Fountain of the Dead Page 29

  Catherine fell backwards grasping her shoulder and Frank caught her.

  “Better get some pressure on that, son,” Crenshaw said.

  “Don’t call me son.” Crenshaw lowered the gun at Micah’s head. “It’s empty.”

  Crenshaw dropped the revolver and took the pistol from his belt. “This one isn’t.”

  Micah turned to Catherine and put his hands on her shoulder and applied pressure. “You, lady, go get some of the water.” Sharon walked over to the containers sitting in the road and retrieved a five gallon one. Micah stepped back and stared at the blood coating his hands. Catherine groaned from the pain. Sharon loosened the cap and hoisted the container and poured the water over the bullet hole. The wound fizzled and foamed. While Crenshaw watched the bullet and fragments were forced from the wound and dropped to the street. A wide smile crossed his face and he clapped.

  “Wonderful stuff. I’m going to need more containers and a helicopter. Do we know how it works on aging?” Crenshaw looked to the others. Frank helped Catherine to the Jeep and sat her on the rear bumper. Down the road he made four figures headed back slow. He eyed the revolver and bullets on the ground, but not before Crenshaw saw him.

  “You there, son.” Micah glared at him. “Gather up those bullets and hand them to me.” Crenshaw shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare; he saw the others on the road and waved them on. He rubbed his hands together greedily. “Are you ready for round two my dear?” Crenshaw motioned for Catherine who got up slowly and went to him. “We’ve seen it work on wounds, now the ultimate test.”

  Sam led the dead back to the cars; Waters and Frost kept their distance. Its eye was locked on Sam waiting for the chance. The water on the side of the road was still.

  “Morons, guns out. Cowboy feed it.”

  Catherine shook off Frank’s grasp.

  “I can do this.”

  “She’s so feisty I loved that about you.” Crenshaw said. “Tell me something, love. However did you get to be mayor of your cul-de-sac?” Crenshaw leaned back against the car and crossed his arms. He raised his hand to the others. The zombie tried to bite Sam, teeth clacked together. Sam pulled his arm away and stepped back.

  “Frank didn’t want the job,” she said. Frank in response waved to Crenshaw.

  “I don’t like responsibility so much,” Frank said.

  “The only thing you ever loved, Richard, is yourself. You’re a coward, always were. If there was no supply of asshole thugs or bourbon, you’d be working fast food.”

  “If we get out of this,” Frank grumbled clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “Let me guess, you’re going to shoot me?”

  “Amongst other unpleasant acts of violence.” Crenshaw lowered the gun and shot Frank in the gut. The zombie riled by the sound fought against its ropes. Micah ran to Frank and put pressure on the gun shot. Frank’s blood flowed through Micah’s fingers.

  “I don’t like him.” He turned to Catherine. “Let it bite you, right now or I shoot the kid.” Crenshaw cocked the pistol. Sharon stepped forward between Crenshaw and Micah; the goons targeted her.

  “No more.” Catherine rolled up her sleeve. She thought about slapping Crenshaw, or raking her nails across his eye. She closed her eyes, lips moving in silent prayer. She stretched out her pale arm; the dead’s eyes almost bulged when the meal was presented. Its discolored tongue shot out and then it chomped down on Catherine’s arm. She screamed in agony as her flesh was ripped off until there was no more air left in her. Blood spurted from ruined veins. Catherine staggered away and fell down. Micah’s eyes filled with tears; Crenshaw held Sam and Sharon at gunpoint.

  “Make your choice, son. Save Catherine or save the guy.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Frank mumbled, the corners of his lips discolored with blood. “Save her.” Sam moved forward, making a grab for Crenshaw, Waters shot him in the leg. When Sharon went to catch him, Frost put a bullet in her shoulder.

  “Mom!” Micah yelled. He grabbed at one of the containers, opened the mouth and poured the water on Catherine’s arm and then forced some into her mouth. Then he emptied the container on Frank’s abdomen and made him drink some. Frank choked on the water; most of it he spit out.

  “Save her,” his words were slurred, half choked on the water. Micah ran over to Catherine and put her head in his lap. He sat on the pavement and rocked. Her eyes were unfocussed and when he went to wipe the sweat from her brow, she was burning with fever.

  “Micah,” Catherine said. She reached up and he grasped her hand. “It’s been such a blessing watching you grow up.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, spattered on her face. Catherine forced a smile and looked at the sun. “I hate Florida, it’s so hot. Tell the others I said good bye.” Catherine’s eyes closed and Micah cradled her head and cried. He set her head down on the street and ran over to Sharon and hugged her tight, trying to be careful of her wound.

  Crenshaw walked over to Catherine’s body; he nudged her arm with his shoe, expecting her to jump up for a last act of revenge.

  “So much for the cure,” he laughed.

  “Get away from her, you asshole,” Frank said standing up, his hand buried deep in Micah’s satchel.

  “Who are you calling asshole?” Two shots echoed out and Crenshaw dropped to the street. Frank turned to Waters and put two in his head. Frost dropped his guns and threw his hands up. Frank took his hand out of the bag, firmly holding one of the pistols Crowe collected earlier. Smoke dribbled from the bullet holes in the satchel.

  Crenshaw scrabbled at the street and tried to stand. Micah rushed over and kicked away his guns. Thought twice and kicked Crenshaw in the head; he fell back to the hot asphalt.

  “What do we do with the other one?” Sharon said pointing towards Frost.

  “Unless you fuckers can fly a plane, looks like I live.”

  “Sounds fair to me,” Frank said and shot him in the kneecap. He fell to the ground screaming clutching at the knee. “It’s ok,” Frank said with a smile. “We can heal him.” Micah kicked Crenshaw over, blood stains spreading across his chest and abdomen. Frank came over and stepped over him, placing a foot on his hand and ground it into the pavement.

  “You should have worked for me,” Crenshaw spat.

  “I’m not a big enough asshole.” Frank lowered the pistol. Something low and fast hissed and charged out of the grass. Frank jumped to the side as the gator chomped down on Crenshaw’s leg. Crenshaw screamed as it bit down and dragged him off the road. Its teeth ripped through flesh and cracked bone.

  “Kill me for fuck’s sake!” The zombie gator bit down harder, through bone and muscle. More rustling came from the grass.

  “Oh shit, that sucked.” Catherine said and sat up. She started to cough and fought to stand. Sharon helped her up. Micah’s mouth dropped open as she limped over to Crenshaw.

  “Hi Richard,” she said and jumped back noticing the gator up to his knee. “It’s a shame a bigger one didn’t get you. Or two. They could have pretended you were a wishbone and split you up the middle.” She held up a finger to the others. “We could be merciful, take your leg off and see what happens.” Crenshaw cried out. She took a pistol from Frank, who was on his way back to Sam and Sharon with a fresh container of water. “You know what you had in Boston? Someone else is going to claim it.” Crenshaw cried out at the thought of everything he built going to waste. Or worse to someone with charity.

  “Remember what I told you? Hit me again and I’ll kill you.” She held up her hand as the gator dragged him further off the road. She slid the engagement ring of her finger. “I kept this ring, to remind me. This time, you killed me.”

  “You don’t have the nerve, you bitch.” The gator pulled back hard, pulled Crenshaw across a full lane of the road. He cried out and left a trail of scalp and hair on the road. The gator chewed on Crenshaw’s leg, Catherine grimaced when she heard the bone break. Crenshaw’s face was contorted in agony, so much pain he couldn’t scream or catch his breath.


  “You can thank me later,” Catherine said. The first shot caught him in the shoulder. She grimaced and looked embarrassed. “I need practice.” The second shot blew off his ear. “Getting closer.” When he screamed, Catherine dropped the ring in his mouth. He choked and gagged. The third shot caught Crenshaw in the eye, the back of his head splattered on the road. When the fighting stopped, the gator dragged his body off into the swamp.

  “I should have shot you 20 years ago. My mother was right about you.”

  * * * * *

  Sam tied up Frost and then poured the water on his knee. Sharon held on to Micah’s hand and waited for the pour. The sensation tickled a little and then stung. Micah held out his free hand to catch the bullet when it was forced from the wound.

  “Keep it, Micah.” Sharon said.

  “So Mr. Pilot, where’s your plane?” Frank asked.

  “You’ll be dead when we land in Boston.”

  “How about I shoot you in both knees this time?” Frank said and lowered is gun. “We have lots of the water and a couple clips of bullets left.” Frank shrugged and looked around. “Hell this is the most fun I’ve had in months. I can do this all day.”

  “How about I fly you back to Boston?”

  “What about the vehicles?” Sam asked. Frank looked over to the pilot.

  “There’s a cargo plane at the airport. We can leave Crenshaw’s plane here,” Frost said.

  “He’s not using it,” Catherine said.

  * * * * *

  Catherine covered her mouth at the wreckage of the village. The dead wandered through the ruins. Corpses like burnt boards littered the ground.

  “Our home.” The cargo plane sat on the highway, the engines powering down. The others rushed down the stairs to see the village destroyed. Black rubber tire tracks marred the street all around. Catherine started to cry. “All our hard work.”

  Micah took out his journal and started to sketch; he saw Grace’s body and dropped the pencil. It hit the ground and rolled off. Micah stuffed the journal back in his bag.

  “Damn, Crenshaw did a number here,” Frost said. “We better get back inside the plane before we’re overwhelmed.”

  “Help me.” Frank ran into the ruins, pistols drawn shooting anything that shambled near him. He stopped listened for the faint words again.

  “Come on, talk to me.”

  “Frank...” Frank spun on his heels and looked up to the sniper tower, the only thing still standing. Meredith stood there pale and emaciated. Next to her a young boy with dark hair, face smeared with dirt and blood. Frank got the ladder up and helped each one down. The boy wouldn’t leave Meredith’s side, not even when Frank pulled her into a bear hug.

  “Where’s my Mom?” Frank shook his head and Meredith buried her head and Frank’s chest and wept. Frank held on to Meredith until she was cried out. Micah walked over and took her hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Meredith.” Micah hugged her and her eyes opened wide.

  “You spoke.”

  “Just kind of happened,” Micah said.

  “What are we going to do?” The boy asked.

  “We’re going to get on that plane and see what happens,” Frank said.

  “Did anyone else make it back?” Catherine shook her head, put her hand on Meredith’s back. “On the plane sweetie.” She looked down at the boy. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Casey. My family was thrown in a hole in the ground full of zombies.”

  They sat in the belly of the plane, cargo nets hung empty from either side, the vehicles secured by locking straps in the center.

  “What do we do?” Frank asked. “The village is gone,everyone else is dead.” Fat tears rolled down Meredith’s cheeks. “She was amazing, Meredith. Never forget that.” Frank squeezed her leg.

  “There’s nothing left keeping us here,” Catherine said. Micah fidgeted in the seat, rolled the seat belt between his hands.

  “I have a plan,” Micah said. “What about Pastor Randy and Darien?” Catherine turned to look at him. “Either that or we go see if my grandparents are alive back in Florida.”

  “If I never step foot back in that state again it will be too soon. Darien it is.” Catherine said.

  Acknowledgments

  First off, many thanks to Eric Beebe for having faith in my book. Second to Andrew Miller for the edits and policing the grammar. Third to Phil Rogers for the cover. Finally, to Jan Kozlowski, who I asked for a blurb and instead wrapped a 2X4 in barbed wire and beat the bejesus out of my zombie book - figuratively.