed. I swear he almost sounded like Sideshow Bob, but without the "Hah HAH!" at the end. I cringed and my skin crawled where it touched his jeans.

"Sounds like a date then. We wouldn't want you to miss that!"

We drove in silence for a while, then came to the Route 70 exit. "Here we are, son," said the driver.

"Alright, exit and go north. Maybe we'll get lucky and can just run him over a few times with the truck. Wouldn't that be a hoot!"

I was appalled. I couldn't have imagined people like this really existed in real life. Two hours ago I'd been driving home from my job at an accountant's firm, where I did the books for non-profits. They almost never had enough money, but they helped people. Groups like the Salvation Army and various churches; Meals on Wheels was one of our clients. Wonderful people, taking very little pay for themselves. 

That's who I dealt with on a regular basis. Not murderous psychopaths bent on a revenge killing after a justifiable act of defending an innocent old man.

Is the world truly this evil under a veneer of civilized society, ready to rear its ugly head when the veneer crumbles?

"We're getting low on gas, dear," said the old woman. "I'm going to stop at this convenience store and see if we can get any gas. Perhaps you can go in and get some water and food. It won't be long before lean times."

"Alright, Mom. If nothing else, we can hold up here in the store until heading for this gazebo. There's bound to be gas cans in the store, and we can raid the cars that aren't running for theirs if the station don't work."

"Good thinking, Rich," she said as she pulled the truck in to the pumps at the store. "Get me a mug of coffee too, if you would. And get yourself an extra tire iron or two, I'm going to keep the lady here company until you get back." She reached down to her left side and picked up the iron she'd placed there earlier. It still had bits of hair stuck to it.

I gagged, but held it in.

Richard opened his door and got out. "Why don't you put on your seatbelt, miss?" he said. "Safety first," he added, grinning. He got out and shut the door, then walked to the store.

I did as I was told, buckling my seatbelt. Just as it clicked, the guy in back moaned, then sat up, looking paler than ever. He clutched at his head, then surprised us both by grabbing at the old lady's head, clutching her hair. It was real hair, not a wig, because he yanked so hard some of it came out in bloody bundles, the scalp still attached.

She screamed, I screamed, the guy in the back moaned and grabbed at her again. I fumbled for my seatbelt, unclipped it, then felt someone grab my hair, too. I grabbed the door handle and tried to push the door open, but didn't have the right leverage because of whoever was holding my hair. Then whoever it was let go and I stumbled out of the car. I looked back to see the the guy in the back seat climbing over and clawing at the old lady.

Was he doing it to help me get free? I didn't know.

Then I heard another moan and a THUD as one of the guys who’d been in the truck bed fell out. He got up and shambled toward me. I didn't stick around, though. I ran across the street toward some truck business.

---   ---   ---   ---   ---

"I ran around the building, and was about to sneak back and take a look toward the store. That's when I ran into you."

He was pretty handsome. I think about my age.

I shoved those thoughts aside.
The poor guy just lost his dad.

He shook his head."Man, the apocalypse isn't a day old and I already have a nemesis."

We sat quietly for a minute. "So," I said, "what
is
your name?"

He looked thoughtful for a few seconds, then shrugged and said, "Mark."

I laughed a bit, and he looked hurt. "No no, it's just that I was expecting something like Abbie Normal since you wouldn't tell us."

"Nope, just plain ole 'Mark' Frau Blücher," he said, smiling.

I laughed. It was such a relief and a surprise to find him. I hoped he'd let me go with him. I didn't have much to go home to anyway, just a cat who roamed the neighborhood most of the time.

He seemed safe and "together,” if anything could be in this whacked out world of the past few hours.

I noticed the ring on his finger. A wedding band. Seems odd—he’s way to young to be married.

Then I remembered. I saw him getting stuff from his dad... I couldn't finish that thought.

"I'm sorry about your father," I said. He looked at me with big beautiful eyes, then down at the ring, twirling it with his thumb. 

"Thank you," he whispered. He was silent for a bit, then took a deep breath.

"So," he said, "this Richard guy is probably at that store right now, and he knows I'm around somewhere, and he was planning on some kind of ambush at the gazebo. Maybe stake you out as bait."

I shuddered. I hadn't even thought of that, but yeah, it made sense. "Maybe, sounds like him. He's a complete whacko."

"Is that a technical term, Jen," he asked.

"I don't know, I'm an accountant, not a psychologist. But it adds up that way."

Mark smiled.