“The Soulless” XI

 

 We’re bundled up on the couches, Jeb tends to the fire. It’s silent except for the snaps and pops from the fireplace. The fire is really pretty. This soft blue and yellow glow, a golden, buttery glow. The logs are all black and shimmering. I want to look at it, but the heat bothers my eyes- like it’s something very special, something  you can’t look at, something sacred.

Frank is cursing at the radio, punching the table with frustration. 

“You’re not gon’ get it to work, Frank,” Jeb says as he smacks on a piece of stale, frostbitten bread. He sticks it over the fire to toast it and blows on it to cool. 

“Shut up, would ya?” Frank hisses without turning from the radio. He switches with the knob intently. Off. On. Off. On. Nothing. 

I hear Anya humming in the kitchen. Then the soft clapping of a helicopter. She drops a pan. A fucking helicopter. I hear them so often I hardly noticed its significance. 

“Guys! Guys! Tom! Frank! Look!” She, without hesitation, runs out of the porch, onto the front lawn. 

“Get ‘er back inside!” Frank yells coarsely. He grabs his gun and rushes to the porch. He climbs a pipe onto the roof and begins to wave. 

“They’ll never see him out there, damn fool. Here!” Jeb stretches a stick into the fire, it lights and he waddles to the porch, adjusting his pants. I run after him and grasp Anya’s arm. The helicopter has seen us and they’re dropping altitude. 

“Oh! oh!” Frank cries and runs inside to gather his things quickly. The helicopter whips around our hair and our clothes, I shield my eyes from the viper sharp wind. The ‘copter drops a rope ladder and it sounds musically as it hits the tree branches and the porch. I push Anya to it and she clings to it as if she were hundreds of feet in the air. They raise her into the helicopter and drop the rope again. 

I’m on the helicopter now, then Jeb and Frank. The helicopter sweeps over the dark land, rocking and singing, clapping. Anya holds onto me, she’s deathly afraid of heights. She creeps to the window, a little round one, and looks at the stars- brighter than I’ve ever seen them. 

“Good, eh!?” Frank smiles happily and grabs my jacket’s arm. He’s overjoyed. His brilliant smile and jubilant laugh fill the cabin, high over the engine’s squeals. 

“Who are ya?” Asks the copilot, turning to us: all bare and dirty. He’s wrapped in a tight leather jacket, protected by a shiny helmet and beetle-black glasses. His industrial face is almost too perfect, too clean amongst all this machinery. We say our names and he smiles. “We’ll get  ya there safe.” 

It all seems too good to be true. Safety, warmth. Yes, finally. Safety. But, I felt safe before, we were secluded in our little box, our little brown, basic box, with the crispy bacon and salty corned beef. I liked my chewy stash of old Oreo cookies I found in the back cabinet. I hid them from everyone and ate them in my dusty, cardboard hide-out. I liked all that, it was safe. Now, I have the feeling that I will never be safe again. We just left safety- we’re on our way to Hell.

“The Soulless” X

 

Little do they know in high school I was on the wrestling team. My father suggested I do a sport- well, actually, he told me to do a sport- and I had three options: football, baseball or wrestling. So, my freshmen year, I chose wrestling- and despite my lack of effort- I was pretty damn good.

So good, in fact, I continued to wrestle in college. Unfortunately a knee injury my sophomore year prevented me from taking it back up. It’s been years, but I could probably knock Ole Jeb on his ass despite his apparent mastery of the sport. 

“Alright.” I say, standing up and clapping my hands together. Anya rockets out of her chair and laughs giddily. “But,” I say. “Let’s do it outside.” 

There’s some silence. Yeah, yeah, the outside is “dangerous” but we haven’t seen one of those things in three days. The rain has stopped and the big, wet, lawn looks perfectly inviting. I open up the screen door, Jeb and I step out. 

The cool air hits me. I swear, its the best smelling thing ever. So fresh and lively, like Spring. Small clumps of snow linger at the base of trees. Anya opens up one of the windows so she can cheer us on. She’s all bright and spirited, leaning her elbows on the windowsill. Her left arm is pretty bad from when she hit it on the bumper, all gross and purple green, nearly black against her skin. 

“What’s going on!?” Frank yells as he enters the porch, leans out the window beside Anya. 

“They’re wrestling. Tom- Tom took the challenge!” She sputters from the cold and tightens her grip on the blanket. I hope that with my defeat of Jeb, we’ll no longer have him pestering us to wrestle. I look at Jeb dead in his watery, red and blue eyes and the baggy, vein blue sacks beneath them. His lips, sagging, dashed with grey and black whiskers. His yellow teeth, crooked and brown, peeking through. I dare him with my cocky smile, my curling eyebrow. I dare you, I think, I dare you to bring me down. You’ll regret it. 

It was like I was back on the blue mat, the cheers and things from the crowd. My coach, my team, I could feel  their breath, sighs of relief, their fear. The tension. 

That night, with the blinking of cameras, the team, the crowd. I did the same look to that kid. I remember his name, Jerry Rice. What a fucking stupid name. Jerry Rice. He had this ugly look on his face, like there was nothing to him except muscle. I could of had him. I could have taken him, smashed his face into that mat, slipped through his anaconda arms. I was fast, quick. Oh man. That bastard! That stupid bastard Jerry Rice. When my knee got twisted up. Hurt like a bitch and I was just pissed because I let this stupid muscle-head beat me. 

We start. It’s just like old times, for a second, my muscles are confused and I fight with him a little. Clumsy. But then, like an old computer, the memory starts to return slowly. Lock here, twist there. Same thing, it came to me naturally. It’s pretty fun, too. We’re covered in mud, slipping. Anya laughing, Frank reluctantly clapping. 

“Go!” She calls. Jeb begins to run away.

“Get back ‘ere!” I yell. It’s like I’m 14 again, wrestling with Billy. Anya runs out in the yard to help us. She picks up handfuls of snow and tosses them at us. Jeb knocks me over. I pretend he’s hurt my side.

“Oh!” I yelp and curl over. He instantly jumps back, worried, concerned. I spin around and take him at his knees. 

“You little…!” He hollers in between heavy breaths and laughter. Anya falls into the grass, she’s been laughing too much. Shivers, cold. Jeb and I are at it now, one after another. I’m surprised he’s able to fight me, he’s so old and worn down. 

Blast. 

A gun fire rings out. We see a snarling zombie, from across the road, fall. 

“Get in the house. Fun’s over.” Frank says stiffly. Anya skips in. I help Jeb up and we walk together back into the house. 

“I say it’s a tie, Jeb.” I whisper. 

“Tie.” Jeb smiles at me and winks. He’s like a good old Grandpa with a whole extra bit of life in him and I’m still fourteen.

“The Soulless” V

Anya is trapped beneath the glove compartment while the zombie fights to wrap his jaws around Frank. 

“Get ‘im!” Jeb cries from the back seat. The front and back are separated by a cage.  

I grab the struggling creature’s face, its jagged motions are almost robotic. It’s strong but I manage to slam its skull against the dashboard, giving Frank enough time to crack it with the hatchet. 

Rest. 

The doors are all shut. We’re surrounded. The zombie carcass lies between Frank and I. Frank winces with pain. 

“Have you been bit?” I ask urgently. He moans loudly before he replies. 

“I fell on the… on the ax. My arm…” Frank manages to say. Anya is crying beneath the dashboard, crowded by bits of zombie, Frank’s grass stained boots and blood. 

“Are ya gonna be alright?” Jeb asks. He looks with a sober thoughtfulness that wasn’t present before.

“Who the hell are you? Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Frank sighs, wrapping his arm up with his jacket. “Drive, Tom, just get us the hell away.” 

I don’t hesitate. I start the engine and I drive.

I’m speeding down the flat, straight country road. I leave behind the mass of zombies. They can’t keep up with the buzzing engine.

“Boy, I wish I had me a beer or something!” Jeb yawns from the back seat. We kicked the zombie body, and its fragments, out of the car while we were still moving. We want to make it to the camp before nightfall. The sun sets around 5pm; the skyline is already showing the blue topaz mysticism that accompanies winter nightfall. 

“We’ll be there soon,” Frank says calmly. He tightens his grip on the jacket. 

“There’s something there for you to drink,” Anya says quietly, lost in the passing road. “Oh!” She suddenly shrieks. “Oh our neighbors, the Reilly’s! I hope they’re okay!” 

“I wouldn’t count on it, sweetie,” Frank says simply. “I wouldn’t, anyway. I mean all our families, what’s become of them- probably the same fate as the guy we just tossed.” 

“Please!” Anya cries and falls into my shoulder, covering her ears.

“How much longer?” Jeb asks irritated with the noise in the car. 

The long monotonous driving leaves our minds on the heavy subject of death- in the heat of battle we forget but now we’re lost in it, contemplating every mistake.  

“I would say about a half hour. Not long, we’re almost there,” Frank tells Jeb. Frank rests his forehead on the window, he wants to sleep, his squinty eyes are dying like the sun. 

Jeb moves close to the back of my head, I can smell his liquor tainted breath. “You don’ talk much, do’ya?” 

“I’m concentrating on the road,” I tell him for lack of a better response. What am I supposed to say? This car ride has given me four hours worth of evidence of why I hate the human race. I never want to spend four hours in the car with another person- ever. This car is so crowded. A drunkard in the back, a cop, a Russian college student in the passenger seat, and a pathetic self-loathing 25 year old driver.

Only 26 more minutes to ago.

I pull around a long dirt bend, the tires of the car sink into the mire. After driving a ways down, the car will no longer budge, it sinks further and further into the quicksand-like mud.

“We’ll have to push it the rest of the way,” I tell them. Frank curses and rolls down the window. “We can’t live without the car, Frank.”

“Don’t I know it, donchya think I know it? I know we can’t live without this damned car!” He snarls, clutching his arm tighter. “Anya, how far until the house?” 

“Not far, not far! You can see it there- see? Around the bend, through that thicket, that’s our house,” 

I told Frank to get into the driver seat. Jeb, Anya and I trudge through the mud, ankle deep, sucking and pulling on our feet.  Luckily, the driveway slants slightly downhill. 

We place our cold, stained hands on the back bumper. I see my disheveled reflection. Is that me?

“Ready?” I ask quietly. I know no one will ever be. “Go!”

Frank floors the pedal of the police car, the tires toss up large hunks of earth, mud, grass. The reluctant mud releases my foot. I place it ahead and then again. Soon there is a slow rotation, despite the Earth’s mighty grip, we are all pushing this car down this driveway to a blue carport- the most beautiful blue carport ever. It’s more of a watery indigo, lighting up in the dusty dusk sky. 

The car moves, Anya trips and lands her elbow on the bumper. Jeb is growling; I’m afraid he might have a heart attack from working so hard, tears are forming in his eyes. One foot in front of the other. 

I retract at the sight of a figure standing in a clearing.

He’s watching us. 

“The Soulless” IV

It’s been two hours since we sped away from the toxic-smelling gas station. 

What a goddamn horrible situation. 

We are on a country road and have found that it is safe to stop and get out, there aren’t as many of them here. In the last hour we’ve only seen one, he seemed lost, sort of disoriented. 

We’re stopped now, I’m on the roof of the car, looking out, Frank’s gun at my side, glinting in this blank expanse of sky and sun. It’s a weak sun, giving us little heat to relish in. Anya is looking around in the car, sometimes she reminds me of a little girl. She sort of plays around with things when she isn’t scared, she examines them with her big, doe eyes. Frank is off in the distance pissing. 

“Hey, there, you wanna let me outta here?” I hear someone ask below. Anya shrieks and hops out of the car, she wriggles her way up onto the roof with me. I lean over and look into the window. In the back seat, a tired-looking man, bound by silver handcuffs, is lying on the floor. 

I slip off the roof and unlock the backdoor with the keys, my hand is resting softly on the gun. Whoever he is, he’s probably an asshole. 

“Who are you?” I ask. The man readjusts himself so he’s sitting in the seat. 

“Oh, howdy…” The man sputters while gulping some air. On his forehead is a large bruise, it’s all covered in brown blood. His eyes are puffy, giant blue sacks hang beneath them. 

“Who are you?” I sound like a no-nonsense jerk. I learned that from my dad. Anya is holding tight to me, squinting at the man from behind the safety of my elbow. I like that she looks to me for protection. I will protect her, too. She can’t do shit to anyone with those little wrists. 

“My name is Jeb Orson,” he tells me. “I was picked up last night. This man kept charging at the car, I remember that. Well, I was pretty drunk, I’ll tell ya,” he chuckles softly and continues. “The cop gets out, see, and this person starts- well, eating him! All night this goes on! Well, I’m pretty fucking lucky I was drunk outta my mind ‘er I woulda shit myself!” 

“Did you just wake up?” I ask him, I try not to lighten my tone, but it lightens anyway. I’m bored with the tough guy routine. The guy’s a plain drunk, perhaps a reflection of what I might be in a few years. 

“Gotta piss!” He eyes the field we’re parked beside. I nod and move to the side. Anya backs up more than necessary, still wary of our new companion. “The key to these is on the key ring for the car. Couldya click-click?” 

I search for it and hesitantly begin to unlock him.

“Listen, I’m not gonna hurt you or your girlfriend, I just gotta piss. Unless you wanna unzip m’pants for me? I’m not a murderer, I was just blind drunk- and probably causing quite the disturbance!” He’s right. So I unlock him and place the cuffs on the roof of the car with the keys- but I hold onto the gun. 

…My girlfriend? 

He shows no decency, he unzips his pants and pisses right in front of us, burps, wipes his hands together and turns around. 

“Where we headed?” He asks cheerfully. 

“To her camp,” I motion to Anya. “I’m Tom Lestrange. This is Anya Panova and we’re with this cop, Frank Something. He’s over there… somewhere.” 

“Interesting!” Jeb doesn’t seem to understand the situation, he’s too bright and gleeful. 

“We had to,” I tell him seriously. “We’re under attack. There’s this sickness.” 

“Hmm, what do ya know!” Jeb says dismissing the whole matter. He rocks on his heels for a few minutes then returns to his place in the back seat. I look at him for a long time with my eyebrows knitted. I can’t understand his ease–perhaps, he’s far beyond caring. He probably long ago lost his will to live, his motive for breathing, his need for survival.   

I’m sitting in the driver’s seat. My leg is propped up on the open car door. Anya is searching through my bag. She finds my wallet and begins to look through it in a childish sort of way, examining each of the pretty cards. Inside she finds some crumpled pictures.

One is of my mom and dad, it’s folded through the center, the crease is now white. The other is a picture of the entire family, it was taken after I turned 18. 

My dad, with his hard, insensitive brown eyes, stares directly at the camera. He didn’t smile for photos. I remember just how the photo session went. 

“Dammit Grace, I don’t even wanna do this!” My dad roared yet he stood there while she fixed his tie and brushed off his shoulders. She ran her fingers through his hair. Most of his hair was missing yet it was still jet black, it was black the day he died, too.

“I know, I know! Would ya just smile for this one, please!” She laughed to herself as she turned to the mirror. She truly wanted him to smile but she had given up believing he would do the small things she asked. So my mother made it a joke and laughed off his anger and his disagreeable nature. 

“Where the hell is that Goddamn son of mine?” After three sons, my father only really acknowledged one. Joel, the first born, was his favorite, and my father never hesitated to show it. Joel, although has accomplished a lot in his life, has also made some mistakes- but they’d never amount to the mistakes Billy and I have made. Never. 

“He’ll be here, Paul.” Billy had taken to calling my dad by his first name that winter. Although my father never said anything, whenever he heard it, he’d glance over at Billy with an unmistakable look of disdain. Billy did it because he liked to joke around and piss off our dad. That’s Billy for you.

I sat, looking over it all, in an uncomfortable chair. My mom made me wear a green vest and these awkward fitting pants. She insisted I looked handsome. I remember not caring. The only thing I cared about was Joel arriving so we could take the picture and I could leave. I was gonna get laid that night for the first time ever. I can’t remember the girl’s name- but damn. 

Joel finally came in. My dad pulled away from my mom’s comb-like fingers. He greeted Joel with a hug, a smile and a heavy pat on the back. 

Joel never noticed his fairly obvious advantage over Billy and myself. He never noticed the look of pride Dad would give him, he never noticed the blatant denial of his failures. 

“Hiya, boys!” That still pisses me off. Joel always refers to Billy and I as “the boys”, as if he is disconnected from us, like he’s our uncle instead of our brother. He’s not very much older, only seven years older than myself and three years older than Billy. But, there’s always been a chasm, a divide. It was Dad and Joel having manly talks and somewhere across the world, Billy and I were merely existing. 

He was always an asshole. He was always a vain, self-inolved jerk and he learned it all from the wealth of attention my father gave him. My father always encouraged Billy and I to “be more like Joel”. I never wanted to be like Joel. But, despite my every intention to not end up like Joel, I’m on the same path. Billy took the initiative, Billy took all the classes Dad told him not to. Billy is really living. 

The photographer, my father’s friend since childhood, Wally, called us all together.

Click. 

The result. My mother over-smiling, but still pretty in her favorite amethyst dress. She had wanted to take a family photo for so long. Beside her my father sits, looking almost angry at Wally.  Behind them, we three stand. I’m behind my mother. I have on a cocky smile like I just won an award. It’s my, “Look, ma, I’m a jackass,” signature smile. I laugh at the picture because I had highlights in my hair then. It was all the rage.

On the other side, behind my dad is Billy, who is almost cringing. He always looked most like our Mom, with bright green eyes and dingy brown hair, slightly curly. 

In the middle, the focal point of the picture, upon my father’s request, is the tall, lean, blond, Joel Lestrange, with an even, toothy smile. 

And that’s my family, summed-up pretty well by an hour long photo session six years ago. 

I’m thankful when Anya places the photo back. 

“Haven’t you got a girl?’ She asks in a worried tone.

I look at her. My expression begs, “Are you joking? Look at me.”

“Help!” I hear Frank across the field and I jump out of the car. I’ve never moved so quickly, I’m on top the roof with the gun ready. “No! You idiot! Start the car!” 

I pause. Then I see what Frank is sprinting so quickly from. Behind him, maybe twenty zombies are chasing him. I have never seen a man run so fast, his face is so red. I trip and fall, slam into the driver seat. I start the engine and watch intently while Frank slips on the wet grass, head-first into the police car. He lets out a painful scream. The zombies weren’t far behind, they all slam into the car.

One falls in.