"Breakfast is ready," Rochelle called as she passed out the half-melted granola bars. The seven survivors hungrily grabbed them. It had only been moments ago that they had forced a horde of infected to retreat. They had to eat quickly before the monsters returned. They were also starving. Since the apocalypse food was becoming increasingly scarce. Each bite was savored as if it were their last.
"So what's the deal with salt?" Nick asked as he finished off the bar. Zoey answered him as she wadded up her wrapper into a ball.
"It kills zombies," she said as she tossed her garbage into the corner, "I don't know why it's working now, though."
"I just can't believe we never found this out," said Louis, "We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble." He looked over at Zoey. She had a concerned look on her face that hadn't been there moments ago. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she responded. Something in her voice told Louis that something was, but he decided not to say anything.
"What I wanna know is how the heck their eyes were glowing," Ellis said, "I ain't never seen anything scary as that before, except the time Keith and I were down in Florida and we saw this shark that was attackin' this kid, and Keith goes out there and wrestles him away but he got his foot bit off-"
"Ellis," sighed Rochelle, "Shut up." By now everyone had finished their bars and were busy packing everything up. Guns and canteens rattled around in the backpacks and bags that were used by the survivors. In a few minutes they were marching through the doorway and into the garbage-strewn streets. All of them paid close attention to their surroundings. The infected could be hiding anywhere.
The being sorted through the various components of the burlap bag. Within it was the various little objects he had brought with him from his home. He was looking for something in particular, something that would help him with his problem. The interior of the bag had a peculiar plant-like aroma. At last he felt his hand wrap around the object he desired. He smiled as he pulled out a little leather pouch. Setting it on the broken stone the being reached into his coat and produced the dried tail of a rattlesnake. He glanced down at the symbols he had written on the floor of the tomb. Then he began to shake the snake's tail as though it were a maraca. The sharp rattling noise echoed throughout the tomb. The little pouch in his hand suddenly burst into flames. The fire ate away the leather, exposing the little mummified rattlesnake inside. It burned as well, turning into black and gray ash. As the ashes crumbled in his hand, a wispy plume of smoke rose from them. It swirled around the being's head, seemingly curious about who had released it.
Zoey walked along with her companions. All the while she felt a gnawing sense of dread. Her use of salt over the creatures had seemed brilliant, but now she was realizing what it had meant. The salt shouldn't have worked. Salt was only part of the Zombie myth. It shouldn't have applied to the infected. They weren't true Zombies. They were merely humans who had contracted a horrifying disease. And then there were the eyes. The eyes that glowed an otherworldly green color.
There somethin' wrong?" came Ellis's voice. Zoey looked over at the gangly mechanic.
"I don't know," she sighed, "I just feel that something's not right."
"Of course," responded Ellis, "Lots of things ain't right. Like those little Jockey Freaks. You ever get jumped by one of those? One almost broke my neck once."
"I've been lucky so far," came the reply.
"Back in the big apple we didn't have any of those," Francis interjected, "Or any of those long-necked spitting freaks, or those big-armed nuts. Is there anything wrong with the water down here?" Ellis shot him an annoyed glance, but turned back to Zoey.
"You know one time Keith and I went to New Orleans, and we were at this gift shop and there was this book on Zombies. I didn't buy it, but I read a little bit of it." Zoey smiled at him a little.
"What it say?" Her interest was piqued. She knew all there was to know about cinematic Zombies and wanted to learn more about the original folklore.
"I didn't get a lot of it. It talked about all kinds of weird poisons and potions voodooists use to make Zombies."
"Voodoo?" Francis asked with a smirk, "That's a bunch of bullshit." Suddenly Nick cried out up ahead. Everyone whirled around and drew their weapons, ready to fire at anything that moved. They were shocked to see that the road in front of them was covered in hundreds of the biggest rattlesnakes they had ever seen; each one was about eight feet long. They lay curled up in coils, all facing in the direction of the survivors.
"Jesus," breathed Coach. The reptiles suddenly let out a chorus of angry hisses as they lifted their heads from their coils.
"You ever see anything like this?" Louis asked Rochelle. She shook her head, never taking her eyes off of the aggravated animals. The vertical pupils of the rattlesnakes stared back. The unblinking eyes seemed to regard the humans with cold hatred.
"I got this," Francis said as he aimed a shotgun into the middle of the snakes.
"Don't!" cried Zoey. But it was too late. The loud blast of the shotgun sounded off, echoing throughout the otherwise silent town. The spray of buckshot killed five of the snakes, reducing their carcasses into mangled piles of whitish-pink flesh and tan, scaly hide. But the rest of them remained still and silent, completely unfazed by the display of gunfire. The sound of shuffling feet could be heard in the distance. Zoey's fears were realized. The horde had heard the shotgun blast.
"We've got to get out of here," said Coach. Survivors turned around to flee the way they had come. But they could already hear the ghastly moans of the horde coming around the corner. They spotted a hunter loping around the block, his bloodied mouth open in a horrifying snarl.
"Son-of-a-bitch," swore Francis. The hunter screeched as he surged forward on all fours. Zoey grabbed the salt from her bag as the creature neared them. He was followed by an entire horde of green-eyed infected. They charged after the hunter, uttering horrid noises through their mutilated throats.
"Now what?" asked Louis as he looked back at the snakes that blocked the street behind them. No one answered him. They all knew they were trapped between venomous reptiles and bloodthirsty creatures. Nick glanced over at the half-opened door of one of the brick buildings not too far away.
"Guys," he said quietly, "Think we have a chance if we go in there?" The rest of the survivors looked over at the building. It had been a furniture store, and the large glass window in front had been smashed. But it was the closest thing available. Without speaking another word they made a mad dash for the door. Immediately they slammed the door shut. Coach and Francis threw their bodies against it to hold it closed. They struggled against the raging force of the infected.
"Outta the way!" shouted Ellis as he pushed an overturned couch toward the door. The other survivors followed his example and started moving and stacking furniture to block the door and open window. The infected fought back with surprising resistance, and managed to push the chairs and couches over quite a few times before the window was finally blocked. Still determine a few of them tried sticking their withered arms through the makeshift blockade but were met with salt thrown by Zoey.
"It's not gonna hold," said Nick as he readied his pistol.
"It'll hold long enough," Rochelle said through her teeth. Already the furniture was starting to fall as the horde tore at the upholstered obstacles.
The being growled angrily as he made his way toward his horde. They were stuck clawing at a blockade of furniture. Annoyed at their inability to overcome such ordeals he decided it was best if he lent a helping hand.
"Idiots!" he roared, "Out of my way!" He beat his followers aside with his cane. They backed away and whimpered in fear. As he came up to the blocked window he could hear talking. The survivors were inside.
"Bonjour," came a voice. It rose up against the horrifying cries of the infected, who stopped their screeching as the voice spoke. It sounded deep and smooth, but had a peculiar rasp to it. It had a strange accent, sounding like a cross between a Caribbean dialect and a southern drawl. The survivors suddenly grew quiet. The voice spoke again.
"It would be wise to come out now while I'm here," it continued, "Or I'll set the horde on you again. However, if the four of you fine gentleman just send out the ladies, I'll leave."
"What the Hell?" whispered Zoey. Coach decided it was best to speak to whoever was out there, seeing as they already knew they were hiding in the store.
"Who are you?" he shouted. A dark laugh came from outside.
"Some call me Bokor Renard," said the voice, "Perhaps some of you've heard of me. I know you have, Coach." Coach's face suddenly donned a look of pure terror, but the expression was gone so fast that none of the others saw it.
"I want you seven to know that I'm giving you a chance to step out of the building and come with me peacefully. If you refuse, I'll set the horde on you and let 'em do as they please."
"Don't listen to anything that bastard says," Coach said in a fierce whisper, "We've gotta get out of here right now. Someone go look for a back door." His sudden demand caused confusion in some, but nonetheless Ellis silently went to look for another door. Coach called out through the wall of furniture.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing much," said Renard, "I just happened to see that the world was in ruins, and thought I'd rebuild it. I'm offerin' you a place in it."
"As what?" asked Coach, although he sounded like he already knew.
"As anything you like," Renard answered cryptically. The other survivors were now very confused and somewhat frightened. At that moment Ellis returned.
"There's a door in back," he whispered, "I think we could make it outta here." Coach nodded in response and gestured for the other to start moving. He turned back and talked again with the mysterious being outside.
"We ain't goin' nowhere with you," he shouted. Renard simply laughed his eerie cackle.
"That's a pity," he said, "Attaque!" Suddenly the horde resumed tearing into the furniture. Coach followed his friends toward the back door and hurried out with them. They ran down a narrow alleyway toward an empty parking lot.