Less Than Human (10 page)

“Ho. Lee. Shit,” Josh said.

At least thirty zombies were rapidly approaching the open doorway. Evidence that they had already eaten was painted around their mouths, yet their stomachs still growled in harmony. 

“
C
ome on!” Ben shouted. He continued circling the parking lot, wasting the gasoline he had just pilfered from people he would never come to know. He had a trail of dead folks in tow, their numbers growing with each lap. At least twenty of them followed Ben lazily, swaying drunkenly and gnashing their teeth together. Some of them approached head on. Ben avoided them by swerving around them. He knew he couldn't keep it up for long. Only a matter of time before a runner, or a really motivated zombie came to the front of the pack. The boy he thought about crushing was no longer a threat; he had broken his ankle during the fall, only able to crawl.  

The internal clock in Ben's head rapidly approached zero.

T
he honking continued.

“
Who the hell is that?” Victoria asked, yelling over the groaning horde, as they pounded on the glass door.

Josh had been lucky enough to shut it before the pack of killing machines reached the doorway. He knew it would only buy them a few minutes. Had there been a runner in the pack, he probably wouldn't have made it in time. Josh watched with fascination as they hammered the door with their bloody fists, leaving red smears on the glass.

“Remember that friend I was telling you about?” Josh asked.

“
Yeah.”

“
Well, that's him. And I'm pretty sure we shouldn't keep him waiting.”

As if on cue, the glass shattered. The dead stumbled inside, bumping into each other, jockeying for the lead. Many of them tripped over themselves, falling to the ground. The zombies able to keep their balance trampled their counterparts, heading toward their food source.

T
he group appeared in the recreation center's entrance. Ben spotted them immediately. He saw Josh with other people—other
living
people—and instantly became excited with the prospect of other survivors. Josh led them while a legion of zombies hurdled after them. The zombies clumsily followed, many of them falling to the ground while the more aggressive creatures stepped on them without care.

Ben saw some of his followers abandon their efforts, seeking the easier meal. The park ranger raised his shotgun and blew the head off of an approaching zombie. Ben watched its head disappear, bits of brain-meat raining on the wooden steps. He pumped and aimed, taking out the next contender in similar fashion.

“Into the car! Hurry!” Josh commanded.

Ben stretched across the seat, popping the lock on the passenger's door.
It's gonna be a tight fit,
Ben thought to himself, adding up the bodies that were going to squeeze into his four-door sedan.

As soon as Ben completed that thought, he watched the older woman trip on a loose deck board. She fell hard on the ground. This would have been painful to watch under ordinary circumstances, but the dozens of hungry dead folk ready to pounce on her made his adrenaline kick harder. The others didn't hear her cries for help over the crowd of dead cannibals. Their animalistic groans reminded Ben of wind swooshing through an open field.

Ben rolled his window down, yelled something along the lines of, “Hey!” and pointed behind the survivors. Only Victoria understood what Ben was implying. She turned, seeing Ruth struggle to her feet. It was too late. The dead swarmed her. They grabbed her, pinned her down, and clawed at her flesh with dark, dirty, and—in most cases— already-bloodied fingernails. They tore her open like a Christmas present. The old woman tried to scream but her throat filled up with blood. No one would have heard her over the raucous noise of the zombie drove anyway.

“
No!” Victoria screamed. She began to double-back, but the zombies had shredded through most of the old woman's muscle, reaching her bones. What was left was no longer recognizable, a life-size lump of bloody sinew. Her head had detached during the carnage, rolled across the deck like a weakly thrown bowling ball. Victoria's mouth dropped, color fleeing from her face.

The zombies continued their slaughter, uncaring.

“Shoot the fucker!” Josh yelled. He grabbed Victoria, turning her away from the clutches of a nearby walker. She had been so lost in the living nightmare that she hadn't seen it coming, nor did she hear her daughters' warning.

Ranger Steve stepped forward, lining the end of his shotgun with the head of the closest zombie. The groaning corpse had a flap of Ruth's skin dangling from its mouth like a long string of spaghetti. One pull on the trigger and the zombie's head disappeared, leaving behind a misty crimson cloud.

Emily slid into the back of Ben's car. Glancing out of her window and seeing more than six ravenous expressions eagerly wanting in, she shrieked. They pawed the window like cats playing with bits of string. If the glass wasn't between them, Emily knew she would've been torn to shreds much like the old lady.

Brittany came next, sitting in the middle. Quickly, she shielded Emily's eyes, waiting to find out what had happened to their mother. Seeing their only parent become part the dead horde's feast was the last thing Emily needed. “Don't look, sweet pea.”

“Don't call me
sweet pea,
” she snapped, hating the name her sister called her throughout her childhood. “Is Mom okay?”

Brittany didn't answer. Instead, she glanced back to see what was taking so long.

Suddenly, Josh corralled Victoria into the back seat, slamming the door behind her. He heard the women rejoice, saw them embrace each other before turning his attention to his next dilemma—how Ranger Steve and he were going to share the last remaining seat in Ben's Sonata.

“
Come on!” Josh called to the park ranger, who continued firing into the crowd. “Let's go now!”

Ranger Steve ignored him. He pumped his weapon and squeezed the trigger, claiming another kill.

“Let's—” Josh shut his mouth when one of the biters rushed the park ranger's blindside, grabbed him around his broad shoulders, snapping at his neck. Scarlet marks appeared on his jugular, red rivulets soon followed. Immediately, Josh knew the ranger was done for. He yelled in agony as two newcomers latched onto his waist, tangling his feet and sending him to the deck. In a matter of seconds, the horde descended on him, taking advantage of his heroic folly. Josh could only bear a second of the slaughter. The grown man's blood-curdling screams stretched his eardrums. A vibrantly-red pool crawled out from under the pile of gluttonous creatures.

Josh turned, hoping to see the passenger's side door open, inviting him to safety. Instead, he was met with an open mouth. Fresh blood ran down the zombie's chin. It had fed on the old lady, now ready for dessert. Josh pushed the corpse aside like a heavy bag at the gym. The zombie didn't resist, falling to the side like an inflatable clown. Josh rushed past him, jumping into the passenger's seat.

He didn't need to tell Ben to go, the car took off as soon as Josh slammed the door shut.

Zombies latched onto the hood, but Ben was able to shake them off easily. Josh glanced at the side-view mirror, watching them tumble into the distance.

Ben's Sonata sped down a path only wide enough for one vehicle to travel.

     
GAMES

     
CHAPTER NINE

“Y
a'll hear something?” Otis said. “Sounded like it came from downstairs.”

The three of them sat in silence. Moments passed. Then Floyd went back to fucking around with his video camera. “You hur things, Otis. I swears.”

“Naw. I swears I heard somethin'. From the basement. I reckon I heard screaming.”

“
Maybe dem' fuckers are fightin' again,” Cooter said. “Whose turn is it to check the tapes?”

“
Momma's down der. Ain't she?” Floyd asked.

“
It's almost sun up, dick-fo-brains. Momma sleeping.”

“
Sheet,” Otis said. “Well, Floyd. I'd say it's your turn.”

“
Me? Shee-it.” Floyd slammed the camera down on the table in front of him. “I'll be right back. Ya'll better have that sheet fixed by the time I get back. We got ourselves a hunt goddammit.”

Cooter and Otis agreed silently.

Once Floyd left the room, Otis turned to Cooter.

“
You ready fo' tonight, brother?” Otis asked.

“
Sheet. Ready as I'll ever be.” Cooter pointed the camera at his brother. He slid the screen out from the side. In the small screen, he saw Otis perfectly. The red light in the corner blinked at him. He pressed record. “Say something. Pre-hunt speech.”

“
Brother,” Otis said, staring into the camera. “This is going to be the best damn hunt we ever held.”

“
Sheet. Couldn't said it better myself.”

Floyd ran into the room. “Ya'll!”

“Sheet, what is it, Floyd?” Otis rose from his seat. “Just about scared the piss outta me.”

“
It's Bobbi-Jo.”

“
What about her?”

“
She goan got herself in some sheet.”

“
Sheet,” Otis said, scratching his scraggly, dirty hair. “With the contestants I reckon?”

Floyd nodded.

Otis nodded.

Cooter looked worried. “Sheet, Otis. What we goan do?”

“Boys,” Otis said. “Looks like we goan have ourselves game.” He smiled, grabbing the shotgun resting against the wall. “Right fucking now.”

“O
pen it,” Ben commanded. She didn't twitch. Ben squeezed her jaw harder. She groaned. “I said, fucking open it. The next time I have to ask, I'm going to do it myself. And that means there will be no need to keep you alive.”

“
Um, Ben?” Josh said.

“
Not now.”

“
Um, yes now. Whatever suicidal thought that's going through your head, you better hurry it up.” Ben looked at Josh. He was pointing to the far corner of the basement. “You're on candid camera, buddy.”

Ben noticed what he was pointing out; a small red dot gleamed at them from a small, makeshift window in the concrete.

“Shit,” Ben muttered.

“
What are you waiting for?” Ross said. “Break the bitch's neck and get us the hell out of here.”

“
Are you crazy?” Tabby asked him. “There's no way we're getting out of here, even
if
Ben gets us out of these cages. They have guns. We're unarmed. We don't stand a chance.”

Ross shook his head. “They can't shoot all of us.”

“Yes they can!” Tabby yelled at him.

“
Well it's better than dying in here!”

“
Stop arguing!” Ben shouted.

Silence fell over them, until the highly anticipated, highly dreaded footsteps broke it.

Otis entered the basement first, his shotgun drawn, aimed directly at Ben's head.

“
You might want to let go of her,” Otis told him.

“
And if I don't?” Ben asked.

“
Then I have to kill my own sister to get to you. And that won't make me too happy, I reckon.”

Bobbi-Jo stiffened in his arms.

Ben knew it was his only option. They might kill him for attempting to escape, they might not. It didn't really matter at this point. If he didn't surrender, they'd kill him for sure. Giving up was the only game in town, and Ben didn't have any other choice but to play it.

He gradually let go. Upon realizing that Ben had loosened his grip, Bobbi-Jo broke free. She immediately turned, kicking Ben in the balls as hard as she possibly could. The blow caused Ben's knees to buckle. He writhed on the floor, letting an emasculating whine escape his lips. Bobbi-Jo kicked him again, this time in the ribs, which had been feeling okay until then. Pain shot through him like a bullet. He cried out again, feeling wetness sprinkle his face. A long string of saliva hung from Bobbi-Jo's mouth. “Motherfucker,” she muttered. “And to think I was going to pity-fuck you before the hunt! You motherfucker!” she screamed, kicking him again.

Ben crawled into a ball. He tried to regain his breath, ignoring the debilitating pain that sabotaged the lower half of his body.

Bobbi-Jo reared her leg back to give him one last kick, but Otis stopped her.

“Now, now. There's no use ruining Mr. Ben here. He ain't goan be much use crippled.”

“
I say we feed him to that fucker over there, right now!” she snapped, pointing to John Vander, who was still trying to reach his way through the chain-link fence.

“
Damn, Bobbi-Jo!” Cooter yelled. “I ain't seen you this worked up since you got your first period!”

The Three Little Pigs chuckled. Bobbi-Jo continued snarling at Ben, who remained in the fetal position.

“Bobbi-Jo, why don't you head upstairs and wake Momma,” Otis said. She pretended she didn't hear him. “Now, Bobbi-Jo! Go on!”

She turned to him. “Wake Momma?” she asked, seething.

“That's right,” Otis replied. A smiled formed somewhere beneath his bushy, dirty beard. “We got ourselves a game to play.”