Deadburbia Page 4

  "Why are you all wet?" asked Kim.

  "I fell in the pool," he answered, too quickly. "But never mind that. You're not gonna believe this!"

  "What pool?" asked Eric.

  "Come on!" he demanded, ignoring their questions and leaping back into his car. He made a U-turn and drove to the edge of the parking lot, where he idled and laid on the horn, over and over again.

  "Should we follow him?" Eric asked Nikki. She shrugged, annoyed that everyone was treating her like Carter's keeper. Like his girlfriend.

  "What have we got to lose?" she finally said.

  "What... is it?" asked Kim, leaning over the side of the swimming pool on her hands and knees. Eric was duly impressed. He would have expected her to be grossed out, or terrified, but she seemed more fascinated than anything.

  "It's a fucking zombie!" announced Carter, so proudly you'd think he gave birth to the thing. Why don't you pass out cigars? thought Nikki, and then giggled at her own joke. "How is this funny, Nikki?" Carter snapped.

  "Man, that is fucked up," said Hustle. He stood as far away from the edge as possible, straining his neck to see. The black corpse at the bottom of the pool seemed to be reaching specifically for him, its grasping fingers desperate to take hold of his throat. Its head followed Carter as he walked around the pool.

  "Did you ever think that maybe it needed help?" asked Nikki.

  "Get in there and help it then," said Tray with a snort of derision. Carter crouched down at the far end of the pool to get a better look at it.

  "No way," he said. "That thing is dead. How else could it survive all this time without oxygen?"

  "Obviously it has so obviously it's not dead!" countered Nikki.

  "No," said Eric, shaking his head. "That's a dead body down there. Even you automatically called it 'it', Nikki."

  "Somebody find me a pole or a stick or something," said Carter, still staring at the submerged thing.

  "You wanna poke the bear, huh?" asked Tray, shaking his head.

  "Yes, Carter, why don't we torment it?" snapped Nikki. "That couldn't possibly backfire."

  "Did anyone stop to think that there might be more of these things walking around?" Eric asked. Kim bit her lower lip and hugged herself, and Hustle looked around nervously.

  "You like the joy bringer," muttered Tray. "Thanks a lot."

  "No, he's right," said Carter, standing up. Now was his chance to take control of the situation. To be the hero. "We need to get out of here, now."

  "Well, duh," whispered Nikki.

  "We'll pile into the cars and make one more slow sweep of the neighborhood. Really creep along and see if there's anything we missed," Carter continued. "If that doesn't work, we'll have to start thinking outside the box."

  "Fool, we already drove around and around this place for hours and didn't see shit," countered Tray. "Look at my watch; it says six A.M." He held up his wrist for emphasis. "Where's the sun? It should be coming up by now and it ain't. I say we start thinkin' outside your box right the hell now, 'fore we end up like Chuckles at the bottom of the pool there."

  "I'm open to suggestions," Carter said, arms akimbo, shrugging his shoulders theatrically. The asshole at the end of the sentence was clearly implied.

  "Maybe I'll throw you in and you can ask your friend directions," Tray said, puffing up.

  "That's enough!" shouted Nikki.

  "No, I had enough," said Tray. "Me and Hustle are gonna drive to the edge of town – or whatever the fuck this place is – and walk the rest the way outta here. My Ma can send Triple-ass A for the car later. If anyone want to come with us, speak now or forever suck my dick."

  "Forget it, jerkoff," sneered Carter from his presumed position of safety on the far side of the pool.

  "If we can't drive out why would we be able to walk out?" asked Kim.

  "Because we'd be goin' off-road," Hustle explained patiently. "We could cut through yards or fields or whatever it took."

  "Unless the yards and fields surrounding this place are full of those things," Carter said, indicating the body in the pool.

  Everyone was quiet for a moment, considering this.

  "I've... got a better idea," Eric slowly said.

  "We waitin'," Tray said.

  "Why don't we all pile into your car," he nodded at Tray, "and then just drive in a straight line – over and through anything and everything that gets in our way – and see if that gets us out of here?"

  "And royally fuck up my Ma's car? No thanks," Tray shook his head.

  "You rather end up like Pool Boy here?" Hustle asked. Tray thought about that for a minute, and then relented.

  "Okay, everybody," he sighed. "Let's go."

  13

  It was immediately apparent that Eric's plan wasn't going to work. Reconnoitering in every direction, they quickly learned that each lot was essentially the same, the houses in such close proximity that driving even a small car across the property would be impossible. And that was before taking the ubiquitous in-ground pools and privacy fencing into consideration. Frustrated, Eric and Hustle finally scaled one of the backyard fences, only to discover an identical yard behind it, and, beyond that, another identical street of similar houses. They came back.

  "So what now?" asked Hustle. They were all gathered around their cars in the middle of the street, except for Tray, who had retrieved a tire iron from his trunk and was walking up and down the sidewalk, systematically destroying the cheap residential mailboxes. Occasionally an envelope fluttered out of one of the demolished mailboxes, but when Nikki opened a few they were all stuffed with either blank yellow paper or lined notebook paper sporting handwritten nonsense. ("The old gray mare she ain't what she used to be. Coconuts. Passion! Leprosy!" read one, written in a childish scrawl.)

  "I saw a movie once," said Eric, "where these people were trapped in a town where the same things kept happening over and over. It turned out aliens did it. They put a bubble over the entire town and trapped everyone inside."

  "How'd they get out?" asked Hustle indifferently. Eric shrugged.

  "I don't remember."

  "Maybe that's what's happening here..." ventured Nikki.

  "Aliens?" scoffed Carter. "Sure, why not?"

  "But maybe..." Nikki, who'd been laying across the Omni's hood, sat up. "Maybe there is... something... keeping us from leaving. Like a wall, or, well, a bubble."

  "Okay," said Carter, "but we kind of knew that already."

  "But if it is a... thing, like a physical thing, then maybe we can circumvent it. Driving and walking haven't gotten us anywhere, but maybe we can go under it, or over it."

  "So should we start flapping our arms or looking for shovels?" asked Carter.

  "Neither," Nikki said, looking up and down the street. She was sure she'd seen one earlier... Yes! She smiled and pointed. A manhole cover.

  "You want us to go down there?" asked Kim.

  "Why not?" asked Nikki, her eyes bright with excitement. "Tell me this isn't a good idea! Give me one good reason why it's not worth trying."

  "Zombies," said Eric.

  "Because it won't work," said Carter simultaneously.

  "It's dark and gross," added Hustle. Somewhat claustrophobic, he didn't like this idea at all.

  "Please, Carter," she cooed. He knew what she was doing, and it wasn't going to work. But at the same time, no one else had a better suggestion, so with a token show of reluctance he popped his trunk and pulled out the crowbar he kept there. As it turned out, the cover was meant to be opened only with a special, proprietary pry bar, but with a little effort Carter managed to lift it about an inch, at which point Hustle and Eric were able to get their fingers underneath it, tip it onto its edge, and roll it aside.

  "My hero," smiled Nikki. Carter frowned and mentally dressed her down.

  "Anybody got a flashlight?" asked Eric.

  "Right here," said Tray, joining them. His Ma kept one in the trunk, in the same box as the tire iron. Clicking it on, he shined it into the manhol
e. But instead of the sewer tunnel they'd expected, they saw only darkness. Tray held the light closer, to no avail. There was nothing to see, or, rather, nothingness – a gaping endless, incomprehensible void. An absence of everything, even thought. Tray accidentally kicked his discarded tire iron and it tumbled into the hole, into the emptiness, and was instantly, silently swallowed up as if it never existed.

  "It feels... hungry..." Kim whispered. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, and blushed.

  "No, not hungry," Nikki said quietly. She spoke in a monotone, and even to her own ears it sounded like someone else were speaking through her. "Just empty. So immense and so empty that nothing could ever fill it. Not all the matter in the universe. Not a million universes. Not even God's love. Nothing." She shuddered; she could feel the synapses in her brain unraveling. Turning, she walked quickly away.

  "Nikki?" Kim called after her, but she only walked faster. She had to put as much distance between herself and that... void... as possible. It was horrible, nightmarish; the opposite of everything.

  "What is it?" asked Carter, kneeling down next to the edge. He made as if to reach in, thought better of it, and probed inside with the crowbar instead. The tool was swallowed by the darkness, utterly invisible past the point where it crossed the lip of the hole, and when Carter pulled it out it was ice cold to the touch. As he ran his fingers up and down the frozen metal the surface broke down into metal particulate, as if his very touch was disintegrating it.

  "It's... eternity," whispered Eric.

  "Yeah, I ain't goin' down there," said Hustle.

  "Nikki, stop! Where are you going?" Kim called after the departing girl. Nikki was striding off so quickly and so resolutely that Kim had to run to catch up with her.

  "Where we should have gone in the first place!" Nikki said, wiping an errant tear from her eye. "Don't you see? It's all... symbolic. It's a test."

  "Okay..." said Kim. She clearly didn't see. Nikki stopped and turned to her.

  "We're just going around in circles," she said, waving her hands around for emphasis, "and it's always the same no matter where we turn. All except two places: the store... and the church!" Kim shuddered at the mention of the church. Something about it had unnerved her, but she couldn't remember what it was. "The store, that's like, material things, the riches of the world or something..." She seemed to have an epiphany. "That's why the packages are all empty or full of something useless! See, Kim? We have to go to the church. That's where we'll find help! It was obvious all along!"

  "I'm scared of that place," Kim confided.

  "That's a trick. Don't you see? The Devil is tricking you, or you're tricking yourself... it doesn't matter." Nikki began briskly walking again. Eric had followed Kim and the other boys had followed him, and they all watched, bemused, as she determinedly marched off down the street.

  "Where she goin'?" asked Tray.

  "The church," whispered Kim. "She says we'll find help at the church."

  "She seems pretty confident," said Carter.

  "It's the one place we haven't tried," shrugged Eric.

  "My grandma do say I don't go to church enough," added Hustle.

  They were all acutely aware of the fact that they were trying to convince themselves, but somehow it didn't matter. It seemed like the next step, almost inevitable, like they were following a script. Carter jogged to catch up with Nikki, and Tray and Hustle followed. Only Kim lingered behind, prompting Eric to hesitate. "You coming?" he asked. She shook her head.

  "You can talk to God from anywhere," Kim whispered. "You don't have to be in church. And that's not a real church. There's something wrong with it."

  "There's something wrong with this whole place," Eric said. He took Kim's hand and their fingers intertwined automatically. He thought back to the new color they'd seen when the stoplight went crazy. He'd remembered it for a while, could actually visualize it in his head, but now he couldn't call it up. It was gone.

  14

  It took the others over fifteen minutes to hoof it back to the "center" of the neighborhood, and Carter regretted leaving the cars behind. Still, maybe they were meant to walk the entire distance, like Moses or something. Nikki's conviction, he realized, was more than a bit contagious. But now, in front of the church, she froze. It was a plainish, two-story building, with simple stone stairs leading up to a pair of curved, oaken doors sporting huge, ostentatious pull handles. A narrow bell tower – whether actually functional or merely for show, he couldn't tell – stabbed the night sky. Flanking the doors were stained glass windows. One depicted a man (Saint George?) confronting a heavily stylized dragon. The other was just a jumble of angular shapes and colors. All told, the edifice as a whole was a clumsy, unappealing mixture of practical and traditional. The sign posted above the doors is what had stopped Nikki cold, though. In flickering neon it listed the service times (there were three), followed by a string of random, indecipherable symbols. It was at these that Nikki was staring, at one in particular.

  It was a triangle, but it only had two sides.

  For some reason, this frightened her more than anything, and she began to cry.

  "Jesus help me!" she wailed, and meant it. "It's wrong, it's wrong, it's all wrong!" She broke down and fell to her knees. "Oh, it hurts my brain..." Trailing off, she slumped down and curled up in the fetal position, murmuring softly.

  "What the fuck?" whispered Hustle.

  "She off her damn rocker," said Tray.

  "It's that sign," Carter said, refusing to look directly at it.

  Tray stared at the symbols, then shook his head as if trying to dislodge something.

  "It makes your head hurt," agreed Hustle. Tears were streaming down his face and he didn't even realize it. "It ain't right."

  "I'm going inside," Carter declared, putting his right foot on the first stone step. He froze, half expecting to hear a low moan from inside, or for the wind to pick up, or for thunder and lightning to roll dramatically across the sky. Some sort of indication that they were on the right path, or even the wrong path. Any path. But the night remained obstinately still. Slowly, carefully, he climbed all seven steps to the huge wooden doors. Wrapping his hand around one of the ornate metal pulls, he gave it a tug.

  The door was locked.

  He was flooded with a sense of relief. Everything was okay now, because at least they could say they tried, but they didn't actually have to go inside this...

  "Try the other one," said Tray.

  Carter wanted to punch the kid, no, he wanted to kill him. Every racial slur he had ever heard, and a few new ones he just made up, roiled across his mind as he imagined turning on Tray and beating him, beating him, beating him, until he begged and pleaded and cried for his mother and... and instead he felt his hand wrap around the second pull, the one on the left, and that door swung open smoothly and it was too late, too late to change their minds...

  The overpowering smell of incense, mingled with earth and rot, hit them like a physical thing, and Carter took a step back. The two doors opened directly into the worship area, and this was lit with flickering candles, hundreds of them, placed with no rhyme or reason on floors, on pews, and especially around the altar on the dais at the far end of the room. Above and behind this altar was a huge, faded, tattered parament depicting a young woman – blonde, freckled, preternaturally beautiful, yet dressed in incongruous, irreconcilable contemporary garb; the most desirable of the Old Gods inexplicably reimagined as a contemporary pop star. There were dark shapes in the pews, perhaps a score of them, hands raised, guttural voices lilting, clearly paying homage to this image.

  All this they took in in an instant, because the voices ceased as Carter opened the door. First one, and then several, heads turned in their direction, the flickering candles revealing their deteriorating visages in staccato flashes of light and dark.

  They were zombies. They were all zombies. And one by one they began to rise. Limbs missing, heads canted at impossible angles, they climbed to their feet
and began to clumsily, drily shuffle towards the door. They were all wearing armor, Carter realized, like the one in the pool: mostly tarnished copper breastplates and dull, dented helmets, but a few wore gauntlets or other accouterments as well. And as they rose they were retrieving weapons that had obviously been resting on the pews beside them: swords... spears... an axe. One raised an ancient longbow with no drawstring and impotently pointed it at them.

  "Run, you fools, run!" Tray shouted from halfway down the block, but Carter ignored him. Yes, these were walking corpses and yes, that was eminently fucked up, but they were so plodding, so ungainly. Truth be told, he hardly felt as if he were in any real danger at all. Backing away slowly, he paused to help Hustle lift Nikki to her feet. A thin string of spittle was hanging from her mouth and she was staring off into the middle distance, unseeing.

  "She in shock or some shit," said Hustle. The boys each took one of her arms and they lifted her up, half walking, half dragging the unresponsive girl as they continued to back away from the church.

  "Come on!" yelled Tray from somewhere behind them. The zombies were spilling out of the church now, clumsily navigating the stairs. One, its lower face deteriorated into permanent rictus, seemed to be staring right at them.

  "We can outrun them," Carter said out loud, more to assure himself than Hustle. "Even carrying Nikki we can totally outrun them."

  Without warning a loud, reverberating BONG! dropped heavily from the sky, followed by another, and another, each one pummeling the excised stillness like an aural sledge hammer.

  "What the fuck is that?" shrieked Hustle.

  "Someone's ringing the church bell!" yelled Carter over the din.

  Someone was, again and again and again, and as the peals continued, echoing from street to street, from inside the shrubbery and from behind the houses and from every nook and cranny imaginable, climbed or crawled or staggered more zombies, hundreds of them, men, women, children, dressed in garb both contemporary and shockingly out of date. Hustle was reminded of the part in The Wizard of Oz when the munchkins revealed themselves, having been hidden in plain sight the whole time. "Oh gooooddddd!!!!" he wailed.