The Queen of the Dead (20 page)

A playground with a gazebo seemed a good place to stop and catch their breath. At least, that must’ve been what Vincent thought as he led them into a park that seemed to be lacking any walking dead people. There was no firelight, nor were there any streetlights. They trusted what little vision they had.

They sat on benches in the dark while the rain continued to pound away. They could hear each other gasping for breath.

“What a joke,” Griggs said. “All the supplies, guns, and ammo… all the shit we picked up… wasted. And for what?”

“Somebody put him out of my misery.” Vega groaned.

“You thought it was a better idea to just ignore them?” John Charles asked. “These people needed help, and you thought it was right to let them die?”

“This wasn’t about saving hundreds of people,” Griggs said. “Who did we drag out? Why don’t you tell our friends the real reason why we stopped? Tell them why we picked up Stacy and Jeremy.”

“You’re an asshole!” the girl whined.

“She gets to stay,” Vega said. “I like her already. I don’t give a damn why we went in there. If we can help one person, I’m fine with the sacrifice. Soldiers put their lives on the line for others…” the tone of her voice lowered as if she were discovering something new, “…it’s what we do.”

“I appreciate it,” Jeremy said, his voice trembling with gratitude. “I can’t even tell you what we saw in there. It was a bad idea from the start. Oh, man… God… it was…”

“It was the
only
idea!” Stacy shouted at him. “What else are we supposed to do? Hide? Wait to die?”

“Okay,” Griggs started on the sergeant, “you mean to tell me you thought going in there and playing Superman would help them out? Did you see them scatter all over the place? The goddamn fire would’ve been a better fate.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” John lowered his tone in an attempt to keep himself under control.

“
I don’t know
?” Griggs asked. “Are you kidding me? You expect to make it all the way to Selfridge with… what? Where’re the guns? Our water? Our food? What’d you want to do with these two? Find shelter for them? Hey, I got an even better idea: let’s take them with us!”

“Shut up,” John said, “just shut. The. Hell. Up.”

“Selfridge?” Griggs continued. “Really? How many more people do you think we’ll find along the way? Hundreds. Thousands. All wanting to be saved. Who’s going to save
us
?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stacy said, “it doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Don’t worry about it,” John said. “He really is an asshole. You’re going to be fine, but I need you just to take a minute. We can’t sit here for too long. It’s hard, I know, but we have to move on.”

Griggs clapped his hands.

“Keep that shit up,” Vincent threatened.

“Smile for me, buddy, you’re invisible. I feel like Ray Charles right now.”

John sat down on the bench next to Jeremy and Stacy.

“We were having a party…” Stacy said. “I mean, it sounded cool. It was so
crazy
. Everyone out there just becoming zombies, like in the movies. We figured we were going to die anyway. We figured it wouldn’t matter. People from all over came. And then we couldn’t tell… we didn’t even know…”

“That’s rich,” Griggs said. “Real cute.”

“It was a place for people to go,” Jeremy said. “It was like nothing was happening; nothing was going on if we just forgot about it. I was the oldest one there. Heh… all those kids. I didn’t even know them. I can fight, I can defend myself, but it does no good, you know? I saw cops and soldiers go down like they were nothing.”

“You can stay with us,” John said, “you’ll be alright. We’re going to a place that’s safe. If we find other people along the way, we’ll help them, too. It’s what we do.”

“Any of you bit?” Vega asked.

Silence for a moment, and then Jeremy said, “Stacy was bit. Just a little on the arm. She’s okay. She’s not even bleeding, really. Just a scrape.”

“Cool,” Griggs stood and peered into the dark for a shape that seemed to be looking up at him. He heard the sniffles, and he pressed the Desert Eagle, the death dealer, against the side of her head and exploded her brains all over someone’s thigh. The girl slumped sideways over the bench onto John’s shoulder.

He wasn’t sure what happened when the wind was knocked out of him; he doubled over and clutched his stomach while listening to Jeremy’s howl. The only thing that could’ve hit him so hard was the butt of a rifle.

Whoever hit him the first time, hit him a second time. He was shoved backward over the edge of the gazebo and landed on his back in the mud. He stared into the dark while rain pelted his face.

“Try it on me,” Vincent said.

A bright flash of lightning revealed John cradling the dead girl, her exploded head pouring onto his chest. His body shook while his mouth was open in a wide O.

“You know what’s funny?” Griggs asked. “I just might. By the way, thanks a lot for helping me out back there, buddy. I appreciate how nice a fella you are.”

Strong hands lifted him to his feet by the collar of his jacket. Vincent used his fists this time to deliver two hard punches to his ribs.

“You’ve been waiting to do this…” Griggs spat into the mud and laughed. Pain didn’t matter anymore. The pain and suffering of the entire human race was within his grasp, and this shithead wasn’t going to get in his way.

“I don’t need an excuse,” Vincent said. “Roll up your sleeves so we can take care of this.”

“What’s the point?” Griggs pointed his gun into Vincent’s chest. “It’s easier to do it this way. You won’t have to put up with me anymore, and you get to hang out with the rest of your boys in Hell.”

“Don’t make me wait,” Vincent said. “You don’t point a gun at somebody unless you’re ready to use it.”

“
Goddammit
,” Vega said, “drop your weapon!”

He didn’t need to look up to know she had her rifle pointed at him. That didn’t bother him. Getting himself killed just to have a shot at Vincent bothered him, because the punk wasn’t worth it. There was too much at stake. Soon enough, women like Vega would open their legs for him so they could keep breathing. The world would be his whorehouse.

“What’re we arguing about?” Griggs kept his gun pointed at Vincent’s chest. “I did everyone a favor. That girl was about to become one of those things, and you idiots want to go around playing superhero games. Haven’t you figured this out yet? This is the same place you came from,
homie
. Nothing’s changed. The people haven’t even changed. Look around you! It’s the same shit! Instead of junkies and pimps, you’ve got zombies, and they’re not much different, are they?”

“Keep on going,” Vincent said. “I got time.”

“Ha! Time? Really? You know what happened to me one time? I got kicked off the force. Got my hands in blood for fifteen years. I was addicted to it. I came home and needed to see people screwing each other’s eyeballs out. I beat the shit out of my wife
and
my kids. I did it because it felt damn good! I was the best they had on the force, but they kicked me out because I’m crazy, Vincent! You hear that?
Fucking crazy
.”

The gun was shaking in his fist. Where was all the adrenaline coming from? The rage? He was thinking clearly a moment ago, and he kept his cool when those dead bastards almost got him, but Vincent brought something out of him. It was time… it was beyond time…

Click. Click. Click click click click click.

Jeremy wasn’t howling anymore. The rain had slowed to a drizzle.

He could almost feel Vincent’s grin.

“Reload,” he told Griggs. “I’ll wait.”

John Charles pushed between them. Stacy was slung over his shoulder with his rifle in the other hand. “That’s enough. Both of you stand down. I’m already sick of your shit. I don’t care who you were back in the world, but out here, you’re both civilians. You ain’t shit to me!”

Griggs shook his head. “That’s great, Sarge! Pretty heroic! You don’t want to babysit, but then you pull two idiots out of a burning building while you drag half-a-million hungry Detroiters with you! Wait, I see a cat in the tree!”

“I got news for everybody,” Vega announced, “Griggs has the balls to do the right thing. The girl’s dead and I got a damn headache. I’ll start walking, and I don’t care who follows. I’m not anyone’s babysitter. You’re on your own.”

“You hear that?” Griggs said. “This dickhead wants to grow a fucking conscience, and Captain America thinks it’s a jolly fun time to save burnouts! It’s a sick comedy show. You two would’ve been great politicians. We got Mr. Welfare and Mr. Corporate. So maybe we can rebuild this city one pot-head at a time!”

“That’s not what this is,” John said, rain water sliding over his nose. “If we can’t do the right thing, then who will? We’ll preserve what’s good about each other instead of letting something out of ourselves, some kind of beast. You worked the streets, Griggs, you know what I’m talking about. That was your mantra. You saved lives because you could. Because it was in you to do it.”

Griggs shook his head. “Naw. Not even close. Thinking really isn’t good for you, Sarge. Leave that to geniuses like Vincent.”

The bell broke apart the night, a sharp alarm that jolted Griggs out of his skin. A bank alarm was ringing close by and emergency floodlights exploded over the park, blinding the ragged survivors.

At the same time, the rain tapered off. Scattered drops, the remnants of a storm.

Shapes covered in mud, hands already reaching, skeletal hands greedily moving before anyone could summon a scream. Lingering just on the edges of shadow and light.

Mud-caked corpses wavering behind Griggs grabbed his shoulders. Black things clad in dripping rain and misshapen forms.

Minds froze, suspended in disbelief and fear.

The dead had followed them.

The dead were everywhere. There was no escape, no sanctuary.

So many opens mouths, so much darkness. A legion of the dead were under their noses, and they couldn’t smell them.

They were used to the smell of rot and decay.

He was on his back, and he cursed himself for not reloading his weapon when he had the chance. Arguing with Vincent had been such a waste of time, and he was going to die because of it. He understood this to be an absolute truth. All the power he could’ve had, all his fantasies turning to dust, bleeding out into muddy puddles.

A million faces loomed over him, putrescence dripping onto his face with the scattered raindrops. Foul liquids, the smell of sewage and dying old men; he was at the mercy of the dead.

Bursts of light exploded with bullets that pounded the dead. Rough hands dragged him away from his adoring fans. He slipped and was pushed face-first into the mud again, with whoever was trying to help him. More gunfire, bodies dropping onto his back, the tonnage of limp bodies falling over him, his ears deafened by the close-quarters roar of violence. Every second lasted a century. Rain or blood splashing onto the back of his head. His fingers clawing for purchase in the moist earth.

Weight lifted from his body, dragged upward again into the embrace of another living soul. He clung to someone’s shoulder and turned around.

Lying on his back, John fired into the shapes while gritting his teeth. He reached backward as Jeremy grabbed his hand.

“No,” John Charles said. “No, you fucker, no, oh God… it doesn’t hurt… ah…”

Vincent sprayed bullets into the crowd until the AR-15 was dry; he dropped into the dirt and pulled the 9mm from the waistband of his jeans.

“Leave me here,” John said.

Jeremy grabbed John’s hand and ripped him away from the liquid shapes, shifting and moving in fragmented darkness, blood and water dripping from jaws.

Griggs realized what he needed to do, but he didn’t know what order to do it in: Reload the weapon and fire? Put the sergeant out of his misery? The man was being carried between Vincent and Jeremy, his legs bleeding into the ground, his weapon left in the dirt.

He tried to reload but his fingers were shaking. He dropped the first clip and managed to slam the second into the magnum.

It crossed his mind that he was down to his last seven bullets.

The dead were splashing through puddles behind them, their bodies burping up gas, causing slow groans that sounded like melodramatic ghosts begging for attention.

The sergeant dropped through their grasp and nearly brought his helpers down with him. Vega helped lift him to his feet, and the sergeant grunted like a rutting boar.

“Keep fucking going,” Vega said, “just go! Don’t stop!”

“Leave me.” John groaned. “I can stop them… keep them off…”

“You roll with us,” Vincent said. “Get it together.”

Corpses clutched at wire fences, spectators to the sergeant’s suffering. The dead staggered through the mud, relentless in their pursuit. The alarm was a death knell; the bright lights showcased a microcosm of their fight against the dead, a wasteful enterprise.