Rust, Gore, and The Junkyard Zombie Page 2

  She worked in town as a police officer. She was almost as tall as Dad, only two inches shy of his six foot three. She was curvy but more slender than I was. I could borrow her tops, but her pants were too long and tight to fit me. She had short black hair and such gorgeous ice-blue eyes. She was the ultra-cool aunt, most of the time, unless we were doing anything even slightly against the rules. Then she became worse than a strict parent. She would become stiff and stern in a way that was so against who she was normally. I really hated when we made her mad.

  My other aunt, Lizzie, was to me a weird one. She was ultra-smart and nerdy, kind of an egghead, to be honest. It was all she seemed to have going for her. She was not good with much else. She didn’t even really look like Dad or Tara. She was barely five foot four with rich mahogany hair always tied back into a severe bun. Her eyes were a hazel almost like Dad’s, but they always seemed distant like she was distracted.

  She had studied rocket science and nuclear medicine and had two doctorates. Mind you, she always seemed as old as dirt to me, but she was the youngest of the three. She always lived in the junkyard, and she just moved into her own house on the property after she and Jimbo married.

  I often used to wonder if Lizzie even had a sense of humor or any emotion at all. She was all intellect and seriousness. Her husband was Dad’s best friend Jimbo. It was so strange to see the two of them together. Jimbo, at five foot ten, was built large and muscular. He practically swallowed Lizzie’s petite frame in every hug. He was always so large and rough, and she was so small and polished. Yet, in spite of it all, I believe that they actually did love each other. At the very least, I know he loved her.

  I really never met my grandparents. The town, however, had a lot to say about my granddad. Granddad was the town drunk and a womanizer to boot. He was the town shame, or so I was told by the rest of the town. We were considered the white trash of the small town of Jarvin, West Virginia. It suited me, as most of the town were stuck-up asses. All I ever needed was my family.

  When the first days of the dead came, we were caught seriously unawares. Jimbo was a really nice guy. He would quickly give you the shirt from his own back if he thought you needed it, whether he knew you or not. No matter what they told you, being nice during an apocalypse was always a bad idea. He was bitten, and turned, before we knew that the shit had hit the fan. He was still the only thing I ever wanted to undo about the way things went.

  That spring day was one that I would never forget. I was thirteen, nearly fourteen. I was helping Dad in the garage at the front of the junkyard. I often did this to earn a little bit of extra pocket money. Mechanic was a job I was considering for the hazy someday that I was all grown up. Engineer was the other. Engineer required more school though, and school was so boring.

  I remembered looking up as Jimbo shambled in. I used to think that Jimbo only married Lizzie to be Dad’s actual brother. After all, he and Jimbo were really freaking close. His marriage to Lizzie never made a lot of sense to me.

  There was no separating Dad and Jimbo. Jimbo had even followed Dad to the marines. He was head mechanic in the shop, so we were kinda close. Jimbo was my favorite adult, next to Dad. He just made so much sense to me.

  That unforgettable day, his usually warm brown eyes were glazed over to a sightless white, and his rough stubble-covered jaw was slacked. I saw the matted blood covering his right side from his chest down. Jimbo, although an easygoing fellow, was always one who used perfectly straight posture and walked with care. I believed it was from his military training. Out of character for him, today he was slouched, neck and shoulders hanging far more loosely than usual, and dragging his feet. Dad, who was never unarmed, went over to see if he needed help. I felt that tingle of fear starting as Dad approached.

  Jimbo actually tried to bite him. Dad jumped back quickly. Dad’s reflexes had never dulled in the twenty years since he left the military. He was always a more physical person; it was one of his more annoying personality traits. His exercise routine was nearly a religious thing. He jogged five miles every morning and did other strength training exercises as well. He claimed it was how he kept his body in shape. I was so stunned that all I could do was stare.

  Dad, as he dodged away, started cussing. “Jimbo, you damn fool! What the hell is wrong with you?” Jimbo only groaned gutturally and followed Dad. Again, Jimbo lunged and tried to bite. Dad was easily able to dodge Jimbo’s second attempt to bite him.

  “Have you been in my good stash again? You know that you have no tolerance for the booze! Get your drunk ass up to the couch to sober up! And how did you get so damn bloodied up, boy?”

  What good stash, I wondered. There was very little alcohol in the main house and none in the garage that I knew of. Dad was just not a drinker.

  Dad clocked him, as Jimbo tried yet another time to bite him. Not the first time Dad had ever sent him flying, but this time something was different. Dad knew it too. A look of deadly steel settled in his eyes.

  “Jimbo, I am done playing with you. This is the last warning. Back off!” Dad pulled out his Colt Desert Eagle and grimaced as if he really did not want to use it. To be honest, he probably didn’t. He rarely did, unless we were hunting. “Pull your head out your ass, boy!”

  Dad snarled as he backed away, but Jimbo didn’t seem to hear him. Dad aimed for his knee. The shot rang loudly, ringing painfully across the entire garage.

  It didn’t even slow Jimbo down. In truth, I didn’t think he knew that he’d been hit. Blood might not have flowed from the wound, but I would always remember the tears I saw running down Dad’s cheeks as he adjusted his aim for Jimbo’s head.

  “Jimbo, you bastard, don’t make me do this. I really don’t wanna shoot your dumb ass!”

  The shot was deafening.

  Jimbo fell lifeless to the floor.

  Dad then hurried to lock the front gates. Dad knew the world had gone to shit right then. Though he was moving quickly, Dad was more stiff than I had ever seen him. I felt like the world was crumbling right before my eyes. I overheard Dad mumble something about science probably ending the world.

  Once Dad had secured the gates, he came quickly back to me. “Shara, honey, I need you to go back to the house. I have to see if I can find Tara and Lizzie. Thankfully the boys are home today. I need to know that everyone is safe.”

  In my shock, I was not really quick to understand why Dad sounded so worried. It was almost as if I had been disconnected from everything I had just seen. Yet, if he asked me to do something…well, I just never argued. Not with him.

  Honestly, the only ones I had ever seen argue with him were Jimbo, Tara, and Lizzie. So I went running wildly through the back toward the house.

  Mindless tears were streaming down my face the whole way to the house. The distance between the house and the garage never seemed as great as it did that day.

  There were fifteen kids scattered about the yard. I motioned for everyone to go to the house. Usually I would have been argued with, but I looked a bit wild that day. Everyone wanted to know what was happening. And all I could choke out in my current state was to go in.

  Mom was in the kitchen teaching Candy, my closest sibling in age, how to make bread from scratch. Mom always felt that we needed old-fashioned skills, as one never knew what would happen. Heck, she even taught my brothers to cook and sew. Candy and my brother John, however, were actually good at baking and cooking. When we all entered the kitchen, with me out of breath, she made us all sit and calm down first.

  Mom’s long straight copper hair was pulled back into a braid that brushed the floor as she moved. Her hazel eyes were calming, even as she was stiff with worry. Once I was somewhat calm and breathing right, she let me tell the tale.

  There was definitely something incongruous about telling it sitting in the familiar kitchen chair surrounded by the homey smell of fresh yeast bread. The unreal sensation made me wonder if I had only imagined the whole thing. Part of me was praying exactly that. I found myself unabl
e to tell them that it was Jimbo. Just that Dad had to take down what appeared to be a dead man. I found myself unable to even think his name.

  I truthfully was having issues with what I had just seen.

  Dad shot his best friend. At that moment, my world was shaky on its axis. I wondered if things would ever be right again.

  For the span of a heartbeat, I feared Mom would think I had lied. I was aware she knew I was holding back who the dead man was. To my relief, she smiled a worried smile, and instead of asking further questions, she said, “Well, let’s lock the house up and watch the television until your father returns.”

  Television was a bit of a rare treat for us, so none of us argued. That being said, you could imagine the huge disappointment when all we found on all the channels was static. Of course, in our town, with the fickle nature of the broadcast channels, it wasn’t really unusual.

  Mom, quick on her feet, suggested board games instead. Dad had always had a thing about collecting various board games, especially the limited-edition ones. We had a generous selection to choose from. Dad believed board games and books were better than television for the mind. Mom agreed with him, so we had a huge library of both.

  Mom was trying hard to hide the worry in her voice as she made the suggestion though. When I heard the wavering in her voice, I started to truly worry. Mom never let her voice show her feelings. She was usually as solid as they came.

  Chris

  I don't wear regret well. Jimbo was more than a brother to me, and how do I break it to our Lizzie? I knew he was gone before I fired that first shot. I knew the moment that I laid eyes on him. I tried to convince myself that it was the booze. That he was not what I feared. Booze would have been so much easier. Even if I had always known Jimbo rarely drank and he never drank to excess.

  I aimed for the knee, hoping that I was wrong. I would have given anything for the knee shot to have brought him to his senses. I wouldn't risk Shara, but I had to at least attempt the non-lethal shot. Still, if he had tried for her, I likely would have done the lethal shot sooner.

  I was so torn. While driving to get Tara and Lizzie, I tried to figure out what to say. How did I tell my sweet baby sister that I was the one who had put Jimbo down? How did I tell her that the love of her life, my only true brother, was gone? Part of me wanted to snap that it was probably her beloved science that caused his death, even if I knew that was not true. Not that I wanted to hurt her, but I wanted so badly to lash out at the world for the unfairness of it all. Instead, I would be finding answers. I would make sure that my family survived, and then for Jimbo's sake, I would absolutely learn why! I owed him that much.

  Tara

  I often enjoyed working as a cop in our small mountain town. Being active was far better than being bored, and the easy patrols bought me booze. Almost seemed like a demotion though, since I had been a Navy SEAL. The best in my unit.

  When I was tired of the political bullshit that often surrounded the SEALs, I did what every small mountain town girl did—I came back home. I might have even enjoyed it, at least before the dead stood their rotting asses back up. I loved a good Romero flick. Who didn’t? I just didn’t wanna live in one.

  Still, we didn’t always get to choose our lives. Being weird and slightly introverted probably saved my life. I walked down Fifth on my way back to the station after an extraordinarily quiet shift. I should have known something was up by the quiet, but really, who questioned good luck? I decided to cross the alley beside the liquor store, as a shorter path.

  I was also considering stopping in and picking up a fifth or two of Jack to take home. Not that it was all that unusual for me to stop there on my way home. Just trying to save a few steps.

  By the dumpster was old Fred Green, our single town homeless guy, bent over something. Most of my fellow officers would have likely gone closer and tried to send him on his way. I hesitated. I often avoided him. He just made me extra uncomfortable. Then there was the fact that something was just off.

  He was making the grossest sounds, wet and sloppy sucking sounds. Maybe he was eating garbage. I wished he had been. It would have ended my day much better.

  I tried to back away cautiously. I must have made some noise. He turned slowly and stared right through me. His eyes, once a cold stormy gray color, were now an awful glazed white, and his scraggly gray beard was coated in crimson wetness. A gaping hole was where his cheek should be. That was when the terrible smell smacked me.

  I expected that pungent body odor that Fred was never without. This was far more potent and even more nauseating. The underlying rot smell was coated in a metallic copper tang that was sticky and strong enough to taste. As the old man lumbered up toward me, I thought, Screw this noise. I am outta here.

  I hurried around the creepy old guy and headed for the station. I knew what was wrong. Freaking dead walking. Yay! Not the best thing that could happen to our little town.

  I was counting on the fact that I had been on patrol for only a few hours and hoped the spread of the outbreak wouldn’t be that bad yet. Maybe I could rally some other officers to assist. Not that this town had many. We had less than a couple of thousand people in total. I also wanted to call my brother Chris. I figured I could warn him to lock down the junkyard.

  Chris’s wife Amara ran a busy daycare there. The whole damn town used her daycare. She was usually watching ten to twenty kids, including their own. To tell the truth, I never understood how she handled it so well.

  She was such a petite little spitfire. All of five foot two, maybe one thirty? And more tits than anything. Still, she was good with the kids. The idea of those kids being exposed just made my stomach sharply twist.

  The station was a ghost town. The overly perky chick who manned the desk wasn’t even there. I tried to call the house first, only to find the lines were down. I was not really surprised. The lines for the phone and television in this town were both run in on a pole that was taken out by some idiot driver at least once a month. The mountains interfered with cell signal, so we were often a bit isolated here. It was how some of us liked it. I tried calling on the radio but got no answer, meaning that Chris either was busy or didn’t have his on.

  Either way, it was a real pain in the ass.

  Shrugging, I gathered as much extra ammo as I could find and my personal stuff. I was not sure that I was coming back in today. Actually, I kinda doubted that I would be coming back anytime soon. I doubted there would be anyone else coming in. I was going to deal with Fred. After all, if I left him, then the infection would spread faster. That was the last freaking thing that we needed.

  Then I was going home. I didn’t want to worry about Amara and the kids. Maybe I’d stop by the lab and grab Lizzie. If the dead were walking, it was not a good place for my baby sister to be. Chris was the eldest, at the ripe old age of forty-five. I was two years younger, and our Lizzie was a mere two years shy of forty.

  The three of us were extremely close. Our dad was the town drunk. Chris basically became the man of our family taking charge of the two of us while Mom worked herself to death at an early age. We often looked to him to guide us when we were lost or protect us when we were hurting. Some habits continued into adulthood.

  Our closeness was probably why Lizzie and her husband moved into the junkyard. Jimbo was suited for it, but Lizzie not as much. Those two always seemed like the odd couple to me. Lizzie was so cool, urbane, and intellectual, while Jimbo was a true good ole boy redneck. Still they had something real. To be flat honest, I always found them funny and envied their romance. It was nice to see a relationship of such an odd pair work in this day and age.

  Old Fred went down with a single quick shot. Thanks to my brother, and his perverse love of old zombie movies, I knew where to aim. It was a mercy, for both of us, that I had always been a crack shot. I had never been fond of shooting people.

  I wondered just how we were basically seeing the movies coming to life, but that was something we would look into later. Som
ething that I figured Lizzie would insist on doing anyway. Likely, Chris would too, although for different reasons. Lizzie was more likely to want to solve the mystery for the science of it. Chris would want to protect the people in the community. Even if they sure as hell didn’t deserve his protection.

  The roads to the lab were eerily too quiet with not a soul to be seen. In our little town, quiet was not unusual, but at noon on a Monday? There should have been a few people out. I should have seen more during my patrol. Maybe that meant I was a shitty cop. I should have noticed sooner. Something to regret later, as if I didn’t have enough to feel that over.

  My nerves were starting to jump as I pulled into the lab’s front lot at the exact same time as Chris did. The relief on his face told me that he knew.

  My solace was immediate, surprising, and nearly blinding. Though I found myself curious as to the flat gray of his hazel eyes. His eyes often changed with his emotions, but I had never seen that color before.

  I grabbed a quick and fierce hug. Then I worriedly inquired, “Are Amara and the kids okay?”

  Chris, often a man of very few words, grunted an unusually gruff affirmative and muttered, “Jimbo’s gone. Junkyard is on lockdown.”

  I felt like a Mack truck had hit me. I really just couldn’t imagine a world with no Jimbo. Though I wanted to ask, I couldn’t bring myself to utter the question. It would only bring answers I seriously doubted I wanted to know, including what got our Jimbo. To be truthful, from the look on Chris’s face, I was afraid that it might have been him. Sometimes it was better to not know.