The Turning: A Tale of the Living Dead (25 page)

4

He woke with a start in the back
of the van, lying on the floor in pool of his own drool.  Morning sunlight
streamed in through the front window, hot and bright and insistent.  Hands
scraped and scuffed alongside the outside of the bookmobile, fingernails
scratching, looking for a way in. 

Jeff sat up, his head pounding and
got into the driver’s seat.  Four zombies clamored around the van, moaning and
snapping their teeth.  Jeff started the van and pulled away, leaving them
behind in a cloud of dust and exhaust.

He was back on 223 in seconds, his
eyes scanning every direction.  This road would take him north, a shortcut to
joining 99. 

The houses he passed along the way
were either torn down or burnt.  There wasn’t much evidence of any living
things, but there were plenty of zombies, all stumbling along sidewalks and
milling in the ruins of former homes and apartment buildings.  They turned when
they sensed him coming, and they followed behind him for a bit until they lost
interest and returned to what they were doing.  The roads were full of
overturned cars, divot and potholes, and lots of dead, skeletal bodies.

It was pure desolation and
hopelessness as far as his eye could see.

Jeff kept the bookmobile going
fast, weaving through obstacles and blocked paths.  And it was there, once he
was on 99, that he spotted a jeep a few miles north of him, headed in the
direction of Portland.

Jeff stepped on the gas and the
bookmobile groaned, prowling the road like a giant beetle, its legs clicking as
it skittered across the concrete.  There was no way he was going to catch them;
they had a more mobile and faster vehicle, as well as a nice head start.  But
he could keep close enough to keep them in sight. 

He stayed as tight as he could. 
He didn’t care if they saw him; he would have been shocked if they hadn’t. 
There were only two moving cars on the road and that was his and theirs.  The
scores of dead he saw were spread out, along the sides of the road, in yards,
across fields, mostly minding their own business, looking up and watching as
Jeff passed by. 

The pursuit lasted another hour,
through twisting roads and empty suburbs.  Jeff actually made up some distance
on them and they acknowledged him by taking a sharp corner and then floored it,
using the jeep’s mobility to their advantage.  He stayed with them, barely.

Up ahead was an access road that
led to a big open field.  They were about a mile from Portland, off to the
southeast, and Jeff had a hunch that whatever hidden entrance they used, it was
pretty close.  Looking at the map, it made sense.  They skirted the edges of
the city and were just close enough to make it feasible. 

And then there was the little
matter of the mass of zombies, hundreds, maybe thousands, deep.

He caught sight of them when they
got close to Portland.  At first, they looked like ants in the distance, but as
the bodies undulated and he got closer, he realized what they were.  Their
moans rang out as they surged and throbbed, pushing up against a long wall that
encompassed a small chunk of Portland.  How long had it taken to build those
walls, and how had they kept the living dead at bay while they did so?  It had
to be a massive undertaking, and the fevered focus of such a thing scared him
almost as much as the thousands of zombies roaring around outside.  Whoever was
demented enough to make something like that happen was much more dangerous than
a walking pile of rotting flesh.

The jeep took a hard turn onto SW
Kingston Ave and plummeted into Washington Park.  Jeff shook the city from his
mind and focused on the road as the jeep scorched ahead, kicking up dust and
pieces of garbage.  They disappeared over a rise and Jeff had to floor it just
to try and keep them in sight.  The engine rattled and he watched the temp
gauge go from warning yellow to pure red.  He pounded the dash as steam hissed
from the engine.  When he came up over the same rise as the jeep, the
bookmobile was wobbling on its last legs. 

The windshield suddenly starred, a
crack appearing to the right of Jeff and  webbing out.  A gunshot rang in the
air as another hole appeared at the top of the windshield.  Another couple
shots resounded but missed.  The next one didn't.  The passenger-side right
tire blew followed by the rear tire on the same side.  The van groaned and
bucked and tipped, careening on his two good tires.  Two more shots banged
against the underside as Jeff fought to keep control.  He lost the battle when
the front tire turned drastically to the left and the van pitched forward, the
nose crunching into the harsh concrete of the road, the rear tipping up and
threatening to flip over. 

He lost all control, the wheel
jerking out of his hands as he threw himself to the floor and rolled into a ball. 
Glass exploded and metal screamed. 

The bookmobile skidded to a stop,
lying on its side.  Jeff didn’t move.  He somehow ended up behind the front
seats, pushed against them, the shotgun in his hands and his back to the rear
of the truck.  The back doors wrenched open with a squeal of rusty metal.

“You stupid shit,” Tony said.  He
climbed in, Jeff’s rifle in his hands. 

“I think I broke my back,” Jeff
muttered, his voice full of pain.  “Help me.”

Tony stopped, four feet from
Jeff.  He lowered his rifle.  “You dumb shit,” he said.

Jeff rolled over, shotgun raised. 
His eyes met Tony’s and for a moment, the world froze.  Then Jeff pulled the
trigger and Tony flew, the rifle falling from his hands as blood and flesh and
thick clots of organs burst from his body.  Tony tumbled out of the van and
splattered on the road, wet and heavy.  Jeff got to his feet, felt a catch in
his back for the wreck, and counted himself lucky it was his only injury.  He
grabbed his rifle and walked out the back, crouching carefully in case Dave was
hiding somewhere.

Bright sunlight smiled as he slid
from the van, keeping low to the ground.  Tony was on his back, his torso
riddled with holes pouring blood.  His ribs stuck through the shreds of flesh,
brittle and chipped.  Tony looked up at him, his eyes desperate and scared.

“Kill me,” he whispered.  “Shoot
me in the head.  I don’t want to be one of them.”
Jeff crawled up next to Tony and leaned in close.  “Where's the entrance to
the city?”
“Will you shoot my head?” Tony said.  Jeff nodded.  Tony’s hand waved to the
west.  “There’s a hill over there and just on the other side is a stream. 
Follow that north and in a quarter mile you’ll find the hole on your right.” 
Tony was breathing hard, gulping each breath, every word a labored battle. 
“It’s hidden under a big oak tree.”

“Where’s Dave?” Jeff said.

“He already went.  I was supposed
to kill you,” Tony said.

Jeff nodded and got to his feet. 
Tony’s eyes bugged and he grabbed at Jeff’s pants leg. 

“Please.  You promised.”
Jeff looked down at Tony, no pity in his eyes.  “You shouldn’t have fuck with
me,” Jeff said.  He walked off, leaving Tony to bleed out.

He went back to the bookmobile,
and emerged with a box of shells, the baby sling over his back, the flashlight,
and a pair of binoculars.  He checked his rifle and put it on his shoulder and
headed out. 

5

The afternoon air turned cold as
he made his way over a hill and west, deep into Washington Park.  He scanned
the horizon with the binoculars, keeping an eye out for any threats.  Several
times he worried he’d lost them, but each time, they would come into view,
puttering along, over rough hills and terrain.  They were a half a mile ahead
of him, maybe more, and slipping further and further away.  He cursed and quickened
his pace, cutting across fields where the jeep couldn't go.  There were a few
zombies around, but they were far off and didn't pay him a lot of mind.  

The jeep pulled to a stop about
three quarters of a mile away from him.

Jeff dropped to one knee and took
out the rifle.  Dave was too far away.  If he had a scope, he could have tried,
but he didn't.  He looked through the binoculars and watched as Dave got out of
the jeep, hauling Jenny with him.  She was crying, her face red.  Jeff felt something
tear loose in his chest, like an arrow plucked from a wound.  Cold hatred
pulsed through his veins as his eyes honed in on Dave’s face, memorizing every
last detail. 

Dave set Jenny down in the grass
and walked over to his left, stopping by a mound of grass.  He pulled it up,
revealing a drainage pipe, and pulled out a set of keys.  Dave opened a lock
and lifted a grill, snatched up Jenny, and crawled into the pipe.  As he did
so, he pulled down the grass-covered camouflage and disappeared into the ground. 

That was their secret entrance. 

Jeff got to his feet and ran
full-tilt.  He was determined to catch them before nightfall.

He had to stop once on his trek to
catch his breath.  Tired and discouraged, he sat on a tree stump to rest. 
Screams drifted across the fields and tickled his ears, lifting him from his
depression.  He trained his binoculars on the city of Portland, and what he saw
there he would take to his grave.

Thousands of zombies wandered the
empty streets of most of the city, filling them  with their fetid.  They
teemed, swarming the wall.  Most of the city was the land of the living dead,
but that end, a small patch next to the Willamette River, was sealed off.  From
his vantage point, he could better see where the humans had made their home in
the midst of the chaos.   

The zombies surged against the
barrier, but the wall, thirty feet tall, held strong.  Patrolling the tops of
the walls were several armed guards.  He watched them for a while, observing
their rounds, when another group of people appeared, and these men were
carrying other men, bound by ropes lashed around their bodies tight.   The
guards, all grimy-looking fellows wearing black tee-shirts with a red cross
stitched tall and wide on their chests, helped this second group toss one of
the bound persons over the side, letting him slide down towards the moaning maw
of the zombie hordes.  The person was held by a long rope and was screaming at
the top of his lungs.  Three more persons were tossed over the side and dangled,
like the first, inches away from the clutching zombies. 

Jeff's recognized one of the
dangling persons:  Cowboy Hat, from back in California, in that small town
where Jeff had been shot at.  He still had the same hat pulled down tight
around his ears. 

They lowered Cowboy Hat, naked
from the waist down, until the clawing fingers of the zombies scratched the
bottom of his feet.  Cowboy Hat screamed so loud it broke through moans of the
creatures surrounding him, echoing across the way and finding Jeff’s ears. 

The guards dropped Cowboy Hat
another yard and the zombies had hold of his kicking feet, their fingers
ripping and shredding his skin.  Cowboy Hat’s screams got louder and shriller,
joining those of the people around him, also lowered down.  The guards dropped
them all another yard, in unison.

Teeth bit into soft flesh.  Jeff
watched as the zombies stripped Cowboy Hat’s skin from his feet as he kicked
and screeched.  Blood exploded and gushed down on the zombies, showering them
with globs of crimson liquid as the victims kept screaming, some passing out.

The guards kept them dangling
there for what seemed an eternity, then they hauled the victims back up and
over the wall.  Jeff sat, watching, fascinated, as he heard more screams coming
from inside the walls before the victims were lifted and tossed back over,
lowered slowly down.  Each of them had their feet chopped off and
cauterized.    They were dropped closer to the waiting teeth and fingers of the
living dead, their blackened stumps kicking at the open air in front of them.

The process repeated itself as the
guards lowered the victims so the zombies could chew on their calves, ripping
chunks of flesh and muscle up to the knees.  When there was nothing left but
jutting bone, the victims were hauled back up, only to be tossed back down once
their legs were severed at the knees and cauterized. 

Jeff turned away, sick to his
stomach.  He didn’t know how long this kept going—probably until the victims
died of blood loss or shock—and he didn’t want to know.  Dave was taking Jenny
into that horrible place, and he had to be stopped before things got out of
hand.

He glanced back over his shoulder
once to check a last time before he went over the hill to cover the final
distance to the drainage pipe.  He saw Cowboy Hat, naked from the waist down,
scream as a zombie snapped its mouth shut around his shrunken testicles,
jerking its head back and ripping his balls off with one chomp.  Long strings
of flesh and veins tore loose and flapped in the wind as they dangled from the
zombie’s mouth.  It stuffed a testicle into its mouth as the other hung and
rolled around on its chest, held in place by a frayed rope of testicular artery
dribbling thick, red blood.  Another zombie gnashed its teeth on Cowboy Hat’s
penis and tore it free, gobbling it like a tiny hot dog as Cowboy Hat let out a
final scream and died.

Jeff disappeared over the hill
with the last fading light of the day.

6

It was a long, hard slog through
the muddy field, but Jeff hardly felt a step of it.  He used the flashlight to
guide his way, careful to keep the beam low and to the ground, in case anyone
was watching.  He made the entrance in an hour, despite the terrain, and by
then it was pitch-black, the stars and moon obscured by a heavy cloud cover.

He yanked the camouflage up and
found Dave had locked the grating back.  Jeff  slammed the butt of the shotgun
down and broke the cheap lock.

Sticking his head in the pipe, he
shined the light around, illuminating a muddy tube that led straight into
darkness.  It was tall and wide enough to accommodate two men side by side, but
it wasn't tall enough to walk.  He'd have to crawl.  

He had a decision to make, then,
and he did so swiftly.  Leaving the entrance, he scouted a stand of trees off
to his right, finding a rotten one hollowed out with age.  He stowed the
shotgun and rifle inside and then hid them with some torn branches and leaves. 
Jeff was pretty sure the hole led to some guarded area and his guns would be
taken away immediately, so he decided to save them for later, just in case.  He
still had his hammer strapped to his belt.

Feeling naked without his guns, he
entered the pipe and crawled down its long expanse, shutting the grating behind
him.  

Hours later, he feared he was beginning
to hallucinate.  The darkness stretched unending before him and behind him, the
flashlight beam cutting through the blackness only twenty yards in either
direction.  He lost all sense of time and distance, the slow trudge numbing his
mind.  He could have been in there for five minutes or five days.  But he
pressed on, determined.  When he got his hands on Dave, that little bastard was
going to pay.  Thoughts like that drove him on, despite the agony of his
predicament. 

The mud underneath him turned to
solid, dry earth after a while.  The tube eventually sloped slightly upwards at
one point and then dipped down again.  It was hot in there and his sweat was
constantly running into his eyes and dripping from his nose.    The pipe dipped
down again and it cooled.  He stopped to rest a second and could hear water
sluicing outside the tube.  His stomach growled but he ignored it, pushing on
through the darkness.

The tube, at several intervals,
joined with long sections of sewers that were sealed-off except for the single
path going forwards or back.  There were moments where he’d be on all fours,
fighting off the claustrophobia, and others where he could walk upright, with
plenty of space all around. 

He pressed on.

Eventually, he heard sounds clamoring
in front of him.  They were slight echoes, whispers, and at first he thought he
really was hallucinating, but the further along he went, the louder they became
and he knew he was nearing the end of his journey. 

Smells followed, the scent of
human sweat, of feces, of urine, and above it all, the sickly sweet burn of
flesh roasting.  Whether it was human or animal, he could not tell. 

A light appeared in the distance,
flickering but bright, and the closer Jeff got to it, the less he needed the
flashlight.  He turned it off and stuffed it into the baby sling and crawled
on, faster now, thoughts of losing Jenny twisting in his chest and spurring his
raw knees and elbows onward. 

He reached the entrance to the
city, another grill and another lock, and on the other side was a guard sitting
in a chair, leaning against the wall with his eyes half-closed.  The guy was in
his late thirties, with graying hair and beard and a generally unkempt look. 
He had a shotgun leaning at the same angle as his chair next to him against the
wall and he appeared to be dozing.

Jeff crept up to the grill and
shook it slightly to test its strength.  He could easily kick it out, but doing
so would rouse the guard, and the man would probably come up shooting first and
asking questions later.  And against that scattergun, Jeff didn’t stand a
chance. 

He cleared his throat to get the
man’s attention.  When that didn’t work, he spoke softly.

“Hey, wake up.”
The guard snorted and moaned but didn’t come to.

“Hey!” Jeff shouted.

The guard nearly fell from his
chair, fumbling for the shotgun and glaring into the pipe. 

“Who is that?” he said.

“You know damn well who it is,
asshole,” Jeff said.  “It’s Tony. I forgot my fucking key so let me in
already.”
“Shut the fuck up,” the guard said.  He got to his feet and, without really
looking into the pipe, produced his keys and opened the lock.  Jeff swung the
grate open and slid out.  When he hit the floor, his legs cramped and he rolled
into a ball.

“What’s wrong?” the guard said,
standing over him and looking down.  He still hadn’t gotten a good look at
Jeff’s face.

“Cramps, asshole,” Jeff said. 
“Give me a minute.”
“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” the guard shrugged.  He pushed the
grate shut and locked it and stood over Jeff, scratching his balls.

“Say,” the guard said.  “Since
you’re going to be there a minute, mind if I go take a piss real quick?  I
won’t be a second.”  

“Go on,” Jeff muttered.  The guard
disappeared down a short hallway to the right. 

Rubbing the feeling back into his
legs, he got to his feet, tottered a moment, and then stumbled down the hall
and outside, into the city proper.