Undead. John Russo
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“They’re scared of fire, too—I found that out.”
Still standing dumbly in the center of the room holding her knife in one hand and the tobacco tin in the other, Barbara watched as Ben stepped forward and his eye measured the size of the big windows. He looked all around the room—and finally his eyes fixed on the large dining table and he moved quickly toward it, talking as he moved, resuming his train of thought.
“There must’ve been fifty, maybe a hundred of those things down in Cambria when the news broke.”
Barbara watched, almost transfixed. At his mention of the number of the things, her eyes reflected amazement and frightened curiosity. Ben dragged the heavy table away from the wall, then walked around it studying its size, and hoisted one end and turned it onto its side. Bracing it against himself, he heaved on one of the legs and tried to break it free. With a great ripping sound, the table leg came loose, after a tremendous effort on Ben’s part, and he dropped it onto the rug—with a loud, heavy thud. He continued talking, breathing heavily and perspiring as he worked, punctuating his remarks with vengeance on the table as he ripped all the legs off, one by one.
“I saw a big gasoline truck, you know…down at Beekman’s? Beekman’s diner. And I heard the radio—there’s a radio in the truck…”
He wrenched at the second table leg. It cracked loudly but did not come free. He moved to where the claw hammer lay, in the middle of the floor.
“This gasoline truck came screaming out of the diner lot onto the road—must’ve been ten…fifteen…of those things chasing it—but I didn’t see them right away—they were on the other side of the truck. And it looked strange, the way the truck was moving so fast…instead of taking its time pulling out of the diner and onto the road.”
POW! POW!
With two powerful swats of the claw hammer, he freed the second table leg, and it clattered to the floor. Ben tossed it into the corner, and moved to the third leg.
“I just saw this big truck at first—and it looks funny how fast it’s coming out onto the road. And then I saw those things—and the truck was moving slower, and they were catching up…and grabbing…and jumping on. They had their arms around the driver’s neck…”
Another table leg fell loose and thudded to the rug. Ben was breathing very hard. And Barbara was listening, both horrified and fascinated by his story.
“And that truck just cut right across the road—through the guard rail, you know. And I had to hit my brakes, and I went screeching all over the place, and the truck smashed into a big sign and into the pumps of the Sunoco station down there. I heard the crash. And that big thing started burning—and yet it was still moving, right through the pumps and on into the station—and I’m stopped, dead in my tracks. And I saw those things…and they all started to back off…some of them running…or trying to run…but they run kind of like they’re crippled. But they keep backing off. And it’s like…it’s like they gotta get away from the fire—and the guy driving the truck couldn’t get out nohow—the cab of the truck was plowed halfway into the wall of the Sunoco station—and he’s being burned alive in there and he’s screaming—screaming like hell…”
Barbara’s eyes deepened, and her face wrinkled in anxiety. The continuing nightmare, for her, was growing more and more complex.
Ben swatted the last table leg from the table, and the table top started to drop. It was heavy. He regained control of it and struggled, trying to drag it across the room. Barbara moved toward him and took hold of an end of the table, but did not really help much, as it was really too heavy for her to pitch in.
“I don’t know what’s gonna happen,” Ben said. “I mean, I didn’t know if the gas station was going to explode…or fly to pieces…or what’s gonna happen. I just started driving down the road, trying to get far away in case there was an explosion…and the guy in the truck is screaming and screaming…and after a while he just stops.”
He set down the table, and wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead. His breathing was still heavy from the previous exertion. He wiped his hand on his shirt. His eyes were wide and angry with the remembrance of the events he was describing for Barbara, and it almost seemed as though he might weep.
“And there those things were…standing back…across the road…standing looking like…looking like…like they just came back from the grave or something. And they were over by the diner, and there was cars and buses in the diner lot, with lots of windows smashed. And I knew those things must’ve finished off all the people in the diner, and more were outside, all over the place just biding their time for a chance to move in. So I went barreling right across the road in my truck—and I drove it right at some of those things—and I got a good look at them, I saw them for the first time in my lights—and then…I just run right down on them—and I grind down as hard as I can—and I knock a couple of them about fifty feet, flailin’ into the air. And I just wanted to crush them—smash them filthy things. And they’re just standing there. They don’t bother to run. They don’t even bother to get out of the road. Some of them keep reaching out, as if they could grab me. But they’re just standing there…and the truck is running them down…as if…as if they were a bunch of bugs…”
Seeing the fear in Barbara’s eyes, Ben stopped himself. She was wide-eyed, staring in disgust, her hands still resting on the table top.
He refocused his attention on the table top, and started to lift it again. Barbara was practically motionless. As he tugged on the table, her hands fell away and she slowly pulled them against herself. He dragged the table, unassisted, toward the window he intended to board up with it.
He looked at Barbara. She stared back, practically expressionless.
“I’m just…I…I got kids,” Ben said rubbing his perspiring forehead with his sleeve. “And…I guess they’ll do all right. They can take care of themselves…but they’re still only kids…and I’m being away and all…and…”
His voice trailed off, as he had gotten no response from Barbara and didn’t know what to say next. He tugged at the table, and allowed it to lean against the wall.
“I’m just gonna do what I can,” he said, making an effort to sound positive. “I’m going to do what I can, and I’m gonna get back…and I’m gonna see my people. And things are gonna be all right…and…I’m gonna get back.”
His talk had begun to repeat itself, and he realized he had started to babble, and he saw the girl intently watching him, and he stopped. He composed himself with some effort, and started to speak a little more slowly. His voice became almost a monotone, with enforced calm, but beneath his anger and his fear he was a brave man, and he was bound and determined not to lose his confidence. He knew the girl was in need of bolstering, if she was going to be able to cope with the situation. Like it or not, his survival was to some measure dependent on hers, and on how well he could get her to cooperate and overcome her fear.
“Now, you and me are gonna be all right, too,” he told her. “We can hold those things off. I mean…you can just…smash them. All you have to do is just keep your head and don’t be too afraid. We can move faster than they can, and they’re awfully weak compared to a grown man…and if you don’t run and just keep swinging at them…you can smash them. We’re smarter than they are. And we’re stronger than they are. We’re gonna stop them. Okay?”
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