by Brown, TW
Getting to his feet and making a point to be more cautious, Ken headed towards the door that would lead to the stairwell that took him to the second floor. He’d given it serious thought over the past couple of days any time he got a chance to catch his breath. He’d known that his mother was as good as dead when she’d revealed to him that she’d been bitten or scratched by one of those things. Some folks might consider him cruel or heartless for not having come sooner, but it was actually his mother that had taught him to be a realist.
She would have probably scolded him for coming now. The issue that tugged at Ken was the idea that even the shell that he knew very well not to be his mother would be up and walking around. He would slip in, put her to rest once and for all, and then haul ass and hope that the two or three dozen geriatric undead that had converged on him as he went through that door would wander off before he returned and made his exit.
Running up the stairs, he saw dried blood smeared on the walls and unidentifiable bits and pieces of the human body littering a stairwell that was blessedly well lit by wall sconces and overhead fluorescents. He reached the first landing and came upon an elderly woman hunched over with her back to him. He could also clearly see the splayed out legs of the unfortunate bastard that had met his or her end.
When the old woman turned her head in Ken’s direction and opened her mouth, he was ready for the moan so common with these abominations. What he was absolutely not ready for was the sound of a baby’s cry.
“What in the unholy fuck…” he whispered.
Stepping in well before the woman could engage her muscles and stand, Ken brought down his blade and ended the woman. For good measure, he pushed the corpse aside with his booted foot and then drove his blade into the top of the head of the poor female orderly who had probably just been trying to help.
When he rounded the corner to finish his ascent to the second floor, he was greeted by another surprise. Three more elderly zombies had been killed. Two, by the looks of things, had been put down with metal dinner forks. Both were on their backs, their gaze marred by the handle of the utensil jutting from an eye socket. The third was the one that made Ken glance back at the facility orderly and give a nod of appreciation. That one had had its skull crushed by repeated slams into the concrete wall. A series of dark stains that looked like somebody had thrown a wet soccer ball at the wall were evidence of a half dozen attempts before the obvious victory that ended with the elderly female zombie’s head smashed open like an overripe melon.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Ken threw open the door. He’d been breathing through his mouth this entire time and he swore that the stench on the undead had coated his throat. He could taste the rotten, foulness every time that he swallowed the saliva that kept filling his mouth as he fought back the urge to be sick.
He hurried along the covered landing to the door that was his mother’s room. When he reached it, he produced the small key ring with the two keys to his mother’s room. It seemed to weigh a ton.
Taking a deep breath, Ken put the key into the lock and turned it. It was as if he could hear every part of the tumbler rotate and fall into place as he unlocked first the regular lock and then the special dead bolt that he’d arranged to have put in. His mother suffered from dementia, and at times would insist that the drug dealer that his father had put away was coming for her.
The reality was that the man had actually managed to escape custody. He had broken into their house, but he’d made the mistake of coming up what Ken had always considered the squeakiest stairs in the world. Ken’s dad put two rounds in the man’s chest. Of course Ken’s mother had insisted on a deadbolt lock afterwards. And thus, that seemed to be her fixation when he’d first moved her into this assisted living facility.
Reaching down and grabbing the doorknob, Ken felt his other hand tighten on the machete he held. He stood there for a moment until his machete hand began to physically ache. Opening the door, Ken stepped inside.
The apartment was little more than a glorified hotel room. There was a living room with a love seat and a wall mounted television. Ken saw that the EBS was still up and running, but the sound was muted. Currently, all that was being broadcast was a message that warned citizens that martial law was in effect and that everybody was to shelter in place and await further instructions.
“What a bunch of crap,” Ken grumbled.
“You watch your mouth, young man,” a familiar voice croaked from the other side of the door that led to his mother’s bedroom.
Ken jumped, but as soon as he recovered, he hurried to the door and flung it open. “Ma!” he struggled with the tightness in his throat as emotions that he worked so hard to suppress threatened to come to the surface.
“What the heck kept you, boy?” Ken’s mother was sitting on her bed with a tube of crackers and a bottle of water, a book of crosswords tossed aside.
“I th-thought that you…” he let the statement fade. He could not bring himself to say it. However, his eyes went to his mother’s arm.
“What?” Mary Simpson asked, seeing the concern in her son’s face. She followed his gaze and looked at her bandaged arm. “This? I told you it was just a scratch.”
Ken peered at his mother’s eyes. Not a single trace of those black squiggles that were proof of infection. Of course there had been reports that some people took as long as seventy-two hours. But shouldn’t she be exhibiting some signs? It had been almost two days at least.
“We need to get out of here,” Ken finally said with a shake of his head.
He would bring his mother with him. She would be his responsibility and he would sit with her for every single minute until this…whatever it was…finally took hold and claimed her.
“Where are we going?” Mary Simpson asked.
“Away from here.” He almost expected her to resist. She would say something like how tonight was BINGO night or some such nonsense. Instead, she pointed to a small suitcase that sat next to her dresser.
“Grab my bag and let’s go.”
Ken led his mother to the door and then paused. He turned to face her and saw that she was giving her room a bit of a once over. How many times had she done that exact same thing whenever they left the house?
“Ma, things are bad out there.” He suddenly felt like an idiot. How would he be able to explain that zombies were real and not sound like a fool? How could he explain that the dead were actually walking around and eating the living to his eighty-three-year-old mother? He decided that the best thing to do when dealing with Mary Simpson was to simply come out and show her. And that was precisely what he was prepared to do until she spoke.
“If we are going out there, I want a weapon. I may not be able to do much, but you can bet your ass that I won’t be zombie chow without a fight.”
Ken turned to his mother in amazement. She smiled and walked up to him, her eyes bright like they were during her periods of lucidity. These were the times that Ken had had so much trouble dealing with these past several months. When his mother was “fine” there was no brighter, more independent woman in the world. That was why he had so much trouble when she would slip into her states of dementia. He knew that she would hate it if she was aware that such things were going on.
“You know?” was all Ken could manage to say.
“Kenny,” Mary Simpson placed a frail hand on her son’s cheek and smiled, “I know that things have been tough on you since Milly died. And it sure couldn’t be easy with me having my…troubles…but I do watch the news. I have seen what is out there.” Mary paused and her smile widened. “And besides, I saw Night of the Living Dead when it showed in the theaters. I think I know a zombie when I see one. Just a shame that poor Doctor Sing couldn’t bring herself to admit what was happening until it was too late.”
Ken hugged his mother. And then he did something that he never imagined himself doing in a million years. He unholstered his Glock and handed it to his mom.
“It’s got a little bit of a ki
ck. Only use it as a last resort. Those things seem to be attracted to sound. Just stick by me and watch your step. The ground is littered with bodies and not all of them are necessarily…” Ken paused. He was about to say “dead.” However, dead is exactly what they were. They just happened to still be moving around.
“At rest?” Mary Simpson finished for him.
“Sure.” Ken gave a shrug and a nod. Then, he reached over and picked up his mother’s suitcase. Just as he did, the lights went out.
***
Jason tapped the steering wheel. Ken had been gone for a while now. He had already gotten out of the truck on five separate occasions and put down at least a dozen zombies that were drawn by the sound of the truck’s engine. At last, he’d shut the thing down. That was not a decision that he was feeling all that comfortable with at the moment.
Only a short while before, two cars had raced past on the road that ran in front of the assisted living center. There was a good enough view that he and Juanita had actually been able to see them as they approached, and had been alerted by the roar of their engines at least a few minutes before they ever came into view.
When the two cars did appear, it was also very clear that one car was chasing the other. The lead car was a newer model Jeep Cherokee. Jason recognized it instantly; he’d had one several years back and had been an avid reader of Car & Driver magazine. He’d seen the write ups every year when the new models came out and was hoping to get one again someday. He guessed that he could have his pick now.
The car that was doing the chasing was a Hummer. The driver of the Jeep was all over the road which was probably why the driver of the Hummer was able to keep up. Neither he nor Juanita got a clear look at the occupants of either vehicle, so they were clueless as to any idea on what might be happening. However, the two vehicles were not out of sight long when the sounds of a massive crash were heard. A moment later, there was another peculiar explosion.
It took Jason a few seconds to realize that the sign on the mini-mart across the street had gone dark. After all, it was daylight, so the exterior sign light was not something readily apparent.
“Stay here,” Jason finally said, and climbed out of the truck.
Drawing his own machete, he walked cautiously to the street. He had to step through a hedge that ran in front of the facility, but that was preferable to him over going all the way down to the main entrance. He wanted to stay on a straight line that kept him in the closest proximity to the truck.
He stepped out onto the sidewalk and saw that there were several zombies all up and down the road. They were in a heavily populated neighborhood, and it should not have surprised him to see so many, yet he was still struck by it.
He had to wonder how this had happened and how it had spiraled out of control so quickly. Just a few days ago, it was a footnote in the news. Had the government really been able to cover things up that well? He had his doubts. He believed that it came down to the simple fact that people did not want to believe it. Besides, wasn’t the general public always being hit on the news by some new sickness? He’d gotten tired of hearing about the newest flu strains or whatever it was that made people in Japan and China walk around with masks on their faces. This had just been more of the same. That spokeswoman for the CDC had dismissed this as anything serious. That had been good enough for him.
It was a long and straight stretch of road, so when he looked up in the direction that the two vehicles had gone, he easily spotted them…sort of. The Jeep had crashed into the one place that could cause the most damage. Jason made out what was obviously a power transfer station. Smoke was already rising and he could see intermittent sparks and flashes of blue.
The Hummer had stopped on the road and Jason watched as two figures emerged. One of them tried to rush in to where the Jeep had crashed, but the other person held him or her back. Already, several of the undead had turned and were heading in that direction.
Not wanting to catch the attention of the several zombies—possibly numbering in the hundreds—that were to his right and now all seemed to be coming in his general direction, Jason ducked back through the hedge and hurried to the truck.
“What’s wrong?’ Juanita asked as he climbed inside.
“They hit the power transfer station up the road.” As if to emphasize his point two more small explosions sounded. “Those are probably transformers blowing.”
“So how much longer do we wait? Are we in danger?”
“No,” Jason said with a shake of his head. “It just means that this place is off the grid sooner. I imagine we will see total power failure before long no matter where you live. As for waiting, I say we give him five more minutes. If he doesn’t show up, I will at least go up and take a look. I haven’t heard any gunshots. I am pretty sure that Ken would go down swinging. At the least, if he thought that he was done for, he’d eat a bullet.”
The two sat in silence. A lone zombie stumbled from around the corner of one of the buildings that radiated off from the central hub. It looked like a woman with long, black hair. She was wearing white, so the damage done to her seemed even more vivid. The zombie was headed for the direction of the accident, and Jason got an idea as he watched it stumble along, apparently clueless that he and Juanita were little more than twenty or thirty feet away.
Once the zombie had passed them and made its way through the shrub, which actually took a few minutes as the creature struggled in its awkward manner to navigate the hedge, eventually falling through. The moment that the zombie vanished, and before it could regain its feet, Jason hopped out of the truck. As they had watched, he explained his idea to Juanita. Now it was time to test it.
Fortunately, there was plenty of debris littering the lot and he snatched up a pop can. Filling it partway with some dirt took a few seconds, and by the time he scurried to the hedge and peered through, the thing was a good twenty or so feet away and trudging for the scene of the accident. He also noticed that the Hummer was gone. With a high, arcing throw, Jason lobbed the can across the street, scoring a direct hit on a car that was sitting with its doors open.
The zombie paused, and when Jason looked around, he saw several others do the exact same thing. They re-oriented on this latest stimulus and began heading in the general direction of where his can had landed. He was watching as the first zombie actually reached that area and then kept walking until it was forced to stop and change directions due to a fence at the end of the mini-mart’s parking lot.
He was already churning with ideas on how he could use this to their advantage. He had, at least in a preliminary way, confirmed that the zombie reacted to sound. Just as he backed out of the shrub to return to the truck, a hand grabbed his shoulder.
Jason screamed.
***
Jason spun and Ken had to duck to avoid being decked. He cursed himself for his continued carelessness. He of all people should know better than to sneak up on folks. He was just lucky Jason wasn’t holding a machete or, even worse, a gun.
“You scared the crap out of me,” Jason snapped, his hand going to his chest for just a second as if to quell a heart attack.
“Sorry,” Ken blurted and hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “Time to go.”
“Who’s that?” Jason asked as they started back for the truck at a jog.
“My mom.” Ken struggled with the next part of his statement. “She’s been scratched by one of those things, so she is my responsibility, but I am bringing her with us.”
Jason simply nodded. Ken had been ready for some sort of argument and simply found himself open-mouthed as he got in the truck and started it up. Introductions were made hastily, and Ken went to help his mother buckle in, but she slapped his hand and told him that she was elderly, not an invalid.
As he pulled out, he noticed that Jason had rolled down his window and stuck his head out. He seemed to be looking for something. Ken checked all his mirrors, but he did not see anything.
“You lose something?” Ken asked as they
pulled out onto the road.
“No.” Jason called over his shoulder as the truck turned and began its journey towards the highway.
Ken waited a few minutes, but it became clear that the guy wasn’t going to fill him in. “So what are you looking for?”
“The zombies react very specifically to sound,” Jason replied as he slid back down into his seat.
“What do you mean?”
Jason went on to explain what he’d seen with his little experiment. Ken listened to it and actually found himself impressed with the ideas that Jason proposed. It would mean a bit more work, but it wasn’t like he had any plans.
13
Tough Choices
“What the hell!” Jason snarled as Ken brought the truck to a stop. From their vantage point, they could see the house. Smoke was pouring from all the windows and flames were visible, coming up through the roof.
“You think Erin’s people did this?” Juanita asked.
There was a moment of silence as both men glared at the seemingly senseless destruction to the house that they were going to make into their own little fortified outpost. Jason shot a questioning glance at Ken who paused only briefly before giving a curt shake of his head.
“No,” Jason admitted. “We might not have parted ways on the best of terms, but she doesn’t strike me as the sort to do this.”
Ken rolled down his window and they both heard it at the same time. Jason knew that sound well. One of the things that he loved doing in the form of recreation was to go ATV-ing. He had a Quad Runner back in the day that he’d scored from a guy who owed him money.
“Really?” Jason sighed. “Has it already spiraled to this point? We got random people out setting fires and looting?”
