Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel) (20 page)

We passed only a handful of zombies,
maneuvering around them with ease as our bikes sped by their
grasping hands.

"Can we stop?" Meg panted from in front of
me, her voice strained. "I have a Charlie horse in my calf."

Striker slowed his bike, stopping by the
front lawn of an exquisite Mediterranean style home on our right. I
breathed in the salty ocean air, tinged with the ever-present scent
of death. To our left was the open water, visible between two
enormous mansions that looked so regal, I imagined only Hollywood
royalty could afford them.

"Thank God," exclaimed Vinny. "I have to go
to the bathroom so bad."

"Thanks for sharing," mocked Meg. She had
taken a seat on the grass by the sidewalk and was massaging her
calf, wincing every time it spasmed.

"When ya gotta go, ya gotta go," he said,
shrugging like it was a law, and one that must be followed. Who was
he to deny the law of poop?

Like Cape Coral, these roads must have been
plotted out by an idiot. Our path ahead was blocked by another
home. The Ca' d'Zan, according to Striker, was less than a half
mile from where we stood, but we needed to navigate around a small
labyrinth of side streets in order to get there. The bikes would be
of no use on the grass, and they were too valuable to leave
behind.

Daphne whined, signaling she saw the grass
and needed to answer the call of nature.

"Okay," I waggled my finger at her and spoke
in a sing-song tone. "I'll let you out, but you need to stay where
I can see you."

When I unzipped the top of the bag, her
little head popped up. This was why I loved my dog so much. She had
a calming effect on me. The sight of her tongue lolling out to one
side and adorable puppy grin actually caused an unexpected giggle
to escape me. The sudden change in demeanor was a shock to even me,
and my psyche warred with conflicting emotions all fighting to
break free. She leapt from my arms the moment I pulled her free and
ran to a nearby patch of grass that hadn't grown as high as the
rest.

The corner of the street was decorated with
an ornate concrete and iron wall. Anywhere else and it would have
simply been a slab of curbing to deter drivers from taking the
corner like an idiot and ruining the usually-manicured lawns. But
here in the ritzy-titzy part of town, they didn't do anything half
assed. The wall was an L shape and only about six feet long on
either side of the street. This made it easy to see that the road
beyond was clear of the undead, putting us at ease.

I watched Daphne, ready to spring into action
at the first hint of danger, as she found the perfect spot and
peed. Then she repeated the act three more times in quick
succession, all within a ten foot radius. I shook my head at her,
chuckling to myself. "Stop spreading it around and just go!"

Vinny started walking toward the end of the
road, increasing the distance between him and our group.

"Yo," called Jake, "where the hell do you
think you're going?"

"Dude," he called over his shoulder, "I told
you, I need to take a dump. I'm not the fucking dog, you know.
There's no way I'm dropping my pants and shitting in front of you
fuckers."

Jake made to follow, but his brother turned
around, motioning him to stay where he was. We hadn't seen a zombie
in close to a mile and our threat meters were pretty low.

"Vinny, just hold it? We're almost there,"
said Meg.

"Not an option. I'm prairie dogging. Not to
mention, how big of a tool would I look like if I walked in
squeezing my cheeks together and just asked to use their
toilet."

"Oh, my God," exclaimed Meg, rolling her eyes
and throwing up her hands in defeat. "You are the biggest dick I
have ever met!"

A huge smile appeared on Vinny's face. "And
that," he joked, pointing at Meg, "is definitely what she
said."

Leave it to my brother-in-law to find a way
to make us laugh to the point of near hysterics after just
experiencing the day from Hell. He must have been clenching pretty
hard, because he was walking like he had a stick up his ass, which
he pretty much did. If possible, I laughed even harder when I saw
the confused expression Striker wore, clearly not getting the
personal joke.

Vinny continued his backwards waddle along
the sidewalk, holding his hands up in command for us to stay where
we were. In one hand was a wad of napkins he'd produced from his
pocket. He got to the wall, about to disappear around the corner
when Daphne growled, instantly putting us all into defensive
mode.

I stood, BB in one hand, dog in the other,
and spun around. I saw nothing. Daphne squirmed to get down and I
tightened my grip, not wanting her to run off in pursuit of
whatever was ruffling her tail feathers.

"Relax!" I commanded, using my low voice
reserved for a reprimand.

"I don't see anything," said Jake, garnering
sounds of confirmation from Meg and Striker.

"Thank God," said Vinny. "If I had to fight
right now I'd probably shit myself."

"Go already," I bitched at him. "I want to
move."

Still squirming, Daphne dug her nails into my
arm and pushed off, launching away from me and tumbling onto the
cement with a yelp of pain. Shaking it off, she got back on her
feet and ran at Vinny.

"What the hell?" He asked, backing away from
the charging animal.

When he reached the end of the wall, he
stopped, hands held out in front of him again, ready to defend
himself against the dog. If only. There were so many ways this
scene could have played out. Vinny didn't have time to turn, so
fixated on Daphne coming at him; he didn't realize a zombie had
been lying in wait behind the small section of wall.

It was so close that it took only one long
step and it was on him. It pounced with enough strength to take
down the two-hundred and fifty pound man. The right side of Vinny's
body hit the pavement and he cried out when his shoulder buckled
under him. The sounds of his bones snapping were audible over the
sound of our boots against the pavement and the cacophony of
shouting as we ran. He fought the monster the best he could with
the use of only one arm, but his attempts were feeble at best with
the searing pain of broken bones and the awkward angle of his body
pinned beneath the raging zombie.

The sound of his cries intensified when the
hungry beast carved into the exposed flesh of his neck with jagged
teeth, opening an artery. Blood squirted out of the wound like a
sprinkler as he struggled against the undead. I reached the wall,
jumped into the fray, and helped Jake drag the writhing corpse off
his brother. It rolled onto its back, displaying the same quickness
we'd seen from the zombie at the dealership. The zombie lifted
itself into a seated position in a swift movement and reached out
for Jake. Wrapping its bony fingers into the fabric of his shirt,
it jerked Jake forward toward its gaping mouth.

I screamed, certain this was the end for my
husband. My vision tunneled and I watched with disturbing clarity
as its mouth opened, dripping with the blood of my brother-in-law,
and began to clamp its jaws around my husband's shoulder. Before
its teeth could break skin, a boot entered my line of sight.
Connecting with the side of the zombies head, Striker's well-placed
kick caved in the side of its skull, leaving it deflated. The
pressure exerted on the facial bones forced one of its eyes to
burst from its socket and it hung loosely by nerve bundles. The
momentum of Striker's attack knocked it onto the bloodied pavement
beside us.

We had only a moment to catch our breath
before remembering Vinny had been critically injured. Meg's crying
brought me back to the present, and I crawled to my brother-in-law
on my hands and knees. His eyes were wide and staring back at me
with fear as he gasped for air. The blood that had been spraying in
a wide arc now trickled from the fatal wound in his neck, leaving a
tacky puddle beside him.

Jake pushed past me, frantically pressing his
hands against his brother's neck. "Oh, Jesus, Vin. I'm sorry," he
cried.

Vinny worked his mouth in an effort to speak.
"Not your fault," he managed. "Don't let me—" His voice was cut off
by a fit of feeble coughs and his eyes lost their focus. With one
long exhale his struggle ended and he lay dead on the pavement. All
sound ceased save for our labored breathing and strangled cries of
anguish. Even Daphne had gone quiet and stood behind me like a
scared cat ready to bolt. I fought for control of my emotions,
knowing the stillness would soon be shattered by Vinny's rebirth
into an undead monster.

I sat back on my heels and looked at Striker,
poised over us with his machete in hand and ready to swing. He felt
the heat of my stare bore into him and quickly turned his gaze to
meet mine. Using only my eyes, I looked to Meg, hoping he would
understand my request to remove her from danger. She sat by Vinny's
head, hands cradling it as if they were a pillow to keep him
comfortable. Striker moved to her, still ready to jump into action
if needed, and gently carried her a few feet back and out of harm's
way. She didn't protest, as if all the fight had left her, and
she'd already resigned herself to the hard truth of Vinny's
demise.

We had minutes, at best, before his lifeless
shell would begin to stir with the first signs of reanimation. Jake
was murmuring apologies under his breath while he leaned over his
brother's broad chest.

"Jake," I said in a soft, even tone. "You
need to move back." My hand was on his shoulder and I shook it a
little to get his attention. He ignored me, retreating further into
himself. I looked to Striker once again, not knowing what to do.
Jake's muscles were tight with strain, and he vibrated with rage,
the vein in his neck bulging.

Striker took a step forward. The deliberate
act caused Jake to snap his head up and raise his weapon.

"Don't," he spat. I couldn't see his face,
but I knew his gaze must have been murderous, because Striker took
a step back.

"Baby," I tried again. Jake pulled his
shoulder from my grasp in a swift motion, and I fell backwards from
his violent jerk. Fear tightened my chest, both for what my husband
would do and for his safety. Meg began to weep again, a low pitiful
sound that raked my sanity like Freddy Krueger's knives scraping
along metal. I couldn't take my eyes from my husband, knowing that
it wasn't a matter of if, but when Vinny would begin to move.

The minutes ticked by, and yet Jake still
knelt stoically by his fallen brother's side. From just outside my
periphery I caught movement. Had I imagined it? No. The slight
tense of Striker's hand on his weapon told me he'd seen it to.
There it was again, a twitch of a foot, a finger, as Vinny's
nervous system began firing again. My breathing stopped, lungs
constricted with fear, and I waited.

His mouth opened, emitting the same raspy
moan of the dead we'd heard time and time again. Limb by limb, his
now-rotting brain sent rewired impulses for motion. His eyes
opened, the final event in the transformation, and looked unfocused
into the cloud-filled sky. The quiet was so immense that I could
hear muscles tense stiffly beneath his pallid sheath of skin.

Like an infant, Vinny tested his motor
skills. He clenched and unclenched his fists, flexed his feet, and
rolled his neck first to the left, then right, finally seeing
Jake's body and registering him as food. His eyes, now bloodshot
and opaque, never blinked. My heart ached seeing his face contorted
with malice, and I searched for any sign that our goofy and lovable
Vinny was still somewhere in there. I found nothing but a beast
wearing the face of my loved one.

The zombie struggled to right itself. So soon
after reanimation, it had yet to rediscover balance, and it rocked
from side to side in an attempt to get at Jake. My entire body
shook uncontrollably, and my thoughts were muddled with indecision.
I wasn't sure if I should act or remain a spectator and allow Jake
to come to grips with the harsh reality.

Once again, Striker advanced, slow and
stealthy like a cat hunting a mouse. I knew what he meant to do, to
execute the zombie before it took Jake down with it.

Without looking up, Jake spoke in a ferocious
growl. "If you take one more step, I'll cut you down where you
stand."

For a moment, I thought Striker would ignore
the warning, but despite the determination he'd shown, the man
stopped. He didn't move back, but he didn’t advance either. His
knuckles were white from their tight grip on his machete, and his
attention was focused on the threat.

Jake spoke again, this time his voice much
softer as he addressed his brother. "I'm sorry, Vin. There are so
many things I wish I could take back. It should've been me." He
hung his head in a moment of silence, praying under his breath for
his brother's salvation and entry into Heaven. "I love you, bro,"
he said, and pulled out his handgun, shooting Vinny once through
the forehead.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening, but I
knew there was no way he'd have found the emotional strength to
plunge the screwdriver into his brother. He stood abruptly and
spun, his eyes full of malice, and his body language radiating
danger. This was not my Jake. This was the face of a man pushed too
far, having lost too much. I saw it, and I knew Meg saw it, and I
feared for what he was capable of at that moment.

Jake took a step in my direction, and I
flinched like a battered woman shrinking away from an abuser. That
was how much he frightened me. He put one foot in front of the
other and walked, not pausing to look at anyone. He stopped only
when he'd reached the bike, but didn't turn. He only stood there
isolated and withdrawn.

Striker was beside me. I hadn't even heard
him move. He hooked a hand under my arm and pulled me to my feet.
The man wore a concerned expression, and I have to say, I felt how
he looked. Meg sat a few feet behind Vinny's ruined head, clutching
Daphne to her chest and crying in heavy sobs.