Mitch pulled his arm away and glared at him. “Face it, man. I’m done. Stick a fork in me.” He pulled Hatcher aside. “Don’t let me turn into one of them freaks, okay?” He pulled the knife from the body on the floor and flipped it around to Hatcher, handle first. “I want you to do this. You’re the only one I trust to do it and do it right.”
Hatcher was shaking his head. “I can’t do that,” he said, his voice breaking. “I-I don’t know how.”
“It’s easy, man.” He pointed to the base of his skull. “Just slip it in here and twist. Turns the lights out. Easy peasy.” His eyes pleading.
Hatcher felt his eyes watering up and his hand shaking. “But you’re my friend…”
“And you’re my friend.”
“What if you can’t catch it? What if…what if you’re immune?” Hatcher knew he was grasping at straws, but straws were all he had left.
“Like the thousand or so other folks that were here? Don’t, man. There ain’t no miracles gonna pull my fat out of this fire.”
Hatcher sighed hard and looked around. “Maybe you could just go outside…maybe kill a few more guards or something. They could maybe…I dunno.”
“Death by cop?” he joked. Mitch staggered a bit, then shook his head. “Wow. Is it getting hotter in here? It’s getting hot in here,” he said softly.
Hatcher shook his head. “No, not really.” He glanced at Mitch and noticed his eyes were filling up with blood. “Oh no.”
“What?” Mitch asked.
“Your eyes.” Hatcher pointed.
Mitch shook his head lightly and paused. “Oh, don’t do that. My head is killing me.” He glanced at Hatcher again. “Oh, shit. This thing is fast.” He glanced around the room and his eyes settled on Candy. “Sorry,. I was really wanting to ask you on a date when all this shit was over. Looks like that ain’t gonna happen now.” She covered her mouth and turned away from him, her eyes watering.
“Mitch, I don’t know if I can do this,” Hatcher said softly. Candy’s sobbing could be heard behind them, Buck’s beside them.
Mitch was starting to get wobbly, but he fought to maintain his presence of mind. “Do it. Do it now.” He lowered himself to his knees and turned his back to Hatcher. With his thick, meaty finger, he pointed to the part of the skull on the back of his head. “Put the tip here. Push hard, then twist. That’s it.”
Hatcher lifted the knife to his friend’s head. He placed the tip where his finger was. It felt so heavy in his hand. So damned heavy. He didn’t know if he could continue to hold the cold steel as he pressed the tip to his flesh. “Here?” It sounded as if his voice was a hundred miles away.
“Yeah. That’s the spot,” Mitch said with a sigh. “Now just push really hard, and when it’s in, twist. And remember. I begged you to do this. I don’t want to be one of them.”
Hatcher nodded. “I love you, man,” he said softly.
“Love you too, ma—” Mitch never finished his sentence as Hatcher’s arms jerked forward, thrusting the knife into his friend’s skull. Without even thinking, his wrists twisted as soon as the handle hit bone.
Daniel Hatcher stood silent for a moment with his friend stuck to the end of the blade. He felt a warm, sticky fluid wash over his hand and he twisted the knife the other way and pulled it back, allowing Mitch to fall into a pile along with the other dead zombies. Hatcher didn’t remember dropping the knife, but his ears picked up the tinkle of the metal as it bounced against the polished tile floor.
Without looking down at his friend, Hatcher shouldered his weapon and staggered back to the door, his eyes staring forward, his mind still dazed. He glanced once more out the window. He really wanted Vickers to now come swaggering back to the station. He needed to make somebody pay for all of the pain he was feeling, but couldn’t allow himself to show.
Bill entered the rear of the house and could smell the coffee brewing before he ever walked into the kitchen. The bone-weary ache in his body hadn’t really had a chance to settle in between the bouts of adrenaline rushes and rapid escapes. The dark-roasted Columbian beans smelled heavenly as he nearly collapsed into the chair at the counter.
“Truck is all loaded,” he breathed as he pulled his bandana from his rear pocket and swiped at his forehead. “I found some camping gear in the garage and took the liberty of tossing it into the back. Just in case we end up having to overnight it in the middle of nowhere.”
Richard glanced up from the cooler he was packing and nodded with a forlorn stare. Bill didn’t miss the look and probed him, “Did I do something wrong?”
Richard startled from his gazing into nothingness and gave a halfhearted smile. “No,” he replied softly. “I just…” He looked up from the cooler and sighed. “I had intended to take Harriet camping one day. She was always too busy.” Richard stared out the window and chuckled lightly. “Truth be told, I think she hated the idea and always had an excuse, but I held out hope.” He turned his attention back to the cooler. “Just packing a few perishables for the trip. Don’t want them to go waste.”
Bill noted the luncheon meats and cold cuts, the cheeses and crackers, condiments, and a couple loaves of wheat bread sitting beside the cooler as Richard packed every square inch. He set a blue ice pack on top of each section and sealed the top. Patting the top, he turned and shut the refrigerator door. “As soon as the coffee’s done brewing, I can fill the thermos and we’re ready.”
“I could use one now.” Bill yawned. “Do you have any cream or that powdered stuff?”
Richard opened the refrigerator again and pulled out a small carton of Half
