Ken was dragged, sputtering, to the bank. He grabbed a patch of weeds. They were spiny thistles edged with thorns that cut him cruelly. Blood ran with the rain, a pink reminiscent of the color that came when the zombies were hit in the head.
It was the color of a man who had left the pinball machine.
The hand finally let go of his hair. Ken looked over and saw Christopher smiling tightly at him. The younger man’s other hand was buried in the weeds as well, also bloody.
On the bank: Buck, tall. Holding Hope.
Maggie. Liz bound to her.
They were waterlogged as stray dogs in a hurricane. But standing, neither seeming afraid of the girls’ health. Or no more than before at least.
Sally was even there. His tail twitched from time to time. Almost as though he was saying, “I don’t know why you’re all acting so upset about what just happened to you. After all, I was the one who got rained on.”
Ken wrestled his way up the bank. The mud kept peeling away under his hands as though the canal wanted to keep him; had claimed him as its own and was loathe to give him up. Still, he made it up before Christopher and reached down to give the other man a hand.
Christopher came up, huffing and puffing. Again, Ken wasn’t breathing as hard as he thought he would. He pulled Christopher the rest of the way, then said, “You need to hit the gym, man.”
“I’ll sign up at the next Gold’s.”
Ken clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to Maggie. Hugged her harder than he’d ever hugged anyone. Careful not to crush Liz, but still managing to nearly meld his wife’s flesh with his own.
“Still sure I don’t gross you out?” he said.
“You keep saying that,” she answered with a shake of her head. “You’re beautiful.”
He smiled. Had a moment to feel something… odd.
What the –
Then a shot rang out. He felt something punch him in the back.
Turned.
Elijah was running toward them farther down the bank than they had been.
They hadn’t accounted for the big man. For the man who had already fallen into the same canal, had been dragged the same direction they had gone. Hadn’t accounted for his toughness, his persistence.
For his gun.
Another shot.
Another punch. This one hit Ken’s shoulder.
He fell to his knees.
Someone was screaming. A high-pitched scream. Could have been Maggie. Might have been Buck, too. The guy had a surprisingly high voice for such a big man.
No, probably Maggie.
Elijah was within twenty feet. Gun pointed at Ken. At his face.
Maybe he’ll miss.
But he hadn’t missed at longer range. In the rain. While running.
“Sorry,” yelled the big man. “The world. We’re saving the world!”
He stood carefully. But switched his aim. To Lizzy. Strapped again across Maggie’s belly.
A shot that would likely kill them both.
72
Ken reached up a hand. His left.
He stared at it. Just for a moment. An instant. Too long, perhaps, given what was happening around him, but still – Elijah was set.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. The sound was a whisper.
The shot rang out. Maggie screamed.
And did not fall.
Elijah’s head exploded.
The man’s body flung backward. Rolled down the bank. Into the canal they had all navigated with such cruel care.
Gone.
Ken didn’t understand. And almost didn’t care.
He looked down.
Blood soaked his black shirt. “I went to BOISE and all I got was this STUPID SHIRT (and a raging case of the CLAP.” He snorted and more blood exploded from his nose and mouth. Even that was funny. It was all so terribly funny. So damn funny.
Footsteps sounded in the rain.
“Who the hell are you?” demanded Buck.
A voice answered. Thick and gravelly. A voice Ken knew instinctively belonged to the type of man you did not screw with.
He knew he should be curious about what happened.
He wasn’t.
He grinned. Gritted his teeth. That strange feeling – that wrong feeling – was still there.
He lifted his left hand. It was hard. He did it anyway.
He could hear his pulse. Double pumps in time with the surges of red across his shirt.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
“Not now,” said the other voice. The new voice. Maggie was still screaming. “Any more of them out there?”
“Maybe,” said Christopher.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Ken couldn’t look away from his hand. Couldn’t stop gritting his teeth.
He suddenly remembered kicking Aaron.
Climbing around on the train.
Running faster than the others, without losing his breath.
Making a deadly swim without benefit of any flotation device, and again emerging without losing his breath.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Fighting off zombies with a knife and then with the train coupler. And how heavy did those things have to be, to bind freight cars together? But he had swung it like it was nothing more than a baseball bat.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Most of all, he remembered how the zombies swarmed the train. And how he had grown resistant to their call to give in to their attacks.
How they slowed down at the end. Slowed down when he wished it.
Lub-dub.
Lub… dub.
Heart beating slower.
He looked down. Blood no longer spurting out. Just dripping.
He slumped to his back.
Lub…