Free Dead Earth: The Green Dawn by Mark Justice Page A

Fiona said.
    “Man, this is crazy. I don’t know if I can
take much more...”
    Damon sat up, grinning, with a gaping hole in
his chest. His mouth dropped open and he made a sound that reminded
Jubal of Jurassic Park pterodactyls.
    “F-fuck,” Jubal said.
    Damon got to his feet, swaying a little. Then
he took a step forward. His bright orange eyes were stretched wide
open, and the orbs looked as if they had no lids. His mouth gaped
and emitted a croak.
    Jubal could do nothing as Damon took slow,
staggering steps toward him. It was as if it were a dream that he’d
soon wake up from.
    Yeah, that’s it. All I have to do is wake up.
Just wait a few seconds and it’ll be over.
    Damon’s head burst apart into gray chunks and
red mist in what seemed like slow motion. His headless body dropped
to its knees, then keeled over.
    But Jubal hadn’t pulled the trigger of the
shotgun. He looked down at his hands. The shotgun was gone. He
looked over at Fiona.
    She had taken it from him and he hadn’t even
noticed. The barrel still smoked from the killing shot.
    This wasn’t a nightmare; it was real. Why did
he have to keep reminding himself of that?
    Jubal’s face felt funny. He reached a hand
up; it was coated with tears. He looked at his wet fingers as if the
substance upon them was some alien liquid.
    “C’mon, baby. Let’s get out of here,” Fiona
said, grabbing his upper arm. “There’s nothing you could have
done.”
    They made their way around the house, their
feet crunching in gravel. By the time they had reached the cruiser,
the rising sun had dehydrated Jubal’s tears.
    “We need more guns,” he said.
    It was another scorcher in downtown Serenity.
But unlike most mornings, Main Street and its sidewalks were
completely empty. Not even Bubba, the old dog owned by Phil Marx
over at the Amoco, was to be seen; the mutt usually roamed up and
down the sidewalks, looking for affection or handouts. He always
had a wag of the tail for everyone.
    Fiona made a low moan in her throat.
    Jubal ignored it. The numbness in his mind
had returned and he felt like a wooden puppet only loosely
controlled by its own wooden brain.
    He rolled the cruiser to a stop in front of
the sheriff’s office.
    “You stay in the car, Fee. I’ll leave it on
with the air going. Use the shotgun if you need to. I’m going to
get more weapons.”
    Fiona nodded weakly, staring out the
windshield at nothing much.
    Jubal laid the shotgun on the driver’s seat
as he left the car. He slammed the door and paused, listening.
    A mourning dove cooed somewhere. There was a
muffled crash and clatter, as if from a toppled piece of furniture
in a far off building. Then nothing.
    Ignoring the piles of reports on the desk,
which no longer meant anything to him—or to anybody—he walked
straight to the gun cabinet. Jubal unlocked it and withdrew a Glock
to replace the one the soldiers had confiscated, and two more
shotguns just like the one in the car, along with an armload of
ammo boxes. Looking around, he saw nothing else he thought he’d
need.
    What do you need when the world is
ending?
    What entertaining thoughts his mind
conjured.
    Outside, the car door slammed.
    Jubal thought he heard Fiona say something.
He laid the weapons and ammunition on the overflowing desk except
for the Glock.
    He left the front door open and stepped out
onto the sidewalk.
    Fiona stood behind the opened car door,
sighting along the Mossberg laid across the top of the door.
    Jubal looked where she was aiming.
    Far down the street, the walking dead
creature that had once been the lab worker Renee shambled towards
them. She held something loosely in her grip. Jubal squinted
against the light and saw that it was a severed hand. As he
watched, she put one of its pale fingers into her mouth and bit it
off with a snap that Jubal could hear quite clearly even from this
distance.
    “Are you okay?” Jubal asked, not taking his
eyes off Renee.
    Fiona grunted assent, still sighting