ROLL CALL
Carson
Ryder: Former marine/Former police officer/Suffers from retrograde amnesia/
Searching for clues to his past
Damien
Albright: Found and saved Carson/Has no family or friends outside of the
group/Doesn’t seem to have a care in the world
Kenny
Sudrow: Former spa porter/Happy to be doing something else
Chase
Crawford: Religious zealot/Loner/Keeps to himself
Eli
Burton: Survivor found in Cherrywood Mall/Parents were rich and left him a
large inheritance when they died
Vern
Sheldon: Former truck driver/Carries a badass flamethrower
Terry
Watts: Proprietor of the Starlight Hotel
Valentina
Jackson: A new ally that was saved by Carson Ryder
IN THE FLESH
By Daniel Skye
PART THIRTEEN
CHARLOTTE
Without a calendar handy, it was hard
for the group to keep track of the days and months. But Kenny Sudrow estimated
they were somewhere in the month of February, maybe even March.
Winter would soon pass. Once the snow
thawed, Carson Ryder had decided he’d resume his journey on foot, with or
without the aid of the group.
If his wife and child were in Arkansas, it
was his mission to locate and reunite with them. He wasn’t going to just forget
about them, not after coming this far. He had bonded with Kenny, Vern, Eli,
Damien, and even Chase in the months they had spent together. But even with his
broken memories, he understood that family came first.
The group still had food, water, supplies,
and ammunition. But they were running low in that final category. They had the
newly acquired AK-47s from their last trip to town, but each gun had half a
magazine left and no backup rounds of ammo.
They also had gasoline, but with both
vehicles having been destroyed by Willard Pickman, they had little use for fuel
now. Vern had used some to refill the tank of his flamethrower, but the rest of
the gasoline cans sat unused inside a storage closet.
The bombs that Pickman had constructed were
not the work of a meticulous engineer. They were made with clear haste. There
was minimal wiring, but he’d done a sloppy job with it and the first bomb
failed to detonate. Sadly, the group could not claim the same for the second
bomb. The explosion demolished the group’s van and decimated Vern’s box truck.
They lost Pickman along with the vehicles.
Terry Watts was fuming about the damage done to the exterior of his hotel. But
he calmed down after a few minutes and came to his senses. In the end, Terry
was just thankful no one else got hurt or killed in the blast. And the group
promised to do what they could to repair the damage.
The vestibule had been damaged in the
blast, the doors blown off the hinges. But the group had already resolved this
dilemma. Damien and Carson had managed to get the doors standing and propped
back up. The doors were reinforced with scrap metal taken from the wreckage.
The lock was busted beyond repair, so Vern welded it shut from the outside with
his flamethrower. For the time being, they relied on side doors and emergency
exits to get in and out.
After Willard Pickman’s meltdown and
subsequent death, Chase Crawford had stepped forward, finally breaking the bad
news to the group. He had told them of Willard’s confession about the
underground lab in Texas.
Even if the place did exist, without
Pickman, they had no hope of finding it.
All that was left for them to do was wait
for the inevitable…death. But they weren’t going to wait lying down.
* * *
Day One Hundred and Seventy-Eight.
The snowfall had commenced overnight and
showed no signs of letting up. The ground was already a sheet of ice, and the
new snow just added to the old snow that had accumulated in the passing days.
It had been a colder winter than the state
of Tennessee was used to seeing. Terry Watts, a native Tennessean, was
certainly not accustomed to snowfall of this magnitude and spent most nights
huddled with the group by the fireplace in the lobby. But the frigid conditions
still failed to keep the Biters at bay. Not a day passed that Carson didn’t see
at least one Biter roaming past the hotel.
Like the snow, these vectors of
disease showed no signs of letting up. They had no quit inside of them, only an
insatiable hunger that could never be extinguished or erased.
Vern Sheldon awoke in total darkness with
his clothes, sheets, and pillow cases drenched in cold sweat. “Just a
nightmare,” he huffed, wiping sweat from his brow and trying to regulate his
breathing. In his horrific dreams, he’d seen Chuckie Razzano being torn limb
from limb by a pack of feral Biters. He saw the blood, the intestines, the exposed
ribcage. It was an image that could never be dissolved from his memory.
Truth be told, no one who witnessed the
macabre spectacle had been sleeping well.
Kenny Sudrow was up before dawn. For
breakfast, Kenny helped himself to an energy bar and a shot of bourbon. The alcohol
helped ease his misery. Without a shred of hope, Kenny could only see a bleak,
meaningless future. But he wasn’t about to throw in the towel like others had.
He was going to see this through to the end.
So was Carson Ryder, who had woken to
a startling revelation. The name of his young daughter.
Her name was Charlotte. He finally had a
name to match the face from the picture he kept in his pocket. Caroline and
Charlotte; wife and daughter. If they were still out there, he’d find them. The
search would no doubt be lengthy and arduous, but the hope of finding them was
what Carson needed to persevere.
Carson first shared the news with Damien,
who came in his room to check up on him around dawn. He told him of his recollected
memories and was delighted to repeat his daughter’s name, Charlotte.
“See, I told you eventually you’d start to
remember everything,” Damien said. “But what made you name her Charlotte?”
“I have a feeling it wasn’t my idea,” Ryder
said.
“Wives,” Damien chuckled. “I was married
once.”
“You? Get out of here.”
“I’m dead serious. She was a stone cold
fox. Eve Ellison. But for two and a half years she was Eve Ellison-Albright.
But things just didn’t quite work out.”
“Should I ask why?”
“Probably better if you didn’t,” Damien
said. “Hey, let’s see if there’s any of that bourbon left. I could use a pick
me up.”
* * *
Kenny was splayed out on one of the red
leather couches in the lobby, bottle of bourbon in hand. There was about a
quarter of the bottle left, and Kenny refused to put it down. The other couch
was occupied by Chase Crawford, who was deep in thought.
“I made some instant coffee if you’re
interested,” Vern said as he entered the lobby.
“Pass,” Kenny said, raising the bottle of
bourbon to show Vern his preferred drink.
“Maybe you should lay off that for a bit,”
Vern suggested.
“Maybe you should piss off,” Kenny barked.
Vern shrugged his shoulders as if to say
‘what can I do?” and then turned to Chase.
“No thanks,” Chase said, swallowing a small
pill with a gulp of water.
“What are those?”
“Carvedilol. It’s my heart medication. I’ve
been spacing them out ever since the outbreak. I only take them when I get bad
palpitations.”
“You’re not going to croak on us, are you
pops? I’ve grown kind of fond of you.”
“Never thought I’d hear anyone say that.
And no, I don’t plan on checking out anytime soon.”
Vern looked back at Kenny and shook his
head, then excused himself to return to his coffee. He passed Carson and Damien
in the hall and offered them a cup, but both politely declined. They wanted
strong drink instead.
They strolled into the lobby and Damien
almost cried when he saw what was left of his bottle. “There was half a bottle
left!” he shouted, his screams echoing through the lobby.
“Calm down,” Ryder said. “It’s only booze.”
“It’s irreplaceable booze,” Damien said. “I
don’t have another bottle waiting in the wings. That’s it. Do you?”
“Here,” Kenny said, waving the bottle in
the air. “Take it.”
Damien snatched the bottle from his hand
and gulped some down. “Greedy bastard,” Damien muttered. He passed the bottle
to Ryder who took a swig.
“How about you, old man?” Damien asked.
“Want some before it’s gone?”
“I don’t drink,” Chase replied.
“Should have guessed,” Damien said.
Valentina was one of the last to wake and
sauntered into the lobby just as they were finishing up the bottle. They were
nice enough to save the left few sips for her.
“So are you single?” Kenny asked.
“Is that a serious question?” Valentina
asked back.
“Can’t help a guy for being curious,” Kenny
said.
“Can’t help a girl for being not
interested,” Valentina retorted.
“Ouch,” Kenny mumbled. “Rip my heart out,
why don’t you?”
“Has anyone seen Eli this morning?” Chase
asked.
“I think he’s still in his room.” Valentina
said. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering,” Chase said.
“I don’t suppose we’ll be going back into
town anytime soon, will we?” Kenny asked out of the blue.
“No reason to,” Ryder said. “We’ve got
plenty of food, water, and medical supplies. And it’s freezing cold out there.
There’s nothing out there worth risking our lives for.”
But Kenny begged to differ…
* * *
When Terry Watts came downstairs to
meet Chase Crawford for their daily chess match, he gave Damien and Carson
something to occupy their time with.
“There’s a gas generator outside,”
Terry said. “Never could get it running. If you manage to start it up, we’ll be
able to get the TV’s going. I know the stations have been down forever, but I
got a working VCR and a bunch of old movies. Could be a good way to kill some
time.”
“Sounds like a fun little project to
work on,” Ryder shrugged.
“Beats sitting around all day,” Damien
agreed. “I’m bored as fuck in here.”
With Kenny’s head out of the game,
Damien and Carson turned to Eli for assistance. They needed someone to stand
guard while they worked on the generator.
The men wore appropriate winter
attire. Damien and Carson even wore two pairs of gloves as they toiled to get
the generator running. But they still felt the sting of frost as it nipped at
their exposed skin.
“What’s the deal with Kenny?” Eli
asked outside.
“He’s grieving,” Damien said.
“I didn’t know he and Chuckie were
that close,” Eli said.
“They weren’t,” Damien said. “He’s
grieving over the loss of his own life. Struggling with his mortality. I think
Chuckie’s death made him finally realize his old life is gone and it’s probably
never coming back. He’s just lost is all. He needs to find himself again.”
“He better pull himself together
soon,” Ryder said. “This group is dropping like flies. We can’t afford to lose
another person.”
The men were so distracted with the
generator they never even heard the side door creak open or saw Kenny take off
into the woods. Only Eli had spotted him as he kept watch with Carson’s
Remington shotgun. And he never uttered a word to the other men.
* * *
Back inside, heat flowed from the
brick fireplace. Vern had gotten the fire going and was gathered around in the
lobby with Terry, Chase, and Valentina when the other men trotted in from the
cold.
Damien flipped all the switches behind
the front desk and the lights in the lobby flickered on. “Let there be light,”
he proclaimed.
“You got it running,” Terry said in
awe.
“Took a little while but I think we
solved the problem,” Damien said.
“Excellent,” Terry said. “I’ll grab
the VCR and set up one of the televisions near the fire.”
“Not too close to the fire,” Chase joked.
As Terry got things set up, Eli,
Valentina, and Damien looked through the crate of VHS tapes he had brought down
from the second floor.
“Mrs.
Doubtfire, Ghostbusters, Clerks, Back to the Future, Pulp
Fiction,” Damien read the titles off. “I want to watch all of these.”
“I don’t know any of these titles so
it’s all the same to me,” Ryder shrugged.
“I vote for Ghostbusters,” Valentina said.
“Pulp
Fiction never gets old for me,” Vern said.
“Does he have The Ten Commandments with Charlton Heston?” Chase asked. “That’s a
classic.”
“Afraid not,” Damien said, rolling his
eyes.
“You know back in the 1970s, VHS tapes
cost about eighty bucks a pop?” Terry said as he hooked up a television and VCR
in the lobby.
“I guess today they’re compliments of
the house,” Valentina said.
They all selected a film and Terry
Watts tallied the votes, with Pulp
Fiction coming out on top. For the next two hours, they were in Heaven.
There were no rotting zombies shambling through the snow. No plague that had
spread like wildfire. Just a pleasant reprieve from the hell they had found
themselves living in.
“Where’s Kenny?” Ryder had asked. He
noticed his absence during Samuel L. Jackson’s big Ezekiel 25:17 monologue.
“I think he’s in his room,” Vern told
him. “Let him be.”
“You’re
right,” Ryder said, “He needs some space right now.”
* * *
Space was exactly what Kenny Sudrow
needed, as he had found himself cornered in the same liquor store that Damien
had obtained the bottles of bourbon and scotch. It was just one Biter at first
that staggered out from the stockroom. A shot rang out from the store as Kenny
raised and fired his semi-automatic pistol to take it down.
But the noise just drew more of them
out from their hiding places. In minutes, the liquor store was swarmed with
decaying Biters that ambled through the aisles. Fourteen shots later, Kenny was
out of ammo and the Biters just kept on coming. They had formed a line at the
door and were lumbering down the first aisle in Kenny’s direction.
Kenny fumbled with his gun as he dug
through his pockets in search for a fresh round of ammunition. With no spare
clips in his possession, Kenny was officially out of ammo. He tucked the
unloaded gun into his waistband and his eyes searched for an escape route. But
the Biters had him backed into a corner.
The Biter leading the pack lurched
forward with its arms extended towards him and Kenny could see its fingers had
rotted down to the bone. Its stomach had been torn open by some unknown hazard,
or perhaps a transient nemesis. Its intestines were spilling out onto the floor
of the liquor store as it approached Kenny and showed its jagged, begrimed
teeth.
A hail of bullets was fired through
the front door of the liquor store. Kenny ducked for cover as the operator of
the sub-machine gun didn’t stop firing until the entire throng of Biters was
exterminated.
“Tyler Reese,” the man said as he
stood in the doorway and lowered his sub-machine gun.
“Kenny Sudrow,” he replied as he got
up from the floor and dusted himself off. “Thanks for saving my ass.”
“Don’t mention it,” Reese said. “I’m
sure you would’ve done the same for me. Now what good do you have to drink in
this place?”
“I haven’t found anything yet. Looks
like all the shelves are bare.”
They took a look around the store, but
their search was abruptly interrupted by several armed intruders.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the leader of
the crew said, speaking with a thick Irish brogue. He was a tall, stout man
with broad shoulders and tree trunk legs and hair as red as fire. “But we’re
looking for a few certain individuals that might be in the area.”
“That’s one of them,” a voice cried,
and Kenny recognized it instantly. It was the voice of Freddie from the
supermarket. Carson had shot him in the chest, but apparently he didn’t finish
the job as the bullet had missed his vital organs.
The group hadn’t anticipated that
Freddie had more men stationed in the area. Men that would find him and patch
him up. They had been combing the area for days in search of Kenny and his
group.
“You shouldn’t have bothered coming
back to town, fella,” Freddie chided. “You just signed your own death warrant.”
“We won’t kill him yet,” the leader, Malcolm
McCredie, informed Freddie. “First he’s going to lead us to the Starlight
Hotel.”
* * *
It was past midnight when everyone but
Carson Ryder was awoken by Valentina Jackson’s screams. Ryder was already up,
waiting on the return of Kenny Sudrow. It was too dark to search for him, but
he couldn’t rest until he knew his friend was safe and sound. If Kenny didn’t
return by morning, Carson had vowed to go looking for him.
But at that moment, his mind traveled
elsewhere as the screams from Valentina drew him from his room and into the
hallway where he saw her running for her life. She stopped long enough to
inform him that one of the Biters had managed to wriggle their way into the
hotel.
Carson went for his shotgun, checked
the breech, and saw it was out of shells. By then, the Biter had turned the
corridor and was trundling down the hallway.
Valentina’s high pitched screams had
also caught the attention of Vern Sheldon, who sprang from his bed with his loaded
.357 Magnum and ran for the halls. The Biter was mere inches away when Vern
squeezed the trigger and brought it down.
“How in God’s name did it get in here?”
Valentina asked when things had settled down a bit.
“It didn’t use the front door,” Damien
said. “That’s for sure.”
“He’s right,” Vern said. “It’s welded
shut.”
“I just checked all the side doors and
emergency exits,” Eli told them. “They’re all sealed.”
“Then the only way it could have got
in is if somebody let it in on purpose,” Ryder said.
“That’s preposterous,” Valentina said.
“Why would anyone want to do that?”
“Guys,” Terry Watts called from Chase
Crawford’s room. “You better get in here.”
They rushed in to find Chase going into convulsions.
He was trembling and clutching at his chest. “I think he’s having a heart
attack.”
“He needs his medication,” Vern said.
“I can’t find it,” Terry said in a panic.
“Ebb!” Chase cried. “Ebb! Ebb!”
“Ebb?” Ryder repeated. “What’s he trying to
say?”
That was Chase Crawford’s last word…
To Be Continued With Part Fourteen: FIRST
BLOOD
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