“Can you understand me?”
The creature made no sound save for its labored breathing. He thought he felt the tickling in the back of his mind, but the sensation quickly passed.
“My name is Slate. I don’t know where you came from or why you’re here, I just-” Jubal’s voice broke. He had to clear his throat before he could continue. “I just know what you’ve done. You’ve killed us all, haven’t you? You’ve taken away everything decent and good in my life and you’ve probably taken me, too. But before I go, I want you to deliver a message for me. If you have any friends out there, send ’em one of your mind bulletins or whatever they are. You tell ’em Slate did this. Jubal Slate.”
He raised the shotgun.
If the creature understood what was happening, it did not show it.
“Do they believe in Hell where you come from? I hope so.”
The thing’s thin, lipless mouth twitched.
Jubal pulled the trigger. The alien head exploded in a geyser of thick, black blood.
He shot it again for good measure.
His eyes burned with hot tears, but he had no time for remorse. The dead army was getting closer. He returned to the cruiser.
Before he climbed into the vehicle, the sun glinted off something metallic. A few feet from the corpse of the alien thing, a strange silver rod lay among the rock and sandy soil.
He didn’t know what it was, but it made his skin crawl just looking at it.
It belonged to that thing. That’s what he used to control the dead army.
Jubal got into the car and backed over the staff. It broke into many pieces.
He put the cruiser in drive and drove away, clipping a few more zombies along the way.
The zombie demolition derby had damaged the cruiser’s radiator. He kept going long after the temperature gauge climbed into the red. Just outside of Van Horn, Texas, the engine seized up with a grinding crunch and a cloud of smoke.
He gathered his weapons and supplies and walked into town.
The streets were deserted, but he took no chances. The?rst building he saw was a Rexall drug store. He hammered the glass door open with his Glock. There was no alarm. He let himself in and shoved a heavy cosmetics display case against the broken door. At least it would give him some warning. He curled up behind the checkout counter and slept for a long time.
4
September 4, 2048
When he awoke he was parched and his neck wound and elbow hurt worse than ever.
He located hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic cream and bandages.
Why go to the trouble if I’m turning into a zombie?
He dressed the wound anyway.
The power was still on in the store and he found a fully stocked soda case and plenty of candy bars and chips. He ate until he was sick, then slept again.
5
September 5, 2048
The next morning, he shoved the cosmetics case away from the door and watched the brilliant emerald strip running across the horizon.
Gathering his supplies, augmented with several cans of Coke and a dozen candy bars, Jubal went out into the empty streets.
He found a used car lot two blocks down. He blew the lock off the door of the of?ce with one of the shotguns, no longer afraid of drawing anyone’s attention. The town was dead. He could feel it. He didn’t know where the zombies were, but he would worry about that later. Jubal grabbed a handful of keys from a pegboard in the small of?ce and unlocked vehicles until he found one with plenty of gasoline. It was an old truck. He tossed the guns and the rest into the passenger seat and drove away.
Sometime that afternoon he crossed into Mexico.
He slept in the desert that night, stretched out in the bed of the truck.
The sky was clean and clear and full of stars. Jubal wondered how many people were left to wish upon them.
He dozed for a while, only to jerk awake for no apparent reason. He couldn’t remember any dreams.
Then he heard it. A nearly silent hum.
Jubal lay quietly in the truck’s bed, afraid to move. High above him something passed over the face of the moon.
It was one of the alien?ying machines.
He held his breath until the hum was long gone.
6
September 6, 2048
The next day he drove to the Gulf. He waded out naked into the warm ocean until the salt water burned the wound on the back of his neck, as if scalding it clean. He?oated for a long time, allowing the ebb and?ow of the water to carry him away from the beach.
It would be so easy to just give up, to allow the sea’s embrace to deliver him down to a peaceful surrender.
After a while, Jubal rolled over and swam back to shore.
7
September 12, 2048
The plague hadn’t reached this far. Not yet.
Jubal found a small house on the beach. It had no power, but there was a bed and a lot of canned food in the kitchen.
He also found others who were still alive. More arrived every day.
He had been here nearly a week. The wound on his neck had scabbed over. It looked like Fiona had been right. He didn’t have the disease and apparently wouldn’t get it.
The newcomers had all seen the zombies. Most had to deal with family who had changed. One man from Del Rio had to put down his own wife and kids. After he told his story, he didn’t say much more.
Every night there were more?res on the beach. It had become a regular refugee camp.
But Jubal couldn’t forget the sight of the alien?yer in the desert.
They couldn’t stay here much longer.
Most of them wanted to keep moving, stay on the run, hide until there were no more safe places.
There were a few who felt like Jubal, who had nothing left but the screaming in their heads that could only be silenced through vengeance.
