“Who are you supposed to be?”
◊◊◊
The zombies never stop. They always come. One after the next, in and endless stream of used-to-be humanity. Things that were kids, women, men. Deadies that were once intelligent, productive members of society.
“Except for you, of course,” I say to the pair of arms and torso dragging itself toward the tires of the Jeep. “You look like you wasted your life. I mean, seriously, a Boston tour shirt from eighty-eight? You know music stopped sucking and got better at some point, right? And holy shit, is that a mullet?”
The crawler kept at me, Lieutenant Dan style, crying out in an ashen voice and snapping his teeth at me.
“Don’t be mad at the truth, man. It’s not my fault you never went beyond classic hits.” I looped one of his hands and dragged him in front of the Jeep. “Let’s see if you pop, shall we?” Before he could move very far, I fired up the Jeep and rolled one big off-road tire over the grey mass. He squealed in that way only undead people can, and then went silent as his chest, neck, and head flattened under the weight of the tire.
“Aww,” I moan in a comically disappointed tone, “You didn’t make a pop. Clearly you’re broken. Probably from all of those hard rockin’ nights, huh?” I backed up while singing the chorus to ‘More Than a Feeling.’ His chest made a satisfying smacking noise, like a mouth full of honey or a dog eating peanut butter, and I threw my hands up and cheered.
Down the block I spotted another shuffler. This time it was an old woman in a long cotton dress covered in tiny flowers. I clicked the transmission into drive and sang, “I see my Marianne walkin’ away!” and tore off after her.
If I was going to keep the streets safe, I might as well enjoy myself in the process, right?
A few hours later I pulled up to the mill and nearly passed-out.
The entire building was on fire.
Fully involved. No recovering.
My food.
My water.
My supplies.
My fuel.
All of it was disintegrating before my waking eyes.
How?
When?
Wha…?
I searched the streets for answers, as though a kindly old man would be standing there and explain the whole thing. What I found was a note, taped to a light post standing on the sidewalk before the mill. It read:
You took Steven.
You killed my family.
You stole my food.
You stole my Jeep.
I have taken your home.
Kyle
My first thought was fear. How did he know my name? But of course the answer came just as quickly. Steven, apparently that was the guy I fed to my collection, he had lied. Kyle wasn’t dead. It would appear that he was very much alive and very pissed at me.
I knew it was bait.
I knew he wanted me to come find him.
And I knew I would love taking him apart.
Here comes the law.
CHAPTER 11
A Man’s Castle: Part 2
The King of Cheney
Everything I owned was in the Jeep.
I had two bottles of water and a package of dry ramen noodles. I had my catchpole, a knife, a pistol, and ten rounds of ammunition. I had the clothes on my back and a sweatshirt in the back seat. The Jeep didn’t have a top, and I had no tent. It was late summer and the nights still were not too bad, but it would be snowing soon and I needed shelter. Last, I had a quarter tank of fuel and three sticks of gum.
And nothing else.
He had burned all of my supplies to the ground.
The other Kyle.
I knew where to find him, and I knew he was expecting me. At this point, any move I made would be walking into his hands.
There’s no way he would be waiting inside. He’ll be perched to the side, waiting for me to come along. When I showed myself, poking my head at the ranch house, he would sweep in from behind and take me out.
I knew it was his plan.
I knew it, because it is exactly what I would have done.
I roared into the night sky, under the flickering orange glow of the mill.
My home.
The fire rolled on unchecked. Part of me feared the fire spreading and burning the whole town down.
Part of me hoped it did.
The world should know how I feel. The world should know that I had lost everything in the fray. The world should care.
So burn it all! Burn it all to the ground! Tear up the roots of the earth and cast aside all cares! It’s the end!
“To hell with it all!” I cried. “Take it all, you son of a bitch! Take it all!” I reached down over and over and again and again I threw whatever my hand found. Rocks, wood, and other debris went hurtling from my hand into the fire. “Take it all!” I screamed, not sure who I was talking to any more.
Finally, after several minutes of my fit, I sat down upon the curb and pressed my hands to my eyes.
Everything I had left was in that building, and nothing would survive this.
At this point, I figured I had three options.
One: I could fall back and regroup. I could find a new home, gather some provisions, prepare myself and then go after this asshole properly once I was ready.
It took no time at all to realize I didn’t have the patience for that.
Two: I could just end it now. I’ve got ten bullets and only need one.
That wasn’t really ever an option. I don’t think I have it in me to pull the trigger on myself when there was still a way through.
Three: Storm his castle. Charge at him and take his home from him. I did it to his crew. There were three of them. He’s only one guy. I could do it.
But he would be ready
