Fidget Vs. The Zombie Apocalypse: Part 4 (2017)

            Joss sat in the back of his dad’s car and listened to his father, George, and Barb talk. George rambled on and on about zombie lore and how he knew this was coming and how dangerous it had been for she and Joss to be outside alone. Leave it to his dad to retain the sternness of fatherhood, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. Joss tuned them out as he listened to the rumble of his dad’s Dodge Challenger, or what had been his dad’s Dodge Challenger when he originally purchased the vehicle from a friend a few years ago. It had undergone so much maintenance and part replacement since then it more closely resembled something out of Mad Max than a vehicle safe for human transport on suburban roads. Joss’s dad loved this car. He called it his “Little Monster”. A name he had detailed on both sides of the vehicle. He spent every waking moment with it. Joss was pretty sure the Challenger was the son his father truly wanted and he was only conceived as a way to keep his mother happy and out of the way while he “prepared for the big one”. Now that “the big one” was finally here, Joss could see a smile stretched across his father’s face. He had never seen him so happy. Joss half-wondered if his dad hoped this would happen to make all of his preparation worthwhile. At least now he seemed like the sane one with his weaponized car and garage full of guns and swords. If his neighbors were not zombies then Joss was pretty sure they already heard an earful from his dad about how he had been right all along and that he was not crazy after all.

            The blood and vomit that covered Joss began to dry and crust. Being with his dad made him anxious. He felt small sitting in the back seat listening to him talk to Barb about weather patterns and ancient prophecies. Without thinking his hand reached up and tried to grab his hair. Luckily it was too short and Joss’s scalp was saved. Finding no solace in failed trichotillomania, Joss’s hand picked at the dried blood all over his body. It came off in pieces and fell to the floor of the car like snowflakes. The skin underneath was stained red. Joss picked and scratched until he hit a scab. Fresh blood mixed with the dried flakes. Joss stared at it. There was so much blood he could not tell where his ended and the zombies’ began.

“How does that sound?”

            Joss snapped out of his trance. His father’s words snapped into focus as his brain engaged with his present reality.

“Sure,” Joss replied.

            George stared at his son in the rearview mirror of his car. He could tell something was bothering him. He wished he could help. Joss had always been so reserved and solemn. Fatherhood had been all George ever wanted but now that he had it he realized he had no idea what to do with it. He watched his son pick at the blood on his arm. He always did that. He picked and fidgeted. His wife had wanted him to see a therapist but George did not want his son to feel “broken” so he refused to send him to a shrink. He was proud of his son for fighting his way out of the school. He hoped to talk to him about it in more detail and finally bond with him. Zombie hunting may not be as traditional as a game of catch in the front yard but it was better than nothing.

            The car finally rolled into the driveway of Joss’s home. Joss looked up from his arm to see his dad climbing out of the car. He walked to the back door and opened it. The child-safety locks were engaged to prevent zombies from opening the door from the outside. Between that and the bulletproof glass windows the car was practically a rolling fortress.

            George extended his hand to help his son out of the car. Joss begrudgingly grabbed it and slid across the seat and onto the driveway. The street was silent. George ensured all the zombies in the area brave enough to roam the streets were killed through routine patrols in his “Little Monster”. The zombie apocalypse started a few hours ago and Joss’s dad already followed a strict regimen for survival.

Joss and Barb followed George up the walkway to the front door. The exterior of the house looked completely different from when Joss left for school this morning. All the windows were boarded shut and traps lined the walkway to the front door. George pointed out trip wires and shrapnel as they walked. Joss could see the pride radiating from his father’s face. His voice sounded earnest and protective, not at all selfish. Maybe his dad had planned all of this to keep him safe. Joss picked at the blood on his arm as they entered the house. He felt the spinner in his pocket burn. It wanted to be released again. Joss ignored it and continued to scratch at his skin.

Once inside, Joss noticed that everything looked the same. Everything was in its proper place except Joss. He always felt out of place in his parents’ home. A feeling now magnified by everything he had done at the school. He barely felt like himself anymore much less a teenager returning home from school without a care in the world save what food awaited him in the fridge. This place felt alien and it made Joss anxious.

“Y’all want something to eat?” George asked, making his way to the kitchen after chaining the front door shut.

            Barb looked to Joss. She felt uncomfortable being in other people’s homes. Even though zombies roamed the streets outside she could not abandon her awkward personality. Joss remained silent.

“Sure,” Barb said.

She followed George to the kitchen. Joss continued to not speak. The silence in the house rang in deafening tones in her ears. She attempted small talk to cut the tension.

“You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks,” George replied shortly before occupying himself with the cupboards full of non-perishable foods. Barb could see Joss came by his conversation skills honestly.

“Will your wife be joining us?” Barb asked and then immediately regretted it. Joss’s head popped up. He glared at his dad.

“Yeah, dad,” Joss pried, “where is mom?”

“I couldn’t get in touch with her,” George said as he ducked behind the refrigerator door. Unsatisfied with the answer, Joss stood between his father and the rest of the kitchen. George closed the refrigerator door and bore the weight of his son’s stare.

“You know your mother hasn’t spoken to me in two years since she left,” George forced out.

“Yeah!” Joss shouted, “Because of you and your crazy plans!”

Barb fell silent. She had not intended to start a fight. She watched as Joss and his father argued about why his mother left.

Joss could not believe his father. Ever since his mom left he had never taken responsibility for emotionally abandoning the family for his special projects. He claimed they were for the family but Joss knew better. They had always been for him and Joss hated him for that. Anger built up inside him. He felt adrenaline pulse through his veins. The spinner burned in his pocket. Joss grabbed it and spun it as he argued with his father. He needed it. He poured all of his anxieties into each spin. The eyes of the skull on the spinner glowed blood red. George fell silent. He stared at the spinner, entranced.

“Where did you get that?” George asked, breaking the flow of the argument.

Joss was taken aback. He looked at the spinner in his hand. He had not noticed he even took it out of his pocket.

“I don’t know. It just appeared,” Joss replied.

“Come with me,” George said as he ushered the children out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

            Joss followed his father through the hallways of their home until they stopped at the door to the basement. George pulled a key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. The door swung inward and Joss stared into the darkness below. His father never allowed him in the basement. It was where he worked on all his special projects. Joss felt a childlike sense of wonder as his dad flipped a switch next to the door and a light bulb glowed to life and dimly lit the dusty, underground space.

            The basement was nothing special. Old pieces of furniture, a broken coffee table and crushed beer cans littered the floor. At a glance it contained all the hallmarks of a traditional “man cave”. A workbench even sat against the far wall. The only difference was that amongst the tools half built weapons and rounds of ammunition intended for crushing zombie skulls lay in neat rows. The other deviation from normalcy, a recurring theme of life with Joss’s father, was a row of large, wooden bookshelves that lined one wall. An old sofa sat near them with a floor lamp Joss remembered from when he was very young. The bookshelves seemed normal but the books they contained were anything but. Their contents ranged anywhere from the Mayan apocalypse to vampires and demonic lore. Joss watched his father scan the shelves until he found the book he wanted. He pulled it from the shelf and flipped through the pages. The book looked dusty and had strange symbols burned into it. It was leather-bound. As Joss stared at the book in his father’s hands the word “tome” came to mind. It looked centuries old. Joss wondered how it came to be in his father’s basement.

“Let me see the spinner,” George said as he held out his hand. His eyes looked frantic. Joss could not explain why but he did not want to give up the spinner. He stared at it. The skull stared back at him. Joss only snapped from his trance when his father grabbed the spinner from his hand.

            As George held the spinner it began to glow an intense orange. Smoke rose from it and Joss’s dad cried out in pain. He dropped the spinner to the ground. It did not bounce. It landed with a density reserved for heavy, solid objects. Joss leaned down and picked it up. It felt light and cool in his grip. George stared at his hand. The spinner had burned its image into his skin. That was when they first heard the crashes upstairs.

“What was that?” Barb asked, knowing full well what it was, but prayed they had a dog they forgot to mention or even that a looter had broken into the house.

“They followed us,” George replied, staring at his hand. “They want the spinner.”

Joss stared at the spinner in his hand. The eyes of the skull glowed. He felt it pulse, as if calling out to someone.

“What is this thing?” Joss asked.

“It’s an ancient relic,” George explained, showing the pages of the book to Joss and Barb, “It’s written in an ancient language used by the druids. Centuries ago there were two demon brothers who controlled the dead. They ruled the earth until they grew tired of each other. They fought. Their battles continued for decades and threatened to destroy the planet until a group of druids locked their souls away into objects of power they created.”

            There was another crash upstairs followed by the screeches of the zombies. Joss could feel the spinner growing warmer in his hand.

“Is that why the spinners changed people?” Barb asked.

“The two spinners were locked away in the realm of shadows,” George explained. “They bond with the soul of whoever they find worthy. Someone must have unlocked them and created more spinners to communicate with the originals.”

“Is that why it burned you?” Joss asked. “Because it already bonded with me?” His father nodded in reply. Suddenly everything crashed down upon Joss. He tried to process the information but all he could think about was the spinner in his hand. He could almost hear the spirit of the demon within whispering in his ear.

“But why me?” Joss stammered out. He looked to his father and Barb for answers.

“The reason the brothers fought,” George replied, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, “was because each wanted more power and rather than share it they tried to kill each other. This spinner found your soul to be pure enough to channel its power. Now that they are free the demons are continuing their centuries old war.”

“But I don’t want this,” Joss said, panic rising up inside him. “How do I get rid of it?”

“You have to find the other spinner and destroy them,” George explained. “But promise me you won’t let the spinner control you.”

            George stared into his son’s eyes. Joss wanted to look away but he could not. He felt the burn on his father’s hand. It had left its mark on him. He looked at the spinner. Fear welled up inside of him. He did not want the responsibility of graduating high school much less stopping an ancient demon from resurrecting his reign over the world. He did not understand but he knew he had no choice.

“I’m scared,” Joss admitted. It felt good to say the words aloud.

“I got your back,” Barb said as she wrapped her arm around Joss.

George smiled at the two of them. He was happy to see his son find a friend. He felt the spinner’s mark burn against the palm of his hand. He knew he did not have much time left.

The sound of snapping wood echoed upstairs followed by glass shattering. The zombies had broken into the house.

“How did they find us?” Barb asked.

“They can sense the soul of their dark lord,” George replied, indicating the glowing spinner.

George stepped closer to Joss and gently placed his hands on Joss’s shoulders. It was the closest thing to a truly intimate moment he had ever had with his son.

“After this is done, promise me you’ll destroy it,” George implored. His eyes watered.

“We can do it together,” Joss replied. He did not understand why his father was being so melodramatic but he did not have much time to think about it. The sound of more windows breaking could be heard upstairs followed by the dragging of zombie feet. They were looking for them.

            George immediately snapped back into Rambo mode. He could feel the burn on his hand spread to his veins. He ignored it. He did not want to worry his son. He grabbed a bat wrapped in twisted metal and a shotgun. He handed them to Barb. For himself, he took a revolver with hollow point bullets and a katana. They needed to clear the house out fast. He needed to keep his son safe.

            The three of them brandished their weapons and stood at the base of the stairs. They listened to the sounds of the undead fill the house, breaking everything in sight in search of their prey. George held his fist in the air like an army commander. He waited for the opportune moment to charge the enemy. He did not have to wait long. There was a screech and then the door to the basement swung open. A large zombie he recognized as his neighbor stood at the top of the stairs. George gave the signals and they charged up the stairs.

            Barb ran up the stairs behind Joss and his dad. She could not put her finger on it but it seemed like George had a death wish. He charged the zombies with an intensity reserved for someone who knew they were about to die. She watched him throw himself headlong into packs of zombies slicing through them all with his katana. In the tight spaces of the house it was almost impossible to get enough momentum to swing a bat but she managed to pick off any zombies George and Joss missed in their blood frenzy.

            Joss reluctantly engaged his spinner when they reached the top of the stairs. He split off from his dad in an attempt rid their home of the monsters that invaded it. The carpet beneath him squished from the blood of the zombies. He pressed forward. Flames arced from the spinner as he cut down any of the creatures in his path. He could not prevent the collateral damage to the house as he ripped through walls and furniture. Guts plastered the walls and covered everything. Joss wiped blood from his eyes and attacked with the same hellish intensity from when he fought Brett. He could feel the power of the spinner pulse through him. Now that he knew what it was he embraced it. He was chosen and he would wield the demon’s power for good to stop the apocalypse.

            No matter how many zombies the three of them cut down there were always more behind them. The horde seemed endless. Barb swung and bashed with her bat. George sliced with his katana and Joss ripped through everything with his spinner. Despite their best efforts they could not be stopped.

“What do we do?” Barb asked, breathless from the fight.

They were covered in blood and exhausted. George looked at his arm. His veins burned and ran black from the burn on his hand.

“You need to run,” George said, holding the keys to his car out for Joss to take.

“But you’ll come with us, right?” Joss asked. He saw his father’s arm and knew what was coming but he did not want to say it aloud.

“There are too many of them and the spinner has already made too much of a connection with you already. You can’t use it unless you absolutely have to,” George stated in his fatherly tone that made it impossible to argue. “I’ll distract them long enough for you to get to the car.”

Joss followed his father’s line of sight. A horde had already reformed outside and they were moving toward the house.

“But where do we go?” Joss asked. His eyes filled with tears. He knew his father was passing his own death sentence.

“You need to find out who started this,” George explained as he shoved the keys into his son’s hands.

            Joss took the keys. He tried to argue but he did not have time. His father turned and jumped through the shattered windows. He spun and sliced through the zombies as they clustered around him. Blood flew in every direction as George fought with the intensity of a skilled soldier. He did not go down until a zombie he had cut in half grabbed him by the ankles and bit into his Achilles tendon.

            Barb and Joss ran across the yard. Joss could not take his eyes off his dad. Barb bludgeoned a few zombies in their way and dragged Joss behind her. She did not want him to watch his father die.

“Now these are the Romero fuckers I was talking about!” Barb smiled as she watched the zombies groan and drag themselves toward the house. The cell degeneration had finally caught up with them.

“What?” Joss asked, his mind still on his father being overrun by zombies.

“George Romero,” Barb insisted, trying to keep Joss’s mind on anything but his dad. “The creator of Night of the Living Dead?”

            Joss did not register the words coming from Barb’s mouth. He just watched his father on the ground and let her pull him along. Zombies piled on top of him as he continued to cut them down. Joss could not take it anymore. The spinner could have his soul. He needed to save his dad. The blades on the spinner spun in fiery arcs as Joss engaged the ancient weapon. He ran through the zombies that littered his front yard. His blood burned. His vision went dark. He was only conscious of the darkness that enveloped him and the screeches of the zombies as he hacked and slashed through them. Flames erupted everywhere as the dry grass of the front lawn caught fire and spread to the house. He did not care. The house felt more like a grave than a home to him now. His only care was saving his father.

            When Joss regained consciousness Barb was cradling his head in her lap. Tears rolled down her eyes as she shook him. She smiled when he opened his eyes.

“What happened?” Joss asked.

“You killed all of them,” Barb said.

“I don’t remember,” Joss’s voice trailed off.

“You let the demon out,” George coughed out. One of his eyes was missing and his body was covered in blood and bite marks. His veins ran in black ropes over his body. He coughed and black ooze dripped from his mouth. “You can never allow yourself to lose control. Promise me.” George’s eyes burned with the intensity only a father can muster. Joss promised.

“Now,” George said, “You have to kill me.”

Joss knew this was coming but he still could not handle hearing it. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He refused.

“I’ve been marked,” George said, holding his hand up to show the burn, “Don’t let me turn into one of them.”

            George’s gaze was steeled with the resolve of someone ready to die. He had saved his son and trusted him to become the man he needed to be. Joss still refused. He could not kill his father. Nothing could persuade him otherwise.

            Joss screamed out in pain when Barb pulled the trigger of George’s revolver as if he had been shot instead of his dad. Joss looked away. The hollow point bullet had done its work. Barb stood over the remains of George. She dropped the revolver and vomited on the lawn. She hated what she had done but she knew it was necessary. It was a kindness to Joss and his father to save him from the damnation of the undead. Barb dropped to her knees and wept, covered in blood and vomit.

            The flames of the fire consumed the house and the front lawn. They licked at George’s body. Joss leapt to his feet and ran to recover his father’s body. Barb intercepted him and pulled him back. He tried to rip himself away with the inhuman strength of someone stricken with grief but Barb held him with the intensity only a caring friend can offer.

            Joss finally surrendered and dropped to his knees. He watched the flames consume his father’s body like a funeral pyre. There on his knees, in the dry grass of his childhood home alongside his only friend, Joss wept. Barb held him until more zombies emerged from houses and stumbled on decayed legs toward them.

“We have to go,” Barb said, pulling Joss to his feet. There was no time to mourn the dead. Heroes did not have that luxury and they had a responsibility to save the world and not let George’s death be in vain.

            Barb helped Joss into the passenger seat of the Challenger and then dropped into the driver’s seat. She was exhausted but she willed herself to move. She shoved the keys in the ignition and turned them. The engine of the “Little Monster” roared to life with the intensity of a bat out of hell. Tires screeched as she whipped out of the driveway. The sound of zombies screeching and bones snapping filled the air as Barb smashed into them with the reinforced body of the car. She intended to do as much damage as possible to avenge the horrors wrought by the legions of the undead. The engine roared and smoke leapt from the asphalt as the monstrosity peeled out down the road. Barb smiled with the weight of the “Little Monster” behind her. She did not know who started this mess but she had a good idea of where she wanted to begin.