Erik Handy by Hell of the Dead Page B

down.
    The soldier outside stepped in. Both men watched Jacoby dart around like a madman. Both soldiers became alarmed by the constable's erratic behavior.
    "Constable?" one of the soldiers said.
    Jacoby slid a bookcase in front of the door. Outdated reference books dropped to the floor, thud thud.
    "Constable?"
    "They're coming," Jacoby said as he worked. "They're coming."
    "Who's coming?"
    Jacoby ignored the question. He continued to block the door with any chair, book, or table he could find.
    "Where's Captain Raymond?" one soldier asked. "And the other men?"
    Jacoby let out a laugh that chilled the men's souls. Insane. Frantic. Futile. It was only now that he stopped his crazed work.
    The grocer's two children peeked out from the inner office. They stared at Jacoby, scared.
    "This was not supposed to happen, children," Jacoby ranted. "We shot them and they kept coming. Ha. They should have died. And that priest. That damn priest." He began to sob as he spoke. "That damn priest and his accusations."
    He settled down for a second, then went back to his task of barricading the door.
    "I am the law," he said. "I am the law."
    A heavy knock on the door stopped all.
    Through the glass window set halfway in the door, a zombie stared through.
    The one Jacoby ran over.
    He banged his fists against the door, trying to get through.
    His pale eyes were locked on Jacoby.
    ***
    The soldiers brought their guns up to bear.
    "What is that?" one asked.
    The constable looked back at the soldier. His sole expression was terror.
    The banging continued.
    The front door shifted, threatening the safety of the office.
    "The back!" Jacoby yelled. "Block the back!"
    The soldiers shook off their shock and dashed into the rear of the building.
    Jacoby grabbed a revolver from the gun cabinet, loaded it, and brought it alongside his neck. He beckoned the quiet children to remain so.
    The zombie kept knocking.
    Then stopped.
    Stepped out of sight.
    A soldier came back. "We --"
    Jacoby hushed him harshly as if silence would deter the zombie.
    Softly and quickly, Jacoby told the soldier, "Get on the radio. Call for reinforcements. Get everybody."
    The soldier nodded, then left Jacoby standing in the middle of the room facing the door. To the children, he said, "Go. Hide. Pray."
    He chuckled.
    "Save me. Save me. Save me."
    ***
    The back office was just a messy room with some broken office chairs, a small stand with an ancient coffee pot atop it, and miscellaneous old and unusable office equipment. All of this was piled against the back door, which was a fine gesture, but the wooden door was not flush with the door frame. Sunlight blasted through those open cracks.
    The two soldiers looked at each other, worried.
    "He wants us to radio for back-up," one said to the other. "I don't know. He, he's -- something happened out there. Where is everybody? What do we do?"
    The other soldier looked at the weak back door and their vain attempt at a barricade. "We get out of here."
    "What? What about the constable? And those kids?"
    "The constable's lost it and those kids are going to die in this hell anyway. We don't live here. These aren't our people."
    This all made sense to them. They were city boys. Out here . . . why should they care?
    "Okay," said the questioning soldier. "Let's hurry."
    They began to toss the crap out of the way so they could slip out and away from the insanity.
    ***
    The grocer's children stood in the doorway of the inner office. The boy held his sister's hand.
    Both were witnessing all that was happening -- Jacoby pacing and looking out the window -- with a detachment of sorts. Witnessing their mother's death took its toll upon their psyches. But yet they were still there for each other. Who else would be? They were alone.
    Jacoby's psyche, on the other hand --
    SMASH!
    A jeep plowed through the office front. Planks of cheap wood splintered inward. Jacoby shielded his face with his hands.
    The jeep stopped just over the threshold.
    Jacoby