Mark Justice - The Green Dawn

Damon had built the gazebo back in his married days with the help of Jubal’s dad. Susan was already making noise about the limitations of being married to a small town cop, so Damon was trying to?x the place up a bit to appease her. These days he sat out there on occasion, sipping a can of beer, but nothing stronger. Sometimes Jubal would join him.

Now a dark form was slumped across the gazebo’s bench.

Jubal stepped through the back door. It was suddenly hard to breathe, as though a band of steel had tightened across his chest.

He took a couple steps toward the gazebo. He could hear the crunch of Fiona’s shoes on the dry soil behind him. She was keeping a bit of distance between them.

Good girl. If there were trouble, maybe it wouldn’t take both of them.

Jubal took two more steps. He was?fteen feet from the gazebo. He could clearly see the back of the prone man’s head. It was de?nitely Damon.

Damon sat up and swiveled his head around, farther than Jubal thought possible.

“Damon?”

Fiona gasped.

Damon was through the gazebo’s screen door and running at Jubal.

Jubal froze, his shotgun held loosely in his hands. He could not accept that Damon had turned into a monster. This was a man he had looked up to his whole life. And loved-something he’d never told the older man.

Now the dead sheriff glared at him with orange eyes. Folds and?aps, where the blisters had burst, covered his gray skin. Off-white saliva stretched between his upper and lower teeth. His hands were curled into killing claws. Sheriff Damon Ortega snarled, sounding more animal than human.

“Damon, stop,” Jubal said, as the zombie sheriff barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. Jubal rolled onto his back and pulled the trigger of the shotgun.

The blast hit Damon squarely in the chest,?inging him backwards to the ground.

Jubal got to his feet. “What have I done?”

“You had to do it, Jube. He was going to kill us,” Fiona said.

“Man, this is crazy. I don’t know if I can take much more…”

Damon sat up, grinning, with a gaping hole in his chest. His mouth dropped open and he made a sound that reminded Jubal of Jurassic Park pterodactyls.

“F-fuck,” Jubal said.

Damon got to his feet, swaying a little. Then he took a step forward. His bright orange eyes were stretched wide open, and the orbs looked as if they had no lids. His mouth gaped and emitted a croak.

Jubal could do nothing as Damon took slow, staggering steps toward him. It was as if it were a dream that he’d soon wake up from.

Yeah, that’s it. All I have to do is wake up. Just wait a few seconds and it’ll be over.

Damon’s head burst apart into gray chunks and red mist in what seemed like slow motion. His headless body dropped to its knees, then keeled over.

But Jubal hadn’t pulled the trigger of the shotgun. He looked down at his hands. The shotgun was gone. He looked over at Fiona.

She had taken it from him and he hadn’t even noticed. The barrel still smoked from the killing shot.

This wasn’t a nightmare; it was real. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that?

Jubal’s face felt funny. He reached a hand up; it was coated with tears. He looked at his wet?ngers as if the substance upon them was some alien liquid.

“C’mon, baby. Let’s get out of here,” Fiona said, grabbing his upper arm. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

They made their way around the house, their feet crunching in gravel. By the time they had reached the cruiser, the rising sun had dehydrated Jubal’s tears.

“We need more guns,” he said.

It was another scorcher in downtown Serenity. But unlike most mornings, Main Street and its sidewalks were completely empty. Not even Bubba, the old dog owned by Phil Marx over at the Amoco, was to be seen; the mutt usually roamed up and down the sidewalks, looking for affection or handouts. He always had a wag of the tail for everyone.

Fiona made a low moan in her throat.

Jubal ignored it. The numbness in his mind had returned and he felt like a wooden puppet only loosely controlled by its own wooden brain.

He rolled the cruiser to a stop in front of the sheriff’s of?ce.

“You stay in the car, Fee. I’ll leave it on with the air going. Use the shotgun if you need to. I’m going to get more weapons.”

Fiona nodded weakly, staring out the windshield at nothing much.

Jubal laid the shotgun on the driver’s seat as he left the car. He slammed the door and paused, listening.

A mourning dove cooed somewhere. There was a muf?ed crash and clatter, as if from a toppled piece of furniture in a far off building. Then nothing.

Ignoring the piles of reports on the desk, which no longer meant anything to him-or to anybody-he walked straight to the gun cabinet. Jubal unlocked it and withdrew a Glock to replace the one the soldiers had con?scated, and two more shotguns just like the one in the car, along with an armload of ammo boxes. Looking around, he saw nothing else he thought he’d need.

What do you need when the world is ending?

What entertaining thoughts his mind conjured.

Outside, the car door slammed.

Jubal thought he heard Fiona say something. He laid the weapons and ammunition on the over?owing desk except for the Glock.

He left the front door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Fiona stood behind the opened car door, sighting along the Mossberg laid across the top of the door.

Jubal looked where she was aiming.

Far down the street, the walking dead creature that had once been the lab worker Renee shambled towards them. She held something loosely in her grip. Jubal squinted against the light and saw that it was a severed hand. As he watched, she put one of its pale?ngers into her mouth and bit it off with a snap that Jubal could hear quite clearly even from this distance.

“Are you okay?” Jubal asked, not taking his eyes off Renee.

Fiona grunted assent, still sighting along the shotgun.

“You know,” Jubal said, sliding on his sunglasses. “It’s just a matter of time before the whole town ends up like her.”

Fiona turned her head towards him with an astonished look on her face. “Mr. Sensitive now, are we?”

“Just the facts, ma’am,” Jubal said in a monotone, lifting his Glock and taking aim. “Die, bitch.”

Jubal shot once and Renee’s head snapped back. She wobbled around a bit, as if beginning a waltz step, then toppled over onto her face.

Jubal had the sudden urge to blow the smoke off the barrel of his gun, like an old-time movie cowboy, but then thought better of it. He barely understood what he was doing; it was as if some cold, primitive part of himself was taking command of his actions. “Bullseye,” was all he said.

“Jubal, are you losing it on me?” Fiona said, sitting down on the passenger seat with the shotgun propped between her legs. “I need you.”

“Shoot ’em in the head. They go right down. Plop.”

Jubal knew he shouldn’t be acting like this, that he was freaking Fiona out a little, but he just couldn’t help it. Maybe he’d feel like his old self after a rest.

“I’ll get the additional weapons, then let’s go home, Fee. We need to plan shit out.”

Fiona slammed her door closed without answering.

Jubal turned towards the sheriff’s of?ce, saying, “Oooooh-kay,” under his breath.

He went inside and collected the weapons. He brought them out and threw them in the back seat of the cruiser.

Again behind the steering wheel, he?ipped on the car and revved the engine. “It’s okay Fee. We’re going home now.”

He put the car into drive and sped off down the street.

“Look out, Jubal. You’re going to run over…”