The Zombie Letters (25 page)

              Darkness enveloped Dennis Jackson. He slipped back into the moat . . . the mind willed to crawl out, but the body only made it halfway onto the gravel driveway when he hit the black.

              Dennis Jackson closed his eyes and prepared to die.

CHAPTER 10

I

              “
W
atch his leg.”

              “Be careful with him.”

             
Amanda.

             
“Looks like he’s breathing again. I think he’s coming to . . .”

             
No . . .

CHAPTER 11

I

              “
I
t’s a plane . . .” Darin Miles whispered as he leaned over the high concrete wall. He extended his arms to Victoria and hoisted her up. They sat on top of the perimeter wall together to catch a glimpse of the small blue and white plane taxi down the runway. It idled for a moment and the propeller at the front came to a stop.

              “We found someone,” Vic whispered back into the sounds of the wind that had resumed their place. “We finally found someone!” She clapped happily and jumped down the to-person high wall, nearly twisting her leg. Victoria was already running toward the plane with her arms waving in the air before Darin lowered himself onto the tarmac. He ran after her, catching up to her just as the Cessna’s front door opened. A young guy, no more than thirty-five, hopped out and arched his back with a grimace. When Darin and Victoria came around the plane, the man’s eyes widened. Doctor Miles could swear the guy’s jaw was low enough to hit the ground.

              They’d located another person. Darin Miles and Victoria Rains were as happy as they would have been if they’d found a whole field of Archies over that wall. As the two walked up to the pilot, Darin took out a small packet of the plant extract.

             
If he thinks we’re happy . . . wait ‘till he sees this.

II

              It was an old sight for a hunting rifle, but it worked fine as any pair of binoculars he could have gotten anywhere else. The man and woman had greeted the pilot. Now they stood around talking with big smiles and handshakes like they were old fucking friends. Maybe they were. It was a small world, after all. This vantage point was far enough away to not hear what the three of them were saying, but close enough to make out everything through that little scope.

              “First plane I’ve seen in months . . .” the observer whispered to the others inside the control tower.

              “You can fly that thing?” a voice said behind him.

              “Yep. It’ll be a little cramped, but I think I can fit all five of us in there. Nice bird he’s got there. Fast one too.”

              “Well then, let’s go get it.”

              “I wouldn’t go all Rambo out there if
you
saw what that boy was packing. Sucker’s got an assault rifle strapped to his back. We just watch them for now. They aren’t goin’ no place for a little while. I’m sure they have a lot to talk about. Even if they
do
get ready to leave, we flag ‘em down real nice and friendly. Then, take it.”

              “Why we don’t just do that now?”

              Antonio Brown turned around and glared at his brother. “Because I’d rather not kill three people to take the plane if I can help it. We
steal
it, not take it by force.”

              “Since when did killing people for what we need bother
you
?” Jared Blair spoke up. He lit a cigar and got up out of his chair, slamming a clip into his gun.

              “Doesn’t,” Antonio said. “Just don’t want to waste the ammo.” Antonio stepped away from the tower’s observation windows and took a seat on the floor. “Watch ‘em,” he said to his younger brother and tossed him the scope. His brother clumsily caught it and took over the watching duties.

              They’d found this natural fortress together. Well, not really
found.
Antonio worked at the airport as a mechanic after his pilot’s license got revoked. Twelve years. Twelve goddamn years as a pilot taken away because of one incident. All pilots have a little swig of the good ol’ liquor every once in awhile. Calms the nerves. That one day, though. He remembered it well. The engine failed during an emergency landing . . . the landing gear malfunctioned, too. Of all the fucking shit. It wasn’t the prettiest landing, but it wasn’t like anyone died. Seven people walked out of that little winged flying shitcan without a scratch. If he didn’t have the liquor on his breath, they would have given him a medal. Nope. Instant termination. He wasn’t even supposed to work around planes anymore, but the boss-man showed mercy on him.

They’d holed themselves up in the control tower since the outbreak started. There were enough wanderers, passers-by and food already stocked at the airport to sustain everything. That was the rule now. Every man for himself. Like that guy who pulled in four weeks ago. He had a car that worked, a trunk full of bottled water and a whole carton of smokes. They didn’t even have to fire one bullet. Antonio knocked him out as cold as he slept in his car. Little brother Richard dropped the man off on the roof of a US Bank downtown. They weren’t animals, but gotta do what you gotta do. They were just going to leave him there. Stupid prick woke up before they could all leave. The stranger tried to wrestle Jared’s gun from him, but Richard tossed the asshole off the roof. They didn’t mention it to each other because it was about survival now. Just Jared and the two brothers . . . plus their two Rottweilers that belonged to Antonio’s neighbor. The dogs were good to have around. Doesn’t hurt to have something with three-times your hearing capacity when something tries to sneak up the stairwell. The stairs that lead up to the control tower were barricaded, anyway. There were enough cars and plane parts to block off the path for good. Richard had made a really nice pulley-harness system to get in and out. At first, it was terrifying to ride that thing all the way down, but they got used to it eventually. Even the dogs. It sure helped that Richard had an engineering degree.

              “’Go there now,’ he says . . . shit,” Antonio said. “Yeah . . . three large niggers with guns going out there to check on those three little suburban white-asses out there? Not a give-away at all. Plus, you know Bobo and Henry will start barkin’ all ape-shit. Those dogs can fucking smell white meat, man. No. We just wait and watch. Even if they get ready to haul ass, we can still get down there to get the plane in the time it takes for it to even start up.” Antonio craned his head and looked over to his brother. “Hey Rich, what they doin’ now?”

              “They just went into the diner. Motherfuckers are gonna eat all the food we have stored up, man. This is horse-shit.”

              “They’re not cows, ass-dick,” Jared said. “People don’t survive this long by pigging out everywhere they go. They’ll ration it. Let ‘em eat.”

III

             
Where am I?

              Waking up didn’t feel instantaneous to him. His leg had stopped bleeding. Dennis got out of the water and looked around. It was twilight again. Had he slept an entire twenty-four hours? Everything was down to a dull roar, even the shot in the pad of his hand. It was numbed down enough to where he could stand up, anyway. It took quite a bit of effort to do it, but he stood on his feet. His entire left side . . . shoulder to sock was soaked in the cold water. For a moment, Dennis tossed away all thoughts in his mind and wondered how dirty that shit was. He’d seen a dead deer floating in it a few days ago. The doe had been torn apart be dogs . . . either that or a car had hit it god knows when and the carcass washed up in the bottoms when it flooded. The damage looked a little more animalistic in nature, though. Not like a car. There were wild dogs in this area. On rare occasion, the gaming authorities will catch sight of a bobcat roaming around. Could have been that.

              He caught sight of the front door opening. Amanda walked out into the remaining sunlight . . . that last hour or so left in the day when visibility diminishes by the minute. She was wearing her yellow sundress and her hair tied back in a tight braid. She had what looked like a basket in her hand. Amanda walked down the porch with a smile on her beautiful face . . . showing no visible concern at the shape her husband was in. It was as if she were oblivious to it. She didn’t even see the half-soaked clothes he had on . . . didn’t bat an eye to the blood stains on his pants, the rip in his hand and the whiteness in his face. She stood in front of him. The low-hanging sun was right behind her. It cast its light through her silk dress, showing the shape that god gave her. Gone were the questions inside this afterlife or bizarre level of purgatory. His love for her transcended all that. Wherever he was now, he was sharing the plane with her. With her, the questions didn’t matter. Even in this state of things . . . all was right with the world.

              “Dennis, honey,” she sort of
sang
to him, giving him a warm kiss on his cheek. “I have some food for us. I thought it would be nice to have ourselves a little picnic.”

              “But the sun’s going down,” Dennis said with a small laugh. “In an hour, we won’t be able to see our hands in front of our faces.”

              “The sun never sets here, silly. Come on.” With the wicker basket crooked under one arm, Amanda Jackson took her loved one by the hand and lead him to the grassy hill near the side of the house. They sat in the grass across from each other. She looked into his eyes lovingly and smiled. “Hungry?” she asked, opening the lid to the basket and fumbling around inside. As she did, her bright eyes were still locked on him.

              “Famished. Where are the kids?”

She didn’t reply. She looked in the basket, lightly whistling to herself and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. She handed him one and he opened the foil with numb fingers. Feeling was coming back slowly, but it wasn’t quite there yet. Amanda grabbed hers and began to open it. The warmness of the food in Dennis’ hands made his stomach rumble. Strange . . . he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. The Italian-style six-inch hoagie looked inviting. It was packed thick with slices of dark meat and what looked like melted Swiss hanging off of the sides. Dennis brought it to his mouth when his eye caught something strange inside . . . a human finger with the nail removed. Dennis opened the sandwich to find three more fingers arranged around human strips of raw flesh. He uttered a gasp and dropped it into his lap. Dennis brought his hands in front of his face. The blood . . . so much blood all over his hands. Amanda opened the tinfoil over hers as she continued whistling. She took a large bite out of it and tore her face away from the sandwich . . . fresh blood splattered on her cheeks and soaked through her dress. She chewed it quickly and ravenously, like a hungry dog. She ripped another piece of it away with her teeth, stained red with bits of skin and muscle that were stuck between them. Blood oozed from the other end as she took another bite that ran down her hands and arms. Her eyes didn’t leave Dennis’ at all. He stared back . . . unable to move. The terror was incapacitating him. He tried to tell himself that what he was seeing wasn’t real. He couldn’t fool himself. Dennis could
smell
it. He sat with wide, terrified eyes as his wife reached into the sandwich and removed a human eye. The nerve was still attached to it. The eye was plump and its color actually quite beautiful. It was still somewhat fresh. The eye was still moist. Amanda put it between her lips and sucked it through her clenched teeth like a grape. The eyeball popped with a sickening wet sound that sent a putrid yellow fluid down her chin.