Dead Endings

To do list: Keep moving and don’t stop.
It’s odd that I am still making my to do list even after all the hell that has broken loose. I suppose it has been a semi-conscience attempt to keep hold of something that makes sense or resembles real life. A life before my boy and I had to go on the road because dead people began to get up and eat the living.
A few days ago (though it feels like months) various news outlets began to report random outbreaks of violence, mostly in Asia, often mixed with reports of cannibalism. Most people, or at least the ones I knew, would dismiss this as pure craziness and the media, being what it was, didn’t help the situation by sensationalizing the story. It was reported by one middle east expert that these attacks were being carried out by a new wave of religious terrorist that had evolved beyond merely killing their victims, but believed that by eating them, the evil of the west would be consumed once and for all. Another expert, citing overpopulation studies done on rats, claimed that the planet had finally reached the maximum sustainable population and people, acting thru a mass hysteria, were correcting the population by eating each other, just as overcrowded rats had in the laboratory. There were even stories claiming that climate change was responsible, but I am not sure how global warming and cannibalism were ever linked together.
Now all of this, while bizarre and fascinating, was still a half a world away and I had bigger issues to deal with. I was the single father of a beautiful 8-year-old boy and had a more that full time job at the airport as a freight mover. It was a busy life, but the week went by quickly and I did my best to stretch out the weekends for the both of us.
It was Friday night and I had put Michael to bed and collapsed in my easy chair. I was exhausted from work and the boy had been particularly uncooperative that evening. Unusual for him, but not unheard of, and I was irritated. It was these rare moments that somewhere deep in my mind I cursed at Michael’s deadbeat mother for making me shoulder all of this responsibility alone, but I quickly banished any of those thoughts. Michael was the joy of my life and both of us were better off without her. He had no memories of her, so good riddance. Having enough of this heaviness, I snatched up the remote for some mindless distraction.
Things had changed since the last time I had sat in front of the television. The tone had gone from sensational and speculative to serious and a bit hectic as reports of grisly murders were coming in from all over the world. Curious about things closer to home, I flipped from cable news to our local station. The breaking story was that of local church pastor that had attack a group of parishioners during a service. When the police arrived, the pastor attacked them also, and the police had been forced to gun him down, but not before the pastor had actually consumed parts of his victims. What the hell was going on?
I flipped more stations, scanning for any more information on other attacks that had happened nearby and found none. After turning off the TV, I double checked the door locks and headed for bed. I looked in on Michael, his face with the utterly carefree expression only found on a sleeping child, and scooped him up in my arms. I picked up his pillow, blanket, and puppy stuffed animal that he loved so much, walked to my room, and laid him on my bed without the little boy ever awakening. I laid down beside him and fell asleep.

To do list: Go to the grocery, mow the lawn, and do laundry.
I woke up that morning with Michael staring at me, a big grin on his face. I returned the smile and was rewarded with the little boy pouncing on to my chest. I tickled him off of me and we both tumbled out of bed. I headed for the shower and he headed for the television, video games, and a two Pop Tart breakfast. It was a pretty good start on a Saturday morning.
A half an hour later I had moved to the kitchen for coffee. Michael was still engrossed in his digital entertainment, and I decided I would let him play for a while longer before he had to get dressed. I wanted to get finished with today’s “chores” so we could have some free time this afternoon, but another 30 minutes wouldn’t hurt anything. I was pouring my second round of coffee, ready to head to the family room for some morning news when I heard a high pitched yelp that came to a sudden stop from the backyard. I immediately rushed out, knowing from the sound alone, that it had been the neighbors black cocker spaniel. I had no love for the dog, all it ever did was bark incessantly whenever I stepped out onto my back porch, but that was a cry of pain and I may not have liked the animal, but I didn’t want to see it suffer either.
Stepping out and closing the sliding glass door behind me, I saw that someone had come into my yard and was leaning over the chain link fence that divided my neighbors property and mine. I yelled at the figure, stepping forward, and he slowly straitened and turned to face me, the dog clutched in his hands. I instantly recognized him as a man I had seen many times walking past my house, not at all unusual because of the long sidewalked road I lived on. During the warmer months, there was always a myriad of people walking, jogging, and bicycling, up and down the street and this guy was often out two or three time a day. He looked like a youngish grandfather, thinning white hair, a bit of a potbelly, and slightly eschewed fashion sense and I had always imagined that he walked because of some major health issue. I thought heart attack or stroke, but most likely he just walked for the exercise.
Instantly, all of my benign musings vanished as my vision caught up to my brain. His completion was an ashen gray and his normally well-groomed hair was wild. His eyes were dull and didn’t move, but locked on to me with a tilted and slightly lolling head. He dropped the unmoving dog, the mans face and chest drenched in dark blood, and reached out towards me. A piece of flesh fell from his stained lips as his mouth opened and he began a deep throaty moan as he stepped forward.
Horror overwhelmed me as I realized that this man had actually grabbed the canine and bitten a chuck out of the spaniel’s throat. He lurched towards me, his movement stiff and uncoordinated, and I stumbled backwards. Suddenly I was on my back. I had completely lost my bearings and had tripped over my boys big green turtle shaped sandbox. Before I could regain my footing, the old man was on top of me. He pushed his face towards mine, jaws snapping, and I grabbed him by the throat to stop his advance. His skin felt like some old dried fruit and I could see bits of the dogs flesh still caught in his white teeth.
I desperately tried to shove him off of me, but his full weight was pressed onto my chest and I couldn’t release his neck without his questing jaws making contact. I managed to get one hand under his sticky chin and pushed his head up, momentarily avoiding his bite, but he was latched firmly onto my clothing and trying to pull me in closer. My other hand flailed around blindly searching for anything I could use to ward off my attacker and found the stone squirrel lawn ornament that sat on the lid of the sandbox during windier days. I smashed it into the side of his head as hard as I could and he released his grip. Momentum took him off of me and I scrambled to my feet, stone ornament still in my hand.
The gore covered man slowly climbed to his feet as I stood there panting, the sensory overload of the situation temporarily freezing me. His face around his left eye and cheekbone had been slightly caved in and his eye socket was now an odd shape. He came forward again, still moaning, as if the had never even been hit.
I yelled for him to stay back, and overcome with panic and adrenalin, I brought the ornament down onto his head with everything I could muster. He collapsed in a heap, finally quiet and still, and I could see that his skull had actually cracked straight down his forehead revealing what I could only assume was brain. The stone squirrel ornament, now in more than one piece, fell from my hands, and I went down on one knee and vomited.
Shakily, I tried to regain my composure, climbed to my feet, and looked thru the glass to check on Michael. I expected him to be staring out of the sliding glass door, horrified at what his Dad had just done, but he was still firmly planted in front of the TV playing his game. Thank God.
My hands still quaking from adrenalin overload, I went to the garage and found a blue plastic tarp that we had once used on a camping trip and covered the corpse in the backyard. I went back inside, pausing a moment to compose myself, and perhaps a bit too gruffly, I ordered Michael to get dressed. When he was out of the room, I grabbed up the phone and dialed 911. The phone line clicked and I prepared to tell what had happened, calmly and without embellishment when I was greeted by an automated message saying that all of the circuits were busy right now. I tried again and received the same message. I hung up and went to the television.
Every station was running crawls on the bottom of their broadcast, apparently the violence was escalating at an alarming rate worldwide. No one was saying definitively what was causing all of this but “unsubstantiated” and “unofficial” sources were claiming that dead corpses were reanimating and attacking the living. They were also reporting that a single bite from one of these things would quickly kill the injured party and they in turn, would reanimate and continue the cycle. I knew any rational person would dismiss all of this as pure insanity, but I had fought off one of these things and looked into those dull lifeless eyes, and I knew that it was all true. They were dead and they were hungry.
The news continued, saying that the only way to stop a corpse was to destroy the brain, preferably shooting it in, or completely removing, the head. I quickly looked into the backyard and saw that the tarp-covered body had not moved. I had certainly cracked his skull, but I didn’t know if I had done enough damage to keep it down. Apparently I had; it was still there.
My mind spun with what all of this meant. My first concern was of course for Michael’s safety and I had a feeling that a house with so many windows in a crowded suburb was not the best place to be if a group of walking dead came sniffing around. I knew that I had to get the boy as far away from those things as I could and the television was showing that the government was acting too slow to provide antiquate protection. We would have to leave, and it had to be soon. I Googled the United States population and found that the southwest, specifically places in Arizona and Utah seemed pretty sparse of people and decided that would be our destination. I would worry about a safe place to live when we got there.

To do list: Secure a better vehicle, get supplies, and head west.
Michael was secure in his booster seat in the back of the car as we headed to my place of work at the airport. When we arrived, I drove thru the security checkpoint with little resistance. I wasn’t expecting trouble, I knew most to the guard staff, and security protocols for airport personnel were nowhere as stringent as it was for passengers. Only one guard had even bothered to report for work, an older personable fellow I knew as Roger. I signed in and gave some flimsy excuse about having to get my wallet out of my locker here at work, and not being able to secure a sitter for my son. It was all a lie of course, but I had to get us onto the airport grounds.
Roger waved us thru and we drove to the vehicle annex. It was completely empty of people, a combination of Saturday and the current state of the outside world, a good thing for what I had in mind. We parked and entered the vehicle annex garage and the boy became enamored by the collection of belt loaders, tugs, crew trucks, and giant lifts stored here. I had to pull Michael along, his eyes wide with delight, sorry that I didn’t have time to indulge his fascinations. Our final target was more mundane and soon I had found it.
We often used standard, full size cargo vans to get around the miles and miles of airfield and surrounding buildings and I knew that we had recently received some new ones to replace parts of the aging fleet and I located exactly what I was looking for. It was strictly no frills, windowless and white with an empty cargo area and only the driver and passenger seat. I worked quickly, locating the keys and removing unwanted equipment, with the exception of a small toolbox. I looked around and found two metal 5-gallon fuel containers and a full size crowbar and secured them in the back of the van. Michael pestered me constantly with questions about what I was doing and I deflected them as best I could. I didn’t want to admit to my little boy that we were stealing this van.
I grabbed his booster seat from out car and an emergency road kit from the trunk and we claimed into the van. Michael was overcome with wonder by what must have seemed as a grand adventure to him. He sat in his seat next to his Dad, instead of in the back seat like he had always done and beamed with pride. I grinned back, momentarily forgetting the grimness of the situation that I thought was unfolding, and we drove out of the building.
We stopped by the annex fuel dump, a set of gas pumps located in an open area far from any buildings, to gas up. Across a field, perhaps two hundred yards away, were three figures slowly heading towards me and, because of their stiff and uncoordinated gait, I knew immediately what they were. Somehow, some of the walking corpses had gotten inside the fence that ran the entire airport perimeter. I finished fueling up long before the things could close the gap and we were off.
We pulled up to the guard shack and I didn’t see the familiar sight of any security personnel thru the windows of the little building. The shack door, on the interior side of the gate was partially open and it looked as if Roger had decided to abandon his post and head home. I honked the horn to see if security would make a sudden appearance and was surprised by something much worse.
Two figures rose up into sight within the guard shack. Both, a male and a female, had the same chalky completion and hollow glassy eyes and both were covered in blood. Both wore the uniforms of airport personnel. A jolt ran up my spine as it dawned on me that these things were not only on the airport grounds, but they were inside the airport itself.
The two, stiff legged and jerky in their movement, pushed their way out to the building and headed towards me. I hastily put the van in reverse and backed up a good 25 yards to consider my options. I could just ram my way thru the gate Hollywood style but I did not want to risk damaging the van so I rapidly settled for another solution. I returned the gearshift to drive and went forward and rammed the walking corpses with enough force to knock them down, but hopefully not enough to hurt the vehicle. I continued forward feeling a sickening bump as I ran them over. In quick succession, I stopped, reversed, and repeated the process, again with the same horrible bump. I pulled forward again, this time stopping where I believed the things would be directly under my wheels. I put the vehicle in park, trying to be numb towards what I had just done and I heard a slight gasp from the passenger seat. With the horror and urgency of the situation, I had completely forgotten about Michael and now he had just witnessed his father do a very terrible thing.
In a squeaking voice the asked why I had hurt those people. I replied in the gentlest tone I could muster that they weren’t people but they were monsters. He immediately retorted that I had told him that there was no such thing as monsters. He was absolutely correct in that I had told him that many times, usually as I was tucking him into bed, but he had just seen two of them up close, and we both knew I had been wrong.
I climbed out of the van, crowbar in my hand, and quickly locked the door behind me. I had to step over moving legs that were jutting out from below the vehicle because I had apparently come to a stop on the back of the male corpse with the drivers front tire. I was sure that its ribs and chest had to be crushed, but it was still literally kicking. The female had been caught under the rear passenger tire by the knee and shin and her leg was twisted at an impossible angle as the corpse tried to claw its way free and towards me. Both moaned in a throaty unison.
I quickly entered the guard shack and found Roger, or what was left of him. He was lying on the floor of the shack, much of his insides now on the outside and he still held his revolver in his lifeless hand. I fought back a gag and as I located the gate control and punched the button to open it. Careful not to slide in the pooled blood and gore, I took the gun from the guards limp fingers. One minute later, we were on our way home for the last time.
I backed the van into our garage and ordered Michael to stay in his seat and yell if he anybody coming up the driveway. He was thrilled to be helping, and I had no doubt that he would make an excellent sentry. Beginning in the boys room, I pulled the mattress off of his top bunk and along with all of the pillows and blankets that we owned, dragged them into the back of our white van. I went back to his room and filled his school backpack with some books, action figures, and little spaceships that he liked so much and slung the pack over my shoulder. I next grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen and filled it with all of the clean clothes I could find and headed back to the kitchen. I snatched everything edible that did not need to be cooked or refrigerated. There wasn’t much, but we would have to make do living on chips, Pop Tarts, and granola bars until I could come up with a better idea. Michael would probably be thrilled. I refilled the two-gallon water jug I kept in the refrigerator with tap water and returned to the vehicle with the hastily assembled supplies. After one last walk thru of the house, we pulled out of the garage and headed west.

To do list: Keep moving and don’t stop.
I had driven for nearly 24 hours and my head buzzed with fatigue. I had been encouraging Michael to play with his toys in the back on the mattress as the sights along the road were becoming more disturbing. At first, things looked like any large city at rush hour and all the major traffic arteries running north had clogged. The “experts” on the radio were recommending that people head north saying that cold temperatures would freeze these things solid like any other hunk of meat. I had worked outside in the cold for a decade and I knew that the majority of the fleeing people were going to be ill prepared for any weather that would be harsh enough to freeze the dead.
We began to see rows of refugees along the side of the road, like some third world country, that had abandoned their vehicles, most likely because they had run out of gas. I would have liked to help some of them, but my first responsibility was to keep Michael safe and I vowed that I was not going to stop for anyone or anything until I got him to someplace secure. This thought was intensified by a stretch of rural neighborhood we passed thru that was completely devoid of people, but had plenty of corpses wandering around.
We were on a lonely stretch of road with tall cornfields on each side and I wasn’t traveling particularly fast. I was too worried about one of the walking dead stepping out in front of us and wrecking the van so I remained cautious in areas where I couldn’t see all around us. Michael was asleep in the back and I had the window partially down hoping the summer air would help keep me sharp. I spotted a car that had been driven of the blacktop and over the ditch that ran parallel to the road. This was not unusual, we had seen hundreds of vehicles just like this, but this one had a portable baby seat setting on the roof. I slowed as we passed and couldn’t see what was in it because it was turned away from the road, but I thought that I detected movement. I slowly came to a stop, questioning what I had seen and swore under my breath. I had planned not to let anything delay our journey to less a less populated area, but that could have been a child. I swore again and backed up. The car was resting maybe 20 yards from the road on the passenger side of our van with the back of the portable baby seat facing me. I starred intently and after a few moments, I did indeed see something move.
I grabbed both the gun and the crowbar and climbed out of the van, locking it behind me. I climbed down the muddy ditch, water soaking thru my tennis shoes, jumped over the stream at the bottom and scurried up the opposite side. I cautiously came around the car and finally saw what had caught my attention. It was a child, specifically a toddler, maybe two years old, moving but not alive. I stood there staring at this poor creature slowly flailing its limbs and gnashing at the air, forever strapped to the plastic seat. I was overcome with despair and hopelessness as I imagined the mother that was force to abandon her baby in this terrible state. All of this cannot be happening.
I was snapped back to reality by a high scream coming from the van. Standing at the passenger door and reaching into the vehicle thru the window I had forgotten to roll up, was the corpse of a large female. Reacting without thought and full of an emotion best described as rage, I charged the van, forgetting I had a handgun. Clearing the ditch, I smashed into the things head with my crowbar and didn’t stop until long after the skull had split dumping its contents on the pavement. Realizing that it was finished, I climbed back into the vehicle, rolling up both window and locking the doors.
Michael was balled up on the mattress sobbing and lunged for me the moment he realized I had returned. He had apparently awakened when I had slammed the door shut and went to his seat to see where I was. He had his little hands resting on the top of glass pane when the corpse had wandered up from behind and tried to bite him. The attack had left a scratch down the back of his hand and he was utterly terrified. I tried my best to calm him, mentally berating myself for being so stupid, and eventually his tears subsided. Never again would I put him in danger.
Night had fallen and I had found a parking spot at an abandoned used car dealership between two cars. It would be difficult for any of the walking dead to wedge itself into the tight squeeze and I figured hiding in plain sight was as good a plan as any. Michael’s wound had gone from a small red slice to an ugly gray gash and I had wrapped it in a clean cloth after spraying it down with an antiseptic that was in a first-aid kit that I had found in the glove compartment. I had covered the inside of doors and windshields with blankets to avoid gaining any unwanted attention and Michael and I had moved to the back of the crowded van for the evening.
I was sitting up on the mattress and Michael was on my lap, resting his head on my chest and cradling his injured hand. He was lethargic and running a fever and the ibuprofen I had given him was having little or no effect. I had propped our little camping flashlight to shine over my shoulder and held his copy of Green Eggs and Ham in my hands. I read quietly, but with exaggerated excitement in the way that the boy enjoyed, listening for telltale moaning from outside between page turnings. I finished up and Michael managed a meek smile at my enthusiasm telling me he was very tired. I rubbed his back and pulled the blanket over both of us and told him that it was all right to go to sleep. Goodnight Sam-I-am.
I held on to him, his body radiating heat, and his breathing shallow. I had heard many times over the last few days that a bite was a death sentence, and those poor unfortunates would reanimate. I absolutely refused to believe this. I would somehow find help in the morning and I mentally willed Michael not to give up. I knew in my heart that he was going to be all right and with that final though, my body finally gave out and sleep claimed me.

To do list: Find help for Michael.
I snapped awake in the exact position I had fallen asleep. I didn’t know what time it was, but I could see light thru the blankets covering the windows and knew that it was morning.
Michael lay in my arms, also in the exact position, but now he was cold. My heart threatened to jump from my chest and my stomach turned to acid and a wave of panic swallowed me. I desperately shook him and yelled his name and received no response. I laid my head on his chest and listened for a heartbeat and found none. I could not accept what I knew to be true. Michael, my beautiful baby, boy was dead.
I sobbed, gently cradling his limp body and not caring about what might be attracted to the noise I was making. I would do anything just to hear his voice one last time or even just a laugh. Pain overwhelmed me as I realized how utterly I had failed him. Everything I had done, every move I had made, was to benefit him and I was wrong every time. I had not only cost him his life, I had cost him his innocence. He had seen things in his short time that an adult should never see and he had felt fear that no one ever should, all because I hadn’t protected him well enough. But there was one last thing I could do for him.
I held him in a close embrace, finally finding some control over my grief. Outside I could hear moaning and I felt something hit against the side of the van. Not releasing my little boy, it slowly dawned on me that I no longer had any fear. Funny.
Time passed, I don’t know how long, and the number of moans outside increased. They knew someone was in here, but I didn’t care. I was completely absorbed in my embrace with Michael and then I felt it. A twitch. I closed my eyes tightly as another surge of tears threatened to swallow me. With a second twitch and slight movement of my sons jaw, I brought the revolver up under the left side of his chin and fired.

To do list: Put the gun in my mouth and pull the trigger.