Rod Redux (aka Rodd Reduxxx) - Mort

Mort

By

Rod Redux

Mort is copyright 2010 by Rod Redux

Published by Cobra E-books

Metropolis, IL

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living, dead or re-animated is unintended and entirely coincidental.

Originally published under the pen name Rodd Reduxxx.

Also by Rod Redux

NOVELS

The Oldest Living Vampire Tells All

The Oldest Living Vampire on the Prowl

Menace of Club Mephistopheles

Mort

For Aaron

Esther tried very hard to keep the screams bottled inside as the zombies groaned and scraped their fingers across the windows of the van. Her grandson lay in her lap, sleeping God knows how, his little hands clamped over his ears. He was a pale, beautiful boy with long, dark eyelashes. His fatherwho had traded his life in a vain effort to buy their escapehad bemoaned his sons sensitivity, but Esther didnt care that little Drew was small and gentle and thoughtful. Drew was her only grandchild, and she loved him with the fierceness that only a grandmother can muster. If that meant that she had to bite back her terror and remain quiet so that he could steal a few moments of rest, then that is what she would do.

She and her grandson had been trapped in the Dodge for about thirty-six hours now. Drews father had tried to lead the zombies away so that they could make it to the van. Only problem was: the keys to the vehicle were in his pocket. Esther and Drew had clambered insideslamming the doors shut just in timeonly for Esther to realize she had no way to start the engine. They were trapped! And her son-in-laws agonized screams had drawn even more zombies to the area.

Esther stroked her grandsons fine hair, pushing it back from his brow, her knuckled old womans fingers trembling. The sight of his parched lips, cracked and peeling, filled her with fresh panic every time she looked at him. They could not stay here much longer. They were dying of dehydration.

Perhaps it would be better if her grandson passed away in his sleep. Wouldnt it be a merciful thing if little Drew simply didnt wake? Didnt have to look at the horrors scratching at the windows ever again?

No! No-no-no! Esther thought. You mustnt give up! Never!

Esther did the only thing she could do. She prayed. She prayed to God. She prayed to Jesus and the Virgin Mary. She prayed to any supernatural being who might be listening. She didnt care who it was-- Allah, Buddha or Holy Ronald McDonald in Cheeseburger Heavenso long as Somebody heard her.

Please, save us! Oh God in Heaven hallowed be Thy name

She was not a religious woman. Technically a Lutheran, Esther hadnt set foot in church for years. Shed become too disenchanted with organized religion. Disgusted by the cliquishness, the gossip and drama, of her local church, and the scandals and greed of the larger Christian organizations, with their fast-talking televangelists and constant pleas for donations. It was spiritual blackmail. Gimme fifty million dollars, or God is gonna take me home. Jesus will heal your arthritis if you buy this ridiculously overpriced prayer pillow. Shed gotten so tired of seeing the same three people walk the aisle every Sunday to be saved. Goodness! How many times did a person have to get saved? Didnt it take last week?

She wished now she had been a better Christian. Just like the Bible said about the End Times, the dead had arisen. Funny thing, though. The Bible never mentioned the resurrected killing and eating everybody! Maybe if she had been a better Christian, she would have been taken up before the Tribulation-- and all this nasty brain-eating-- commenced.

Too late now , she told herself. You thought you were too smart for religion. You thought you could slide by on good deeds , and now lo ok where you are! Stuck in a van, surrounded by dead p eople that want to eat you-- just like they ate poor Sissy and Drews daddy Jake-- and youve dragged your grandbaby along for the ride! Oh, you stupid old bitch!

She wished shed gone to church more often. She wished shed believed better, harder, for her whole familys sake. If she had been more devout, and insisted all her loved ones go along with her, they might not be dead right now, and she might not have gotten trapped in this van with her grandson in her arms and about three dozen zombies outside, groaning and drooling for their brains.

Drew stirred, whimpering a little in his sleep.

She stroked his hair and shushed him.

The zombies crowded around all the windows, ogling in at her with their soulless, cataract eyes. They were moaning. Pawing at the glass. They left smears and streaks of greasy looking slime on the windows. Snot and viscous yellow foam dangled from their chins. Every now and then, one would strike the glass harder, and Esthers whole body stiffened up, waiting for the glass to break.

It was nearly impossible for her to bite back her cries. She wanted to scream her fool head off. She wanted to surrender to the horror and hysterics squeezing her heart. If she was alone, she would probably have thrown open the door and let them have their way with her. But she was not alone. She had Drew. And so long as she had Drew, she would persevere.

Please, Lord, send me an angel! Esther prayed.

The dead one she was most worried about had circled around to the passenger side of the van. Esther had been watching him closely. He didnt seem as dull-minded as the others. There was a glimmer of cleverness in his milky eyes. Hed actually tried the door handle on her side of the van. Shed locked the doors, of coursejust to be safe. And thank God she had, because hed shuffled up to it and gave it a few yanks, grinning through the glass at her with his filthy teeth, bits of rotten food stuck between them, and black oozing lips, his eyes twinkling at her beneath thick, devilish eyebrows.

His name was Richard. She knew this because it was embroidered on his name tag. He was dressed in a stained gray mechanics uniform, the logo for Sals Quik Change and Lube emblazoned across the back. He had a long, bristly beard, pumpkin orange and caked with the brown crust of dried blood, and teardrops tattooed to his right cheek.

Esther watched him closely, her litany of prayers trailing off in her head. She didnt like the way he was looking at her. The foul thing kept grinning like he was up to something. He was acting too sly. The other zombies were slow, but he was slow in a different kind of way. A sneaky kind of way. He kept slipping out of sight. He kept circling the van.

Mammy, Im firsty, Drew croaked in her lap, stirring a little.

Shhh, baby. Go back to sleep. Well get something to drink in the morning, okay? Esther whispered. She patted his hair brusquely, peeking at the rear view mirror to see if Richard the Zombie was in back of the van. Hed given her the slip again.

But m firsty now, Drew said in a terribly soft, weak voice.

It broke Esthers heart to hear him so. The poor baby. He sounded so distant and faint. His life, she knew, was playing out into a very thin and very fragile gossamer thread. One that could snap so easily. The image of it was vivid in her mind. It was as if she could actually see it. That single, shining filament.

They must find some way to escapeor be rescued soonor they would both die. A person could only go a couple days without something to drink, she knew. Their spirits would simply dry up and blow away if they were not released from this horrible prison soon.

Can I have a soda pop in the morning, Mammy? Drew murmured. With ice cubes and a bendy straw?

Of course, baby, Esther said. In the morning.