Jason froze, but his pulse raced. Catherine squeezed his hand. Her nails dug into his flesh, but Jason barely felt it.
The largest of the pack, a mix of Labrador, Beagle, and Rottweiler, stepped forward and growled. A tag around its collar indicated that the dog’s name was Sam. Despite his terror, Jason almost laughed. Sam wasn’t what you named an attack dog. They had proper names like Killer or Lucifer. Sam was what you named a good dog. Perhaps a timid dog, the type to inch towards a stranger with its tail tucked firmly between its quivering legs and ears hanging down, to offer their outstretched hand a timid lick. Now, in death, it was the fiercest of the lot, and would quickly tear off any hand offered its way.
“Good dog,” he stammered. “Hello, Sam. There’s a nice dog.”
The feral zombie growled again, and Jason swore that it was trying to speak. As if there were words in some strange language hidden between the growls. The pack inched closer. Jason considered his blowtorch, but they’d be on him in the time it took to light it.
The wind shifted, and the stench from the rotting dogs filled their noses.
“Oh God.” Catherine squeezed his hand tighter, drawing blood.
Sam tensed, its haunches flexing beneath gorestained fur. The other twelve dogs in the pack growled in unison.
Jason tensed. “Catherine—”
The zombie leaped, trailing a length of purple intestine behind it.
“Run!”
Jason shoved Catherine forward, not daring to look over his shoulder. The dog panted behind him, the harsh, ragged breathing sounding like a steam engine. The rest of the pack followed its lead. Their untrimmed nails clicked on the pavement, nipping at his heels.
If we trip, Jason thought, we’re done for.
“The torch,” Catherine gasped. “Use it!”
“No time. Keep running!”
They dashed from the alley and into the street, weaving their way around wrecked and abandoned vehicles. The dogs pursued them.
“High ground,” Jason shouted. “We need to find higher ground. Some place where they can’t climb.”
Catherine darted towards a parked doubledecker tour bus, and scrambled up over the hood. Jason followed her. The steel buckled under their feet. They huddled together on the roof as the barking pack surrounded the vehicle. One of the dogs tried to leap onto the hood, but it slipped back off. Its claws screeched across the metal like nails on a chalkboard.
Jason’s throat burned. He tried to work up some saliva so that he could talk.
“What—what now?” Catherine gasped.
“I don’t know.”
“Can they get up here?”
“I don’t think so. We’re safe.” Even as he said it, he had to suppress a laugh.
The dogs attempted a few more leaps, and then gave up in frustration. The leader of the pack raised its snout and howled. Then the other dogs joined it. Catherine sat the meat cleaver aside and put her hands over her ears. “Make them stop!”
But they didn’t stop. The hellish cacophony grew louder and more frantic. Soon, the dog’s cries were answered. A dozen human zombies appeared from different buildings along the street. Some carried weapons. Others barely carried themselves. One particularly ripe cadaver had been split open from groin to neck, and its insides were a yawning, empty cavity. Jason wondered how it continued to function. The creatures crept closer, their stench reaching the trapped couple before the zombies did. They surrounded the lorry.
One of the zombies smiled, revealing blackened nubs of broken teeth. “Why not make this easy on yourselves? Come down.”
Catherine screamed, and Jason bit his tongue to keep from doing the same.
“Yes,” agreed another, ignoring Catherine. “We’ll make it quick if you surrender. You won’t feel a thing.”
“Wh-what?” Jason stammered.
“It’s very simple,” the first zombie sighed. “Climb down, and we’ll kill you quickly.”
“Or,” said another, “we can climb up after you, and slowly tear you to shreds. Which do you prefer?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw more of the creatures approaching. The street was alive with the dead. The dogs were growing restless.
“Hellhounds on our trail. Just like Robert Johnson.” Jason was a big fan of pre-war American Blues.
He reached out, took Catherine’s hand, and gave her a gentle squeeze. Then he grinned.
“What then?” he asked the creatures.
The lead zombie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if we accept—if we let you kill us quickly—what will you do with us after?”
“Your bodies will house our brothers. There are many of us waiting on the other side. Our number is more than infinity.”
Catherine stared at Jason, her mouth hanging open. Jason winked at her.
“Have you lost your mind?” she hissed.
“We’d prefer not to be eaten,” Jason told the corpses. “Is that possible?”
Catherine gasped. “Now look—”
The zombie interrupted her. “Those terms are acceptable. We just devoured a jeweler’s family earlier. But our brothers need your bodies. Come down.”
“No,” Jason said. “I’ll do it from up here. You get the bodies when I’m finished.”
“Bollocks,” the zombie snapped. “We’ll do it.”
“I’ll do it, or we’ll sit up here all day.”
“Then we’ll bloody well come up after you.”
Another zombie pulled the first aside. “Ob’s orders were to—”
“Ob’s not here, is he? He’s on the other side of this miserable planet.”
As they argued, Jason leaned over to Catherine and whispered in her ear. Her eyes grew wide as she listened. She shook her head.
“Catherine, it’s the only way.”
“No, I won’t!”
“I love you,” he said, and he meant it. He’d never meant it more than he did now.
He turned on the propane bottle and picked up the cleaver. The gas hissed.
One of the zombies spotted him and cried an alarm. The rest turned their attention back to their prey.Before they could reach him, Jason swung the cleaver, splitting Catherine’s head in half. Then he struck the match. The propane bottle exploded. Both of them were incinerated within seconds. Their souls were free, as were their bodies. The wind scattered their ashes, and as it whistled over the rooftops, it sounded very much like two voices, whispering of undying love…
SPOILERS
The Rising
Day Ten
Columbus, Ohio
After five days, the creature’s skin looked like a greasy, bloated sausage casing. The zombie was tied to the chair, and its flesh was swollen around the ropes, rupturing and leaking a stew of toxic juices. Mike replaced the rope with heavy stainless steel chains and padlocks instead.
Mike Goffee lived on the south side of downtown Columbus in a two-story house with ugly yellow siding. The home was in need of repairs, but he wasn’t much of a maintenance person. The front porch and back deck both leaned, and the garage needed painting. He’d been in no hurry to do it. Single, he lived alone, except for his cat. Five days ago, the cat got loose, jumping over the fence in the backyard. Mike hadn’t looked for it, because even then, it was dangerous to go outside. But that night, the cat came back—dead. And it brought company, a human zombie. Both had immediately attacked him. Mike crushed the cat’s head by dropping the microwave on it, and then pushed the refrigerator over on the other zombie, pinning it to the floor. Then, before it could free itself, he’d hacked its legs off at the knees and its arms at the elbows, and tied it to the chair in the living room—a captive audience.