Ben started kicking the fan blades, hoping to break, or at least bend two of them back far enough so he could slide through. There was another grate separating the fan from freedom, but it was made of old, rotted wood. It looked flimsy and easy to break. He continued kicking the fan blades. The metal was thin and cheap, curved with each stomp.
Noises. Close. Behind him.
He stopped kicking, rotating toward his point of entry. He saw the top of a head peeking out of the empty square in the attic floor.
“Shit,” Ben muttered, turning back to his only way out. After the two blades were completely bent back, he realized that in order for him to squeeze through, he was going to have to do a third. He didn’t waste any time. He kicked the third blade back, granting him passage to the roof. He lay down, slid himself underneath the fan. He started punching the wood grate, the only thing standing between him and fresh air. The wood cracked, splintering with each attack. In less than a minute, the grate popped off and Ben finally had unobstructed access to the roof.
The morning sun peaked above the horizon, a faint orange glow filling his eyes.
Something grabbed his foot. He turned his makeshift flashlight on the lower half of his body, seeing his new shoe was being gnawed on by Teddy Rowland, a forty-year old computer nerd from three blocks over. Teddy’s head was split open down the middle, but he didn’t seem to mind. From the looks of the wound, it happened days ago. Black blood congealed on his face, his mouth leaking dark fluids onto Ben’s shoe. Ben lashed out, kicking Teddy in the face, sending him stumbling into his dead friends.
Ben didn’t have time reach for his suitcase. He pulled himself through the tiny passageway, landing on the asphalt-shingled roof. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ribs. He hesitated, wanting to reach back inside and grab his belongings, but the hole in the siding quickly filled up with zombies.
Never looking back, he run to the edge of the roof. He peered down at the driveway, his eyes honing in on his Sonata. The area was surprisingly clear of walking corpses.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, jumping into the big bush. Some of the branches penetrated his skin, but he didn’t care. Adrenaline helped numb the pain. He rushed to the car as quickly as possible, key in hand. A few stragglers who were slow getting to the party turned their attention toward Ben. They changed directions and headed after him, stumbling along leisurely. In the distance, down the block, more dead came into view.
He started the car with only one thing on his mind.
I’m coming, bud, he thought. I’m coming for you. I promised, didn’t I?
Ben Ackerman had no intentions of being an absent father.
CHAPTER THREE
“What are you talking about?” Ross asked. He peered at Ben dubiously.
“I’m talking about getting out of here, before something really bad happens,” Ben told him.
“Haven’t you been listening, fucktard?” Jason spat. “Those fucking savages are going to come back any minute. And when they do, they are going to kill us. Probably torture us, too.” His head craned toward little Emily, who remained quiet throughout the arguing. “Sexually, perhaps.”
“Hey now—”
“Why don’t you shut up,” Josh told the kid, who looked no older than himself. “No need to freak everyone out more than they already are.”
“Oh, yeah, tough guy? What if I don’t? Huh?”
“Then I’ll have to make you.”
Jason lunged forward, pressing his face against the kennel. “You’re lucky this cage is here, or I’d kick your fucking ass, man!”
“Sit down, clown,” Josh chuckled.
“I’ve had enough of your mouth, you shit-nose little punk—” Ross started.
“Oh, yeah?” Jason turned toward Ross, grinding his teeth together. “What are you going to do about it, old man?”
Ross rose to his feet. “Old man? I’ll show you old—”
Before anyone could tell them to relax, Jason lashed out, socking Ross in the jaw. Everyone gasped collectively when his fist rocked Ross’s head backwards. He stumbled but kept his balance. Landry stood up, looking like he wanted to step in and take his father’s place in what had become a steel-cage match. Ross shoved him aside gently. Jason wound his fist and took another swing, a wildly-inaccurate haymaker that Ross sidestepped easily. He jabbed the kid in the ribs, deflating his lungs. Jason stumbled sideways. Ross caught him with a hook across the chin. The energetic, rat-faced punk went down hard, spitting bloody mucus onto the concrete floor.
A gunshot sounded, causing everyone’s shoulders to buck. Hearts skipped. Ringing in their ears left them temporarily deaf to other sounds. They hadn’t heard their three husky hosts enter the basement over their own outbursts.
The Three Little Pigs, Josh thought.
“Well, well,” Otis said, chewing tobacco as he spoke. He spit a long stream of brown liquid into truck driver’s cage, missing his feet by inches. The splatter touched his boots. “What we got hur?”
“Looky like we got ourselves a little alt-cation, Otis,” Cooter said.
“Hey, you… nagger.” Otis stared directly at Ross. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, boy. Get your monkey ass over der. You can’t be goan round beatin’ up erry white boy you see, sheet.”
Floyd, the third and widest little piggy, rushed over and unlocked the cage. Cooter strolled inside and grabbed Jason by his neck, dragging him out. His knees and elbows scraped against the concrete as he cried out, but Cooter didn’t seem to care. In fact, Cooter laughed, hacked a giant wad of snot and spat on his face. “Dumb sombitch,” he sneered.
Otis and Floyd approached Ross, who backed himself into the corner of his cage. Landry tried to reach his father’s side, but Floyd collected him against his chest with his flabby arms. Landry screamed, tried to kick himself free. The big boy’s clutches were like a black hole, absorbing Landry with little effort. Ross instinctively reached out for his son, but Otis took the stock of his shotgun and jammed it into his face. Ross immediately saw stars and fell to the floor. He felt something warm trickle down his upper lip, into his mouth. He tasted copper.
“Looks like someone bought themselves a ticket to the game,” Otis whispered to Ross, who struggled to keep conscious.
“What game?”
Smirking ominously, Otis waved his finger. “Ya’ll find out soon enough.” He nodded to Floyd, who immediately let go of Landry. They exited the cage, Floyd locking it behind them.
Otis turned to Cooter. “Bring that sumbitch.” Otis and Floyd trotted up the stairs and Cooter followed, dragging Jason behind him like a sack of Christmas presents.
The prisoners listened to the kid scream his way to the top before wet slapping sounds silenced him forever.
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO DAYS AGO…
Despite his mother’s plea to always park in the street, Josh parked in the empty driveway. He exhaled, killing the engine simultaneously. Josh didn’t want to be there and he did very little to hide it. It wasn’t that he hated visiting her, and it wasn’t even the fact that he sometimes had to explain things to her over and over again; it was the fact that Josh would rather spend his free time doing other things. Such as riding around doing nothing, smoking cigarettes, smoking weed, finding girls to hook up with, hooking up with them, going to bars, getting drunk, occasionally—but not frequently—starting fights, playing sports, playing sports video games, and doing his best to be an all-around douchebag to everyone he meets. Recently, pill-popping made its way to the top of the list.