J. Gonzalez - Back From The Dead

And somehow, amid the violence that had visited his house in the form of his father and those still unknown shambling creatures of the dead, one of Dad’s power tools had fallen off the shelf and now lay within easy reach.

Dad’s chainsaw.

Without even thinking about it, Scott reached out with his left hand and, ignoring the pain, grasped the chainsaw’s handle. He dragged it over and, with his other hand, reached for the ripcord. He sat up, chainsaw held firmly with his left hand, and started it with one savage tug.

As it roared to life, Dr. Chud turned toward him. Scott stood up and cut Dr. Chud in half as the zombie lurched over to him. Dr. Chud went down in a spray of blood, his guts splashing on the floor to land wetly at his feet. Scott stepped around Dr. Chud’s dismembered torso and brought the whirling blade down on the short-and-skinny zombie, who gave one semi-frightened bleating noise before being chewed up and spit out.

The other zombies had left the basement, and presumably the house. Scott had taken a quick look around, then turned his attention back to Dr. Chud, who had fallen in such a way that he’d landed on the open wound that bisected his torso. He looked like he was growing out of the basement floor. Dr. Chud waved his arms toward Scott and opened his mouth in a silent hiss. The floor around his torso was wet with blood; more ran out of Dr. Chud’s mouth. The zombie’s eyes were open and blank, like the eyes of a cow. Scott grimaced and brought the whirring blade of the chainsaw down on Dr. Chud’s head. “Here you go, you fucker.” The chainsaw cleaved through Dr. Chud’s head, dividing it neatly in two. Dr. Chud’s skull split down the middle, presumably his brain separating at their hemispheres perfectly, and the body flopped backward on the floor.

Scott had paused, his eyes lighting on the short, skinny zombie. It wasn’t nearly as mobile as Dr. Chud, and seemed to be having a hard time trying to maneuver itself. No way was it getting out of here without legs.

Scott had headed up the stairs, the blade of the chainsaw wielded like a weapon. He was able to make it out of the house and outside where he quickly dashed over to Dave’s car. He’d clawed the door open and got inside, dropping the chainsaw on the backseat. For a moment he’d almost passed out in the front seat.

He’d grabbed Dave’s keys — they were sitting in the drink container in the center island between the front bucket seats — and started the car. He’d backed it down the driveway and headed out of the development.

And now he was nearing his final destination.

Scott turned down Maple Drive. He’d taken a roundabout route to the Gaines house because he wanted to avoid driving down Main Street. Every time he passed a street that fed into Main Street he detected heavy police presence. Several times he’d heard amplified voices, had even seen Army vehicles turning into the various residential streets that snaked off from Main Street. Scott had turned on the radio to hear what was going on and the news brought him up to date. The National Guard had been called in. A shitload of them from what it sounded like. The entire county was surrounded by the military, and troops were arriving from Fort Detrick, Maryland. He’d heard sirens and the steady whirring of helicopters flying overhead, so he knew the military and the police were stepping in to destroy as many of the zombies as possible. That was fine with Scott. In fact, he hoped they would step up their assault.

It would provide him with the perfect cover for what he needed to do.

Scott’s left arm started to twitch and he almost lost control of the car. He stopped, the vehicle jerking, and he took a deep breath. He wasn’t far now. If he could just get there…

It didn’t matter if Count Gaines wasn’t home. As long as he got inside Tim’s house, he would wait.

Better yet, if his parents were home that would be even better.

He was pretty sure Tim’s parents didn’t possess any weapons. They’d always struck him as pansy-assed liberals, the kind that wanted to take everybody’s guns away. That would make them pretty easy to take down with a chainsaw.

Either way, he was getting even with Count Gaines.

And if that meant getting even with him by killing his parents, so be it.

Scott Bradfield gained control of his arm again. He took a deep breath, then took the steering wheel and crept forward.

A moment later he made a left hand turn down Count Gaines’s street. He ignored the few people who were standing outside, staring up at the military helicopters that were flying overhead toward destinations unknown.

Scott felt a tinge of excitement as he drew to the curb next door to Gaines’s townhouse. Both his parent’s vehicles were in the driveway.

Grinning, Scott turned off the car, reached into the backseat for the chainsaw. He grunted with the effort it took to lift the heavy tool. Another burst of pain exploded through his body, tingling his limbs. He felt woozy again. He fought the feeling, then regained his strength.

He took a deep breath, feeling more in control. Then he opened the driver’s side door and, chainsaw in hand, limped his way to Count Gaines’s house.

Tim Gaines had been standing with his ear practically to the wall of the cell near the door, listening to what was going on outside, when he heard footsteps approach.

Tim stepped back as the door was unlocked.

Officer Clapton stepped inside. He looked worse than he had earlier this morning. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, which were bloodshot. “I just talked to your mother. The author of Back From the Dead called your house today looking for you.”

At first Tim didn’t know what he was talking about, but then he remembered his hastily-written email last night to William Sawyer. “Really? What did she say?”

“What she told me managed to confuse me even more.” Officer Clapton’s eyes looked haunted. “Guy couldn’t believe this could happen.”

“I don’t think any of us did,” Tim said.

“I just got word from a unit of State Police and National Guardsmen that had been dispatched to the Bradfield residence.”

Hearing this news was a shock to Tim’s system. “What happened?”

“When the State Police and National Guard got there the place was empty, but it looked like those things had been there.” Clapton entered the cell and stood near the lone bunk. The door to the cell was open and the conversing voices that had seemed only muted before were now more discernable. “They found several zombies that were…well, dead is the only word I can think of to describe them. They’ve been put down. There were at least four, probably five in the basement in various stages of dismemberment. Our guys came across a few that were still mobile that were roaming around at the rear of the property. They were forced to open fire when they came under attack by these things. One of them was identified as Tom Bradfield.”

“Tom?”

“Yeah. We still don’t know what happened. They’re still investigating the scene now, but so far only Tom Bradfield has been positively identified.”

“What about Scott?”

“Don’t know about him yet. They’re still working at containing the scene. But get this…” Clapton leaned forward against the table. “Two of the bodies they found were old. Officer Slick, from the State Police, tells me they look like they’ve been dead and buried for twenty years or more. The closest cemetery is on the grounds of the Manheim Church of the Brethren, and all of those bodies have been accounted for. Those corpses had headed south, toward Lancaster. Besides, there’s no way they could’ve made it to the Bradfield estate in that time. But get this…your mother told me that William Sawyer told her that in order for this spell to work it would require a dead human body. That if done correctly it probably wouldn’t have worked until they brought the bodies of their victims to the spot and buried them. But the way Gordon did the spell…he must have screwed it up or something, because he actually unwittingly performed another spell, one that was more…liberal in its use of raising the dead.”