Tim Curran - Resurrection

Darin just ignored that. He knew what was best and he didn’t care for people like Margaret Boyne to be telling him what to do. Miriam Blake had been bad enough. He scratched a stick match off the fireplace brick and lit the lantern. Both wicks caught, an even illumination filling the living room and chasing away the shadows.

“There,” he said. “That’s better. Don’t you think?”

Neither Margaret or her son commented on it.

“I can tell you right now,” Darin said, “that I don’t care for the idea of us being trapped in here. Shouldn’t we try to find a vehicle? My SUV is sitting in my driveway at this very moment. In ten minutes we can be over there and then out of this stinking city.”

Margaret chuckled in the dark. “Really, Lou. Have you forgotten what’s outside at this very moment?”

“Yes, yes, yes, the crazies. We have a gun.”

“They’re more than crazies,” Russel said. “They’re the walking dead. Just like those people said that gave me the Watchtower magazine. Foul abominations and stuff that crawled out of the cellar of hell.”

Darin sighed. “Please, let’s not get into that again.”

Russel shrugged. As with most things in life, it mattered not one whit one way or another with him.

“Are you still doubting?” Margaret said. “After what you saw come into Miriam’s house?”

“I saw people. Obviously mad, but still people.”

“Dead people.”

“Disfigured, certainly…but dead?” Darin shook his head. “I think not.”

“Zombies,” Russel said. “I saw that movie where zombies take over the world. You ever seen that, Mr. Darin? Night of the Living Dead? That was a good picture.”

Margaret nodded. “Yeah, it was. Did I ever tell you, Russel, that I saw that one out at the Hillview Drive-in with your father? Oh, God, that was years ago. Years ago. They showed it with that Japanese picture. The one about the monster with three heads.”

“Ghidrah. Now that was a good one. I think Ghidrah was my favorite after Godzilla. I always hated Mothra, though. I mean, how tough can a moth be anyway? You ever see any of those pictures, Mr. Darin? Any of those Jap movies? Those were something. Godzilla was the best. Some of ‘em were pretty bad, though. Like the flying turtle…what was his name? Gamera? Yeah, that was it. Gamera movies were stupid. But not as stupid as that one with that squid that walks around on the tips of its tentacles. Man, I mean, how could you believe something like that? Ghidrah’s one thing, but come on.”

“Not all the Godzilla ones were good, though,” Margaret pointed out. “Remember that one? Was it Son of Godzilla? The one where Godzilla’s little boy blows smoke rings?”

“Oh yeah, that bit the big one, all right.”

“I always like Rodan, the giant bird.”

“Yeah, Rodan kicked some ass. Remember when he flapped his wings? It made a wind that blew buildings down and stuff. That was awesome.”

Darin just stared at them, perhaps wondering what he’d gotten himself into. The city was besieged by crazies and these two were talking about bad movies. He had a mad desire to slap them both across the face. He tried to be tolerant. Maybe this was how they coped. Maybe that was it. But had these two been students he would have shouted in their faces.

Margaret was obviously enjoying herself. “Ah, I used to stay up all night with Russel, Mr. Darin, while he watched monster movies. I thought he might get scared watching them alone.”

“Was this recently?” Darin said.

They both looked at him, but simply did not comprehend his sarcasm.

“I wasn’t scared. Not of them Jap movies. Some of the others used to bother me, though. I never liked the mummy and the wolfman. I mean, Frankenstein could be mean, but he liked kids and he didn’t kill ‘em much. Dracula? Well, he was greedy and you could talk sense to him, you know? Tell him that if he didn’t kill you, you’d bring him some girls or something. But the mummy didn’t care what you said unless you had some of those Tanna leaves he liked. Mostly, he’d just strangle you. And the wolfman? He’d rip out your throat soon as look at you.”

“Those were good flicks,” Margaret said, nodding her approval. “They just don’t make ‘em like that anymore. Now it’s all blood and guts, killers with masks and crap like that. Not like it used to be. Drive-ins are all gone now, too. Hillview’s been closed for years. Wicker Creek is gone, too. I think there’s a trailer court there now. The last one was the Brighton. It’s been closed fifteen years, I bet. Still there, but overgrown.”

Darin sighed. “Can we please stay on the subject?”

“Yeah, you’re right. What were we talking about? Oh, Night of the Living Dead. That was a good picture. You see, Mr. Darin, these people are trapped in this house and the zombies are attacking. They have to fight them off until dawn. Until the sheriff and his men come and kill them.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens all right,” Margaret said. “There’s a colored guy in that one, ain’t there?”

“Sure, but he’s okay for a black guy.”

“All right, that’s enough. You two don’t seem to realize the situation we’re in here,” Darin said, drops of spittle on his lips. “We don’t have time to take a trip down memory lane here. We need a plan.”

“He’s right,” Russel said. “In that movie, those people board up the windows and I think that’s what we need to do. We need to make some weapons, too. Maybe firebombs and stakes and stuff. Anything we can come up with.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what we should do,” Margaret said.

“You two are both crazy,” Darin said.

Then there was the shattering of glass somewhere in the house and there was very little time to debate the comparative sanity of the Boyne’s. Glass shattered and there were garbled voices…or something that sounded like voices.

“Must be the zombies,” Russel said, almost too calmly.

“Yes,” his mother agreed. “I figure they’d be coming. Must have sniffed us out.”

Darin was on his feet. “All right, dammit. The thing to do is to draw them into the house and escape like we did at the Blake house. It’s our only chance. We’ll make a run for my truck and?”

“No, sir,” Russel said. “We got to make a stand here and now just like in one of them cavalry pictures.”

“You’re completely out of your mind,” Darin told him.

“Oh, you think so?” Margaret told him when Russel merely shrugged. “I imagine my son knows a little bit more about killing zombies than you do.”

She took the lantern and followed her son down the hallway towards the back of the house where the sounds of breaking glass had come from. It was a bedroom and the dead were trying to get in. An easy dozen of those white, puckered hands were tearing at the curtains and sash and anything they could get their rotting fingers on. Russel knew instantly what to do. It was just like that movie. He went over there and started hammering those hands with his rifle butt and there were so many, it was like trying to squash dozens of wriggling albino spiders at the same time.

“Be careful!” Margaret told him. “Watch it now!”

Darin was scared. He’d have been the first to admit that, yet the absolute absurdity of the situation?and the Boyne’s in general?seemed to cancel a lot of that out. They weren’t in touch with reality. Not in the least. Granted, reality in Witcham these days left something to be desired…but these two were something else again. They just didn’t seem to realize the danger those things outside presented. They were like a couple players in some European existentialist film. Too offbeat and exaggerated to be really taken seriously. They had spent a better part of their life watching low-budget horror films and now the veneer between reality and fantasy had been torn wide open, between the real and the blatantly cinematic, and they happily adapted to this. Life was a cheap zombie movie, pass the popcorn, mom.