“What, ‘cause I’m fucking Mexican you give me the beans?”
I just about spat out the bit of pineapple.
“Come on, man, how about those peaches? You got two cans.”
I laughed and handed him one.
“Thanks for coming with me.” I smirked, and he grinned back. I felt a friendship forming with him. He was a good guy with a sense of humor, and I could see that he would be a great guy at my back and vice versa.
“Better than nothing, man.”
“Gives you nasty farts.”
“I don’t need much help with that.”
He laughed.
I laughed at his face, which he had screwed up as if he were deep in thought. Before I started cracking up for real, I slipped outside, but stopped dead in my tracks.
It couldn’t have been the creeping around; it had to be the gunshot that drew them. Whatever it was, we had a serious problem. About twenty of the rotted things were closing in on us.
“Ah fuck!” Scott whispered behind me.
The day had gone too well. We’d only had one of the things to contend with, and it was locked in the closet for so long it was probably completely brain dead—if it even had brains. Being stuck in there for a long time couldn’t have been good for it. It basically fell out, and I finished it off. The ones in front of the house were much different.
They wore tattered clothing, the ones that were dressed. Some only had on tops or bottoms. There was a large woman with a gash running across her forehead and dried blood caked all over her face. She wore the remains of a pair of corduroy pants, green but covered in refuse. Her shirt was missing, and her breasts were shriveled things that looked like big raisins. Next to her was a man in a full three-piece suit that had seen better days. I expected it to reek of mothballs if he got close enough—that and rot. They were all rotted; some were falling apart. It was a pathetic group that had their eyes set on me and Scott. A feast for the dead. I didn’t plan on being dinner.
Dropping the bag, I started popping them one at a time. I aimed and took care that I had each shambler in my sight before I stroked the trigger. Scott wanted to run; I could see it in his body language. I had him pegged in the corner of my eye, but he stuck by my side, which raised his status quite a bit in my mind. It was easy to give in to panic and make a run for it, but a true soldier did the best he could with what he had. And we had each other.
I brought another one down—a child this time. A kid with long hair that was faster than the others. He or she was already halfway up the driveway when I took it in the throat. It stumbled to a halt as half of its neck disappeared in a spray of gore that I never wanted to remember.
More were on their way in their shambling mass. We would have to make a run for it after all. At least they were slow, but if one of the ghouls was around, it might use its strange influence to push them at us.
I took to the tall grass with Scott right behind me. It was tough going, as we had to high-step it over the mass of green that was taking over the front yard. I hauled ass around the corner and came to a stop as more of the things came out of the greenbelt surrounding the yard. There were dozens of the shambling creatures, and they all had hungry eyes set on our flesh.
Even if I could find a place to shoot from, we didn’t have enough ammo to take them all out. We couldn’t call for help; no radios. Now if I had asked about those, it might have been the genius move of my life, but I was so convinced that the little communities were keeping the zombies at bay that I got hasty and didn’t plan well enough. Shit!
I stopped in my tracks and stared at Scott. “Can we run through them?”
“It just takes one bite, man, and when they start dragging at you, I’ve seen people brought down by three of the fuckers.”
I popped the first few that were closing in on us. One fell with a neat hole between its eyes. Another lost the side of its head but came on, so I shot it again, and it fell in a heap.
I looked around desperately and spotted something I didn’t expect. A splash of red in the tall grass next to my rusting lawnmower. It was near the house and within easy reach. I let out a yelp as I spotted it and ran to grab it. It was still pretty heavy, like it was at least half full. I wasn’t sure how long ago I had used the stuff, so I wasn’t sure if I had left it in that state. Still, I supposed with all the cars lying abandoned, folks had no problem finding enough fuel to keep their cars running. What did they need my piddly can for?
The top was one of those pop-off caps that allowed the can to breathe, so it might have been full. For all I knew, with the fumes pouring off for the last half year, it could be half water. I didn’t have time to worry about it. I jerked the cap off and splashed the fluid all over the ground in front of the ones coming out of the greenbelt. I splashed it in high arcs that cascaded in a beautiful display of rainbow that coated a few.
Scott turned and covered my back by bumping three or four booming rounds of buckshot into the monstrosities on the side of the house. We were surrounded, and I had doubts about us escaping. There was no way to get through them unless I burned a path, and that was what I intended to do. If it came to it, I would lie down and put the handgun to my head.
I dashed, avoiding as many of them as I could while laying down the line of fire. I didn’t have a lighter, and I hoped Scott did.
“You got some flame?”
“I don’t smoke,.”
Oh shit.
He ran to my side and stared at the horde before us. He looked at the grass, at the gas-drenched zombies, and then at me. Grinning, he lowered the gun, then took a step right up to one of them—a man missing half of his left arm and most of one cheek.
“Hello, asshole. Welcome to the bonfire.” Then he fired the shotgun into the ground at the thing’s feet. The resulting blast ignited the grass. The gas had become vaporous, and the flame spread quickly. It was probably just my imagination but I swear the zombie went from slack-faced to horrified in a half-second. It turned to move away from the flame but was consumed. It howled deep in its throat—an almost forlorn cry that stilled the day.
“We need to move!” I yelled at Scott. He didn’t need any further prodding and launched himself at the fence. We had to leap over the spreading flames, and I was scared that my pants would catch fire. I ran for it, but the blaze was spreading rapidly. It was also saving us, because the things were staggering away from the flames. There were a couple of them standing near the fence. Scott and I came on like a pair of linebackers. I hit one with my shoulder and barreled into a man around my age or maybe a few years younger.
Another snagged me from behind. Hand on my shirt but there was no grip and I shook it loose. I kicked back and felt a satisfying thump against a body. A glance over my shoulder told me it had been pushed back into the fire. It stared at the flames that licked at its cotton shirt, then shrieked and ran right into the rotting thing behind him, a woman in her sixties if she was a day. Then it was chaos as the zombies became the prey—a prey to fire. We were used to being on the run. Now it was their turn.
Scott kicked one in the chest. I slipped behind a zombie and pushed it toward the rapidly spreading flame. The guy was so rotted that his skin caught on fire instantly, and the smell of sizzling bacon was in my nose. I was disgusted at myself for the way I practically drooled.
The reek of smoke was all around us, and I risked a glance back at the house. The yard was in flames, and it was only a matter of time before the fire took my pride and joy and burned it to a cinder. All the memories, both good and bad, all the stuff we had collected, all the house payments I had made toward our mortgage and property value, all my equity, gone the day the world went to the dead, and now I was going to baptize that old life in fire.