Mark Tufo - The End ....

Brendon’s first and fatal reaction was to push the zombie away from Dickens. The zombie latched on heavily to the webbing that separated Brendon’s thumb from his forefinger. The pain was excruciating as the zombie tore free. Brendon rolled off to the side, wrapping his damaged hand in his shirt. Three quick rounds later from the Sergeant's 1911 .45, and the zombie and Dickens lay forever still.

“Someone get some light over here quick!” The sergeant yelled a little louder than normal, the only clue that he was flustered in any way.

Brendon knew time was short, if the Sergeant saw his wound he would kill him as fast as he had taken out Dickens. At least three different flashlights were bobbing in from around the camp. Brendon stood up forcing the gorge in his throat down. All the lights were thankfully trained on the horrid scene before them. Brendon feigned sickness at the sight. It wasn’t too much of a stretch. The congealed brain matter of the zombie was intermingled with the pinker healthier looking brain matter of the friendly Marine tech Dickens.

“You alright Brendon?” The sergeant asked as Brendon moved away.

Blood flowed freely from his left hand, he had to make distance before it soaked through his shirt and onto the snow covered ground where it would stick out like a sore thumb. ‘Not funny’ he thought to himself. “Fine.” He grunted out, it sounded more like a retch but that was still fitting to the circumstances.

Brendon got back to the truck fairly convinced that he had staunched the flow, although his shirt told a different story. The dome light in the truck was equipped with a dimmer switch for which Brendon was thankful. Mostly because it would bring less attention to himself and also it would be more difficult to see the damage done. He took two quick breaths before he could muster the courage to look. He gazed long and hard at the death sentence that awaited him. It didn’t look particularly life threatening. A half inch thick jagged semi circle of skin and muscle was ripped free. That it was a bite was not in doubt. If he so desired, he could have marked out each individual tooth groove as it had sunk deep into his hand; he chose not to.

Brendon shut the light off. He sat there for long minutes staring out of the windshield. He was looking in the direction where the Marines were taking care of their fallen comrade and getting the HAZARD back up. His eyes saw it all. His brain registered none of it. The pain he felt at the loss of never seeing Nicole again far outweighed his life, which was now forfeit. After he had inwardly cursed out every known deity, he silently sobbed for each loss and made peace with himself. He had resolved to show the sergeant the wound. Would you feel the bullet as it punched through your skull? Or did it happen too fast? Would you be able to register the damage as the bone shards and lead projectile tore through the mind? More importantly would the Marines continue on this quest without him there? They had already lost one of their own and might be close to calling it quits especially if their guide was gone. No that was unacceptable! “I’m not a zombie yet!”

The sergeant startled the hell out of him as he came up to the window. “You alright?”

He could only wonder how close to the truck the sergeant was when Brendon had made his statement. “Fine.” He reiterated, doing his best to cover his hand and shirt up even though it was now pitch dark in the cab, guilt has a habit of shining bright.

“You sure?”

“Yep right as rain.” Brendon strained. ‘Right as rain? Who says that? If he was suspicious before you just gave him more to think about.' The sergeant walked away, he had more concerns at the moment. Sweat broke out spontaneously almost completely over his entire body. ‘Is this how it starts?’ He wanted to cry again but that would accomplish nothing, and he still had one thing left in this life to do before he died.

Brendon got out of the truck. He was looking for Murphy. He found him by the back of the troop transport smoking a cigarette next to the now body bagged Dickens. Dark circles and a drawn look punctuated his usually affable features.

“Hey Murph.” The medic nodded. “Hey are you bound by the Hippocratic oath or anything like that?” Brendon asked.

“I’m a corpsman not a Doctor.” The cherry of the cigarette lit up Brendon's features. Murphy could tell Brendon was weighing the merits of telling him something or keeping it quiet. “You got the clap or something?” Murphy’s attempt at humor fell flat for both of them. It would be a while before things looked funny again.

Brendon had made up his mind. He pulled his rag wrapped hand out of his pocket and showed Murphy.

“Oh shit, when did that happen?” Murphy said taking a huge drag out of the cigarette.

“I was trying to help Dickens, it didn’t go so well.”

“Does the Sarge know?”

“I’m still alive, what do you think?”

“Shit.” Murphy said pulling his cap off to rub his hand through his hair. He grabbed Brendon’s hand and poured the remains of his canteen over it, washing some of the detritus away. He started rooting around in his medical emergency kit grabbing disinfectant, gauze, a needle and some thread.

“How much time do I have?” Brendon asked as steadily as he could.

Murphy never looked up as he kept working on the wound. “Uh cleaning out the wound and putting disinfectant on it helps.”

“Listen Murphy I know I’m a dead man walking, I just need to know if I’m going to have enough time to help my fiancée and her family.”

“If we get there tomorrow, yes.”

“Is there a changeover period, will I be able to tell what’s going on?”

Murphy finally looked up meeting him eye to eye. “You’ll know, there’s about a three to five minute window where the person can feel themselves slipping and then...you know what happens. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to become a zombie, that’s for sure. I’m not a religious man Murphy, but do you think God will make an exception for me if I take myself out before it happens?”

“I think he will be able to find it in his heart to absolve you of that sin. The true sin would lie in you allowing yourself to become a zombie. That is not the work of God. I am truly sorry Brendon.”

“Yeah me too. Got an extra cigarette?” They sat in silence. Words carried no weight now.

The sun couldn’t come up fast enough. Brendon did not sleep at all. It was to be his last sunrise and he did not want to miss it. The air had a sweetness he could not bring himself to identify. “Almost like poppies.” He said as he stretched.

“Incoming!” Ramirez shouted from his perch atop the troop transport. “Henderson anything showing on the HAZARD?”

“Nope, wait there it is, holy shit! Sergeant, multiple gomers heading this way.”

“Alright vacation is over. Pack up and let’s get the hell out of here.” The sergeant yelled. His command was obeyed before it was finished being given.

During the drive to Carol’s, Brendon fluctuated between peculiar calmness, flushed sweating and searing pain. ‘This must be what menopause feels like.’ He mused.

Brendon’s truck shook as heavy armament was expended by the troop transport in front of him. Four zombies were reduced to ribbons of flesh on the side of the road. Brendon had a momentary pang of compassion for them and then quickly tore asunder the stray thought. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was to be his fate.

Three hours later they were in the center of Carol’s home town, if you can call a gas station, Post Office and a Piggly Wiggly grocery store a town center. From here Brendon’s recollection of exactly where Carol’s farmstead was became increasingly foggy. This would have been an issue if not for the near continuous line of zombies that cut across the town in a northeasterly route. A few zombies turned to appraise the new ‘eats’ but none strayed from their vector.