Loose Ends: A Zombie Novel by Jay Wilburn

Order was saying.
    “We may have to bury it,” Chef said. “Mutt, gather some more wood. Don’t go far.”
    I went toward the trail and began picking up kindling heading back toward the houses. I kept my eyes open looking around on all sides as I went.
    I heard it before I saw it.
    I set my wood down and squatted. It was crossing through the brush at an angle in front of me. It was going to emerge on the trail near the houses. I drew the hunting knife I was carrying at that moment and waited. If it moved on without seeing me, that would be best. It stepped out into the trail almost at the mouth near the yards beyond. It started turning around. I put my chin to my knee as low as I could fold. It didn’t spot me as it turned again toward the houses and kept walking. It had a metal pole over its shoulder.
    I stood up straight and saw Doc as he disappeared into the neighborhood beyond the trees. I ran up the trail to see where he was going.
    It didn’t occur to me that anything was wrong.

     
    ***
    I reached the end of the trail. He turned back to look behind him again as he crossed the tall grass of the front yard of a squat, brick house. He never made it around to spot me. Someone else had stepped out from the side of the house to greet him.
    Doc brought his metal pole out in front of him as he squared off. I stepped off the trail and up into the yard with my knife drawn.
    The new arrival was battered by his time outside. The remains of his cloths hung off him in tatters. He had a relatively intact, black vest around his chest and shoulders. The padding was wearing away, but the Kevlar underneath was still protecting the zombie’s center mass. There was a necklace around his scarred neck with a shiny medallion at the end over the vest. He lifted his upper lip slightly and growled at Doc in the back of his swollen throat.
    Doc said, “You’ve been waiting for me all this time? I guess I should be flattered.”
    I stopped in the middle of the grass by the broken front window of the little, brick house. I was about ten feet behind him.
    He brought the shaft back and connected solid against the side of the zombie’s bare skull as it approached him. It bent and stumbled sideways, but caught itself at the end of the warped, porch rail near the front stoop. It looked at me and then back at Doc. The wood groaned under the zombie’s weight.
    Doc swung the rod around over his head again and crushed the zombie’s face at the nose. It staggered backward. Its eyes weren’t level anymore and it squealed air through the long dent where its nostrils used to be.
    I took a couple steps back.
    Doc brought the metal down on the dead flesh a few more times until the zombie collapsed to its back with its head leaking out of several broad openings. Its arms went limp in the grass.
    I started to walk forward again.
    He raised the pole up again and slammed it into one of the arms. He brought the pole up again jammed the point into its kneecap. He squared off and whirled at the shin below the broken knee.
    I took a step back.
    He struck again and again and again. The zombie’s limbs began twisting and flattening as the bones splintered and shattered inside. Its splattered head took a few more blows as well.
    I realized I was walking backward when I almost fell off the slope at the edge of the yard. I sidestepped and went around the corner of the house by the broken piece of gutter pipe.
    Doc finally stopped.
    His chest heaved as he dropped his pole in the grass. Then, he dropped to his knees. He ran his hands through his hair, but it didn’t smooth down. He reached down and jerked at the necklace. It came right through the broken spine and pieces of skull around the neck. He held it up to his eyes and rubbed at the medallion.
    He sneered. “Officer Friendly, I presume. Oh, Lieutenant J. Berry, you were promoted. I hope it was worth it, you trigger-happy fascist.”
    Doc pocketed the badge and stood back up with the metal bar. He kicked