The Arm…Part 7

Dillon let out a screech and jerked his leg backwards. The arm continued its death grip on his leg. Raising his other leg, Dillon prepared to crush it.

"Hold on....hold on," a voice called out from under the car. Suddenly a young man who appeared to be in his early 20's came crawling out from under the car. He let go of Dillon's leg and smiled uneasily. Dillon could see with some alarm that the man had a tire iron in his other hand.

"I just had....just had to make sure, you know," the man said, glancing around nervously, "I had to make sure that you weren't one of....them."

Dillon shuddered and nodded. It was an unspoken word between them, but they both knew what he was talking about. Zombies. It seemed that things that were once dead....weren't so dead anymore. Dillon could still see the images of the two zombies he had left back at his house. Were they following him even now?

"Hey, I hope I didn't scare you too much," the man looked at the car and shook his head in disgust.

"Just a bit," Dillon lied, "Is this your car?"

"Yep," the man said, "It sure is."

"Ummmm....then why did you run off the road?" Dillon asked, "Why are you in the ditch?"

"Come over here and see for yourself," the man said leading Dillon to the ditch. Dillon suddenly didn't want to know...but he went anyway.

Underneath the front tires, Dillon could see the twitching remains of a zombie. It was pinned underneath the car...but it was still moving. The tires had crushed its ribcage.....and yet it continued to look at both of them, chomping its teeth and trying to get at them. A low moan escaped from its lips which were peeled back in a sneer of blood and pain.

Dillon turned and walked three steps before he threw up. Hot vomit splattered on his shoes. He felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked away. He didn't want to be comforted....not now.

"Hey....hey," the man said, "It's okay. It's going to be......okay."

Dillon closed his eyes. He could tell from the sound of the man's voice....the way that his voice trailed off at the end....that even he didn't believe it. Would things ever be alright again?

Dillon turned around, wiping his mouth, "What's going on? Why is this happening?"

"I don't know," the man said, walking back over to his car, "I was listening to the radio when the news cut in that there were reports of people....being attacked. I still don't think that they know what is going on....actually. They just kept saying it was people attacking other people....but this is....really messed up."

"The head," Dillon said, pointing to the front of the car.

"What?" the man asked.

"I think you have to destroy the head," Dillon said, "At least, that is how they always do it in the movies."

"Yeah....right," the man said blankly. He walked slowly to the front of the car. Dillon looked away. He didn't want to see.....but he still heard. The thwack of the tire iron sinking into soft flesh...through bone...and into the dark, warm tissues inside. He heard the man choke back some vomit of his own.

"You're right," he heard the man say, "It stopped moving."

Dillon turned around and saw the man looking down at the ground. He started to walk toward the man.....he just had to see for himself.

"Don't look at it," the man said, holding Dillon back, "Let's just get out of here. I think that if you steer the wheel that I can push this thing out of the ditch. Wanna' get out of this place?"

"Yes," Dillon said....and that was all. He felt numb. He didn't really know what he felt right now. He just wanted to get as far away from this place as he could.

As he slipped into the car and started turning the wheel to the left just like the man had told him to, he heard him say, "By the way, my name is Jeremy."

"Nice to meet you Jeremy," Dillon croaked, his throat still burning from the vomit.

Soon, with a little pushing and a lot of sweat, the car was back on the road. Dillon slid over and Jeremy took control of the wheel. At first, the car just grinded and screeched. It didn't want to start again. But finally, just like the zombies, it came back to life.

Without a word, Jeremy took off down the road. In the rear view mirror, Dillon thought that he saw the shuffling figure of a man...a man without a throat....come around the curve to where they had just been. He reached out and turned the mirror. He didn't want to see.....or think.

The Arm…Part 6

With a yell, Dillon pushed the old woman backwards. Fueled by his fear, he was able to send her reeling backwards into the wall where she crashed and sank to the floor. But her eyes, dead and dark, never left him. And her teeth......kept gnashing....trying to bite. Behind them, he could hear Mr. Miller's groans as the zombie slowly got back to his feet.

In a panic, Dillon raced past the old woman and down the stairs. So far, it seemed that both of the zombies were easy to push out of the way....and they were slow. But he didn't want to chance it. He had seen too many movies. It only took one careless mistake. Then, it was all over. So instead, he just wanted to get as much distance between himself and the two creatures as possible. He had to get help!

Downstairs, he could see that the zombies had totally wrecked the house. Knick-knacks were lying broken all over the place. Chairs were turned over. The kitchen door was completely destroyed. The only thing that went through his mind was that his mom was going to be completely ticked off! That image in his mind made him snort with a crazy little laugh. He thought about trying the phone again to call his parents, but inside he knew that it was no good. The lines were dead. As dead as Mr. Miller and the old woman upstairs.

Racing out the door, he made his way down the road just as fast as he could. His breath was hot and burning in his lungs as he ran over dirt and gravel. He knew that if he could just make it to the highway that he would be able to flag someone down.....get help....or a ride into town. Living up in a hollar in Breathitt County, a person didn't see too many people out and about most of the day. However, the highway was a different story. So, he only had to go about 2 miles and he would find help....hopefully.

The day was already starting to fade. The sunlight was sinking slowly behind the trees, casting strange shadows on the road in front of him. The hills around him seemed to be full of eyes....watching him. Hungry eyes that wanted to taste his flesh. Shuddering, he ran faster. He didn't want to look up in the hills because he might see something that he didn't want to see.

Racing around a sharp curve in the road, he suddenly came to a dead stop. There was a car in the road. Well, it wasn't quite in the road as across the road. It looked like someone had wrecked their car and had run it into the ditch. The motor wasn't running, and Dillon couldn't see anyone around.

His heart racing, he walked slowly up to the car. Taking a deep breath, he peered into the window. He didn't see anything or anyone. There wasn't anyone in the front or back seat. Dillon looked around. He didn't see anyone around. He wondered what had happened.

"Hello?" he yelled out, hoping that he wasn't attracting the wrong kind of attention...the zombie kind. But if someone was here, he didn't want to pass up help.

Nobody answered. All that he could hear was his own breath. It was so quiet. He had never known it to be this quiet. Not even in a hollar in Eastern Kentucky. It was as though someone had thrown a blanket over the world and muffled all the sounds.

Just then, something grabbed his ankle. With a screech, he looked down. There was an arm reaching out from under the car. It had grabbed hold of his ankle....and wouldn't let go!