' I-told-you-to-leave-my-son-ALONE!'
There the skull split open with a loud crack. Pink, foul-smelling liquid spilled from the wound. The zombie bellowed, then finally lay still. Jim continued pounding it with the rock until the head was obliterated.
Panting, covered in blood and drenched in sweat, he looked up to see Danny staring at him. The boy's expression was horrified.
'Daddy ...'
'It's okay, Danny. He can't hurt you now.'
His son continued to stare, eyes wide and mouth open. Still clutching the rock, Jim slid off the corpse's back and walked toward him, drenched in gore.
Don eased Frankie out of the wrecked vehicle's rear, supporting her as she tried to stand.
'Where did the other zombies get to?' Don looked around for the rest of their pursuers.
'I don't know,' Jim replied. 'Maybe we lost them. How is she?'
'I'm fine,' Frankie answered weakly. 'Not dead yet at least.'
'Can you walk?'
'Gonna have to. Where's the preacher-man?'
'Oh God-Martin!'
In his concern for Danny, Jim had forgotten all about the old man.
He ran around to the front of the vehicle and searched the area. He found Martin's crumpled form at the base of a tree. The preacher wasn't moving.
'No no no no no ...'
He stumbled toward his friend, and when he reached him ...
Jim hoped that Martin had died with a prayer on his lips.
He turned his head and vomited.
'Daddy?'
'Don't look, Danny. Stay over there.'
Martin lay on his stomach, but his head was twisted around backwards.
The old man's bulging, sightless eyes gaped at him. Deep lacerations split his face, and one arm had been severed halfway between the elbow and the shoulder.
'Oh Martin ...'
Frankie hung her head. 'Is he?'
Jim swallowed hard.
'Yeah. Yeah, he is.'
'God damn it...'
Kneeling, Jim gripped his rock tighter. The rough surface cut into the calluses on his palm.
'I'm sorry, my friend. I'm so sorry.'
'Jim?' Don shifted uneasily.
'What?'
'You-you know what you have to do, right?'
Jim didn't respond.
'He'd want you to. He wouldn't want to-to end up like that.' Don cocked his head toward the pulped remains of the zombie.
'I hate to say it, but he's right,' Frankie agreed. 'You've got to finish it, Jim. We can't let this happen to Martin. Not like that.'
Jim closed his eyes and sighed.
'He'd want a prayer first,' he said. 'We owe him that, at least. Is there time?'
'I don't hear any zombies,' Don said. 'Maybe we lost the others.'
Jim closed the preacher's eyes. Then he reached into Martin's breast pocket and pulled out his pocket-sized New Testament. After a brief pause, he held it to his heart and bowed his head. A second later, Danny did the same, followed by Don. Frankie watched the body.
'Lord,' Jim began, 'I-I still don't understand why you let all of this happen, why you did this to us, but I know that Martin never stopped believing in you. Not even when things got really bad. He was convinced that you wanted him to help me. He said that you would lead us to Danny.
I reckon he was right. Even when his own life was in danger, he helped me because he believed in you. God, we ask-'
Martin's eyes opened. 'There is no God.'
Jim smashed him in the face with the rock. The zombie jittered.
'I'm sorry, Martin.'
