Jubal took the pill vial and threw it across the room, where it ricocheted off the wall. Beneath the vial had been a small square of the scratch paper his mother kept next to the phone in the kitchen. There was writing on it.
Jubal read through tears:
Baby,
I didn’t want to burden you with watching me slowly die and turn into one of those things. I wanted us to end on a happy moment that we both could treasure forever, no matter where we were.
I dreamed again about the dead army last night and their leader in red. Their leader is not one of them. He is not dead. And he’s not from here. He’s from a darker world. I’m not sure how I know this, but I do. It’s as real and true as my feelings for you.
I hope this helps in some way, but I can’t imagine how. I wish that you would read this and flee. Go far from here.
I’m sorry it had to be like this, my sweet, sweet Jubal. But I had been thinking about it and knew it was the only way for me-and you.
Please forgive me. And I’ll see you again in some happy place.
I’ll be waiting.
All my love,
Fiona
Jubal pressed the note to his lips, dripping tears on it, and placed it on the nightstand.
He reached down and drew the blanket up over Fiona’s face.
Picking his clothes off the?oor, he put them on slowly as if performing a sacred ritual. Then he took Fiona’s note and slid it into his uniform’s shirt pocket, over his heart, patting it after he was?nished.
He went to the living room and strapped on his Glock. He arranged the shotguns neatly on the coffee table and stacked the ammo next to them.
He removed a stack of sewing magazines from the seat of an old wooden chair that had always sat next to the front door and set them on a chair in the living room. He carried the wooden chair to the doorway of his bedroom where he set it down gently and sat on it, facing the bed.
He removed his Glock from its holster, crossed his legs, and waited.
He wasn’t completely convinced it would happen, but it didn’t take long. As…
Fiona.
…the blanketed?gure on the bed began to rise with a muf?ed groan.
It only took one shot.
Hours later, Jubal emerged from the house carrying the shrouded?gure and a shovel.
He looked at the sky; the sun’s heat caressed his face. It was going to be another hell-hot day.
Jubal carried Fiona’s body to the backyard, and though the ground was dry and hard, he set her down gently and began digging near a cactus plant she had always admired.
A few hours later, Jubal was standing over the fresh grave, dripping sweat, grasping for a few words to say. But he really couldn’t?nd any except, “I love you, Fee.”
He heard a footstep in the yard behind him.
Swinging around, shovel in hand, he saw three zombies walking quickly toward him. He recognized all of them.
One was old Pops Perez, his straw hat still perched jauntily on his head. The other two were a fat woman named Bertha Benson and her husband, Bob. They looked hungrily at him with their horrible red-yellow eyes.
Jubal reached for his Glock, but realized he had left it in the house, on the?oor in his bedroom. He had lost track of it after…doing what needed to be done there.
Charging the undead intruders, Jubal slammed the blade of the shovel against the side of Pops’s head, wincing as he did so. After all, this was the nicest old man in the world.
Was.
Pops did a spin on one foot and toppled to the ground.
The fat Bensons were still coming at him.
As the Bensons groped for him and Pops got back to his feet, Jubal ran around them and out to the front yard.
Glancing up and down the street, Jubal saw that the whole town had turned up for a visit. Old neighbors, friends and acquaintances shuf?ed about, some falling over as if not able to control their bodies. One or two noticed Jubal and turned towards him, moaning to others, who turned towards him as well.
“At least these fuckers are slow,” he said to no one, as he ran into the house, slamming the door behind himself. “And I’m talking to myself again.”
With reluctance, he went to the bedroom of tragedy for his Glock. Someone-some thing was pounding on the bedroom wall. He ignored it. He made his way back down the hall to the living room. He checked the shotguns-they were loaded and ready.
Multiple?sts pounded at the front door. It shook in its frame.
Jubal reloaded his Glock, holstered it, hung one shotgun from his shoulder and gripped the other one in his hands.
The front door, tearing from its hinges, slammed straight down against the?oor, as the crowd of undead fought to be the?rst one to get hold of Jubal. They wedged against each other in the doorway, blocking their own progress. Their antics reminded Jubal of a Three Stooges routine.
He put his back to the hallway. If things got real bad, he could always run down the hall to his mother’s bedroom, where there was a window into the front yard, giving him better access to his cruiser parked at the curb. He was thankful he didn’t have to go through his own bedroom. The sooner he forgot about that room, the better.
Jubal began shooting zombies.
Randy Minear was?rst. He and Jubal had played little league baseball together down at the city park. Randy had been an amazing short stop. He still moved pretty quick, faster than any of the walking dead Jubal had seen. He was almost on Jubal before the shotgun was raised. The blast removed most of Randy’s head, splattering bone and brains and gore onto the undead behind him. The headless corpse toppled backward, causing several of the zombies to trip and become tangled up.
Jubal took a few steps back to give him some room to maneuver. As he did, he pumped another round into the chamber of the Mossberg. Seven shots to go. Then he had the other shotgun on his back and the Glock in his belt.
A nude?gure struggled past the mass of zombies on the?oor, rolling over the other bodies and landing in front of Jubal. The dead thing stood and he recognized the decaying form of Margie Gilmore, the?rst woman he ever saw naked. When he was 13, he had chased a baseball into her backyard. After he retrieved the ball, Jubal glanced at the sliding glass door and saw Mrs. Gilmore-the mother of his friend Kent-standing there in the nude. Her breasts were quite large and sagged more than a little. Jubal didn’t care. He was frozen in place, blushing over his entire body as he stared at the brown areolas and incredibly large nipples. She held a drinking glass in one hand and she used the other to rub her belly, which served to direct his eyes toward the unkempt thatch of black hair below her navel. Jubal managed to get his body moving then, and he sprinted back to the city park. He never told anyone about the encounter, perhaps because he found it both disturbing and arousing, and he took care to stay far away from Mrs. Gilmore after that.
Now she was within a foot or two of him. The thought of her touch made his stomach do a nauseating?ip. He pointed the Mossberg and removed the left side of her head. Her right eye stared at him as she toppled to the?oor.
Six shells left in this one, Jubal. Choose wisely.
Three of the disgusting creatures squeezed through the door, two pushing the one in front. Jubal didn’t recognize any of them. All three tripped over the two bodies on the?oor, and one of them?ew through the air and struck Jubal before he could?re the shotgun. He was knocked onto his back with the zombie on top of him.
It had been a man of medium build. His face was pockmarked by the ruptured boils, and the familiar odor of disease threatened to choke Jubal. The thing swiveled its head toward Jubal’s neck and snapped its jaws. It made a tuneless humming sound, just like Jubal’s father had done when he puttered around in the garage.
The shotgun was pinned between them, its barrel aimed across Jubal’s chest. He worked his left hand up against the zombie’s side and shoved at the snapping monster. Beneath the creature’s t-shirt, the?esh shifted and rolled like the meat on a roasted chicken. As soon as he had enough room to move the Mossberg, Jubal squeezed the trigger. The recoil threw the zombie into the air and drove Jubal’s right elbow into the hardwood?oor. He felt something crunch in the joint and a searing jolt of pain exploded in a white?ash that threatened to drive him to unconsciousness.