by Brown, TW
“You do know that the supply trucks have stopped coming,” Ken pointed out. Jason had merely nodded.
“I have a plan, and I actually think it is best that you not be along for it,” Jason admitted.
Ken waited until Juanita had been up in the loft for a while before approaching Jason who was sitting by the fire barrel and sharpening a black handled machete with a whetstone. “You ready?”
Jason nodded and rose to his feet. “I will try to be back by sunrise.”
***
Jason rolled to a stop. He had the window down on the driver’s side in order to be able to hear better. The sounds of gunfire had all but ceased in the past few days. He did not know exactly how to feel about that little fact. On the plus side, perhaps things were beginning to settle down; on the negative, it might mean that there were just fewer people left alive.
A soft moan carried on the breeze and, moments later, was answered by that terrible baby cry. It was pitch black, and he could not even make out any silhouettes in the near complete blackness of a moonless night. This was one of the areas that lacked any sort of streetlights. Given the fact that most people had either made a run for it, evacuated to a FEMA shelter, or fallen victim to the undead, as well as none of the few homes scattered about this location having lights on, Jason figured that this was about as dark as the world could get. He better understood why ancient civilizations had such a fear of the night. He liked to think that he was a pretty confident guy, but sitting at this three-way intersection and hearing the sounds of even distant zombies, Jason felt his gut tighten with at least a bit of fear.
Just beyond this intersection was the turn into the housing development that he’d spied on his return trip with Juanita and Gabriel. He turned in past the sign that promised “Several Homes for as low as $280,000” in what big letters announced as the first phase of Strawberry Heights.
A row of two-story homes with massive garages and lawns little larger than what would take a handful of passes with a mower stretched out on either side. Over a third still had their “For Sale” signs up, but there were the others…the ones with open garage doors or perhaps the second car or even RV parked in front that he had his sights set upon.
He killed the engine as he came to a stop in front of the first house. He took a sniff and felt confident that there were no zombies, at least none in the immediate proximity. As he walked up the driveway, he caught a hint of something foul. Drawing his machete, he stepped up onto the porch and tried the doorknob.
Locked.
Moving along the front of the house, he tried to peer in the windows, but, between the utter darkness and the gauzy curtains, he couldn’t see a damn thing. He passed a smaller window that he figured to be a bedroom and got a stronger whiff of that unpleasant smell that he now associated with zombies. It was much more pungent than just a simple dead body. It was hard to describe exactly how, but in just this short time, he had learned.
Moving down the side of the house, he walked into the open back yard. A small collection of children’s playthings were scattered about. There was a propane barbecue grill on the porch and Jason quickly checked to see if it had a canister of propane still attached. He was delighted to discover that, not only did it have a large white tank of propane, this was one of the upper end barbecue grills. It had the tank hung on a weighted hook that indicated that the tank was at least around three-quarters of the way full.
After he had removed the tank and then hauled both it and the grill out to the truck, Jason returned to the sliding glass door on the back porch. He gave it a tug and was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was unlocked.
The wave of stench hit him with gut-roiling intensity and a mewling moan came from nearby. Jason slid the door open all the way and stepped back just as a little girl took unsteady steps out and onto the porch. It turned its head in short, jerky movements and its mouth opened again as it moaned. What it did not do was move towards him. Jason had his weapon in his hand, but he was momentarily taken aback by this reaction. There was absolutely something about the child-zombie that made them different. However, that difference was only minor and seemingly temporary as it actually appeared to spot the machete and then revert into the standard behavior of the undead by reaching for him and staggering forward with its mouth opening and closing in anticipation of tearing into his flesh.
With one quick stroke, Jason brought the heavy blade down on the crown of the girl’s head, splitting her almost to the nose. With a booted shove, he pushed the body away and freed up his weapon just as another zombie shambled out. This was likely the mother. And Jason put an end to her in much the same manner, actually easing the corpse down beside the child after he chopped deeply into its skull.
Reaching just inside the doorway, his hand found the light switch and he flipped both toggles upwards. The back porch light as well as an overhead in the dining room came on and chased away the darkness. Glancing down, Jason confirmed his suspicion about this being mother and daughter. Besides the obvious of them being in the house together, they looked strikingly similar even in their state of undeath.
Stepping inside, his eyes spied a large family portrait on the wall just above an enormous fireplace in the living room. He could make out mother and daughter, both with wavy blonde hair and big smiles that flashed bright whites for the mother and an open gap waiting for the permanent teeth on the daughter. There was also a man with skin the color of mocha with a bit of extra cream. His black hair was short and cut with perfect symmetry.
A moment later, he stepped around the corner of the living room. For just an instant, he seemed to pause as his eyes sought Jason. The moment that those filmed over, tracer-ridden orbs locked on him, the mouth opened and a chilling baby cry issued forth. Jason lunged forward and brought his machete down hard and fast. If nothing else, he just wanted to end that sound.
For the next several minutes, he hurried through the kitchen cupboards and the walk-in pantry beside a large double-doored refrigerator. He had discovered a box of heavy-duty plastic garbage bags and went about tossing in everything that he could think of that would not cause a rip in the bag. He was stunned when he filled two such bags and hurried them out to the truck.
Apparently his activity had somehow drawn attention as three zombies were clustered around the pickup and another two were staggering across the front lawn. Setting the bag down, he took care of them and then finished loading the first haul. After five trips in and out of the house, he had emptied out the kitchen for the most part, as well as the bathroom, a hall closet full of blankets, towels, and liquid laundry detergent.
This had worked out much better than he imagined. That was a double-edged sword. He would no doubt have to return to pick these homes clean. His only real concern was the possibility of encountering other individuals that had the same idea. He was already of the opinion that the undead were the least of his worries. With zombies, you knew ahead of time what you would be getting. It was the living that proved to be a mixed bag; most of it seeming to lean towards unpleasant.
Back on the road, Jason was grateful for the fact that it seemed that the clouds were being blown away. This was providing just enough ambient light that he could see the road. While not the most optimum way to drive, he did not want to give himself away too readily. He had managed to escape his last encounter with a small gang that were apparently claiming the whole of what was downtown Sandy as their turf.
Almost on cue, a set of headlights came into view on a road that ran perpendicular to his. If he continued on, they would come close to meeting at the intersection. Jason stopped the truck and watched with patience as the mysterious vehicle continued to prowl along. Eventually, it turned down another road and vanished into the trees. It might not have been the individuals from before, but he had no real desire to find out.
At last, he arrived at the tool and equipment rental outlet. Just as before, the place seemed completely intact. Not even the windows had been broken by passing
vandals. There was a large, fenced-in lot with all sorts of machinery. He spied one thing in particular that made him smile: a flatbed trailer.
Pulling in, he once again gave a precursory sniff and was pleased to find nothing more than fresh air. Hopping out, he rushed to the gate with the lock cutters that he had found on the tool wall in the barn. In a flash he was in, making a showing of pulling the gate shut behind him and parking the truck on the back row between a trio of small cement mixers and a backhoe.
He hurried to the back entrance of the shop and discovered that the metal door was locked. He wanted to avoid busting a window if possible and after finding out that he lacked the skill to pick the lock, his eyes scanned the building until he found a frosted over set of windows. They were small and, being in the rear of the building, would not draw any attention if he broke them.
Once he was inside, it was a simple matter of grabbing a few more things that they would need to make their trench. An hour later, Jason had a flatbed trailer “loaded to the gills” as his dad used to say. Hooking up the trailer to the truck was an easy task, and Jason was back on the road with plenty of time left to allow him to make it back to Ken and Juanita well before sunrise.
***
The next evening was highlighted by an uneventful late-night trip to the Fred Meyer grocery store after another trip to the rental store where they grabbed the six barrels in the lot. For this run, they had brought Juanita and Gabriel, telling them both ahead of time that they would remain in the truck during this trip.
Jason had insisted that they fill the barrels right away since it was unlikely that the power grid would last much longer. He had switched on the pumps and started pumping as Ken stood at the ready with an arsenal that included Glocks on each hip, a sawed off twelve-gauge shotgun, and a .30-30 Winchester with a scope.
It almost seemed like prophecy when, as they were filling the fifth barrel, everything simply shut down. Using the forklift dolly to load the barrels, they winced at every sound. The absolute silence was almost more unnerving than the early days of sporadic gunfire and screaming…almost.
They were returning to the farm when Jason told Ken to stop the truck. Jason hopped out of the truck and Ken followed, hand on the grip of one of his pistols.
“Easy, Ken,” Jason whispered.
“What is it? Why did you have me stop?” Ken stepped up beside the other man, his neck on a swivel as he searched for the threat.
“Portland.”
That one word hung in the air. It took Ken a moment, but then the realization hit. Both had been out enough to know that, even though it was what Jason called “country dark” out on the outskirts of Sandy where they were making their fortified home, you could still look to the west and see a glow on the horizon. Also, there were the transmitter towers with their red lights.
It was all gone. Sure, there were still pockets of light, but those were just the last of the fires burning out. They did not hold a candle to what had once been the dome of light pollution created by the city as a whole.
“Power is out everywhere,” Jason whispered.
“So much for cold beer,” Ken said with a chuckle.
They had driven home in silence. Jason thought that it might just be his mind, but he felt that the world actually seemed darker.
The next week went on with long stretches of hard work and the occasional stop in the progress to deal with the surprisingly rare zombie. At one point, as they were finishing up the day’s digging of the five foot wide, seven foot deep trench, Jason hopped down from the backhoe and accepted the canteen from Ken.
“Not what I expected,” he laughed as he screwed the cap back on and tossed it beside the cooler.
“What?” Ken asked absently as he began refilling the gas tank from one of the fifty-five gallon barrels of diesel fuel that they had obtained.
“The zombie apocalypse.” Jason started packing up the rest of the tools and loading them onto the flatbed.
“I am probably not paying much attention,” Ken admitted, “because I have no earthly idea what you are talking about.”
“I read a lot of zombie fiction back when I was at the Columbia River facility. I even watched a few of the movies during those Halloween film fests that a few of the channels run. They were all action and people dying and running and evil biker gangs that come in at the end and wipe everything out and ruin it for the supposed good guys. I mean, not one single story that I can recall, rolls with the same or very similar formula with a climactic ending where the stronghold falls and the main characters have to run for their lives.”
“So you want an evil biker gang to come ruin all our hard work?” Ken scratched his head and gave Jason an odd look.
“Hell no!” Jason snorted. “I’m just saying that here it is, the end of the world from all indications, and we are digging ditches.”
“We killed two zombies this morning,” Ken pointed out.
Jason laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I just expected more insanity and—”
“Explosions?” Ken cut him off.
“Sure,” Jason finally agreed.
***
The last of the tools were loaded onto the flatbed and then the big tarp was pulled over the backhoe and secured with stakes. It had been Ken’s idea. With gas being a luxury, and any sort of re-supply unlikely, he had said that it might be worth saving every single drop for actual work. Since Jason doubted that anybody would cruise by and decide they absolutely had to have a back hoe, he had agreed.
They reached the barn to see Gabriel throwing a ball for the Golden Retriever and the Border Collie. The two dogs seemed to be having the time of their lives, each racing to the ball and then the run back to the boy where whoever did not have the ball made every effort to steal it from the other. The boy was laughing and Juanita had a smile on her face that was easy to see, even from a distance.
“Like I said,” Jason quipped as Ken brought the truck to a stop and shut it off, “just not what I expected in a zombie apocalypse.”
“If a biker gang comes in the next day or two, I am blaming you,” Ken muttered as he climbed out of the truck and braced himself for the charging Golden Retriever that seemed to absolutely love him despite his attempts at complete apathy directed at the animal.
“Hey there, Stupid,” Ken greeted the animal, ruffling the fur around the neck and giving the dog a scratch behind the ears. The Golden nuzzled against the man and followed him to the makeshift table which was nothing more than a sheet of plywood set up on a pair of sawhorses.
There had been some debate about Ken’s apparent choice of a name for the dog. Ken had shut it down by stating that everybody else could call the dog whatever they wanted, but he would be using the name “Stupid” regardless. Gabriel had been tickled by the idea.
“What’s for dinner?” Jason asked as he sat down.
It had become the running joke for the past two days. They were down to an assortment of Ramen noodle packages. Jason had been stunned at how fast they had eaten their way through what he had thought to be a pretty good haul from that one house as well as what they had scavenged from the store.
The bowl landed in front of him with an unceremonious thump, some of the broth splashing over the sides. It would be time to make another run tonight. This time, he would be doing nothing but grabbing food.
“I’ll hit that neighborhood tonight,” Jason announced after downing a spoonful of the overly salty noodle soup.
“I don’t think that it is a good idea for you to go alone,” Juanita said as she took a seat at the table, placing hers and Gabriel’s soup down as she did.
“I agree,” Ken added.
“Sure, and it sucks, but this is really the only way. We can’t,” his head turned and he fixed Juanita with his gaze, “and we won’t leave you and the boy alone. You will not be coming out on these runs until we hit the deadline for…” His eyes drifted to Gabriel who ate with gusto, his hand slipping under the table every so often
to slip a noodle to either Imp or Stupid depending on which muzzle had made it onto his lap.
Of course, Jason knew damn well that he was just using that as an excuse. If he was forced to admit the truth, he simply did not want to bring her along. Sexist sentiment or not, he did not want to have to worry about having along a woman. He’d already seen enough out there to know that things were more than just a little bit dicey as law and order vanished.
The world had been bad enough when there were cops, judges, and jails. If anything happened to Juanita, he would feel sick and absolutely blame himself forever. Besides, his sexism pretty much ended at the fences. She’d been out there doing her share of swinging a pick, shoveling dirt, and hauling rocks.
“You taking the truck and the flatbed?” Ken asked.
Jason thought it over and finally shook his head. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I doubt there will even be enough here to fill the pickup. Plus, if I do run into trouble, I don’t want to be hauling that thing behind me.”
Once the meal was finished, Jason went over his load out. He had plenty of protective clothing, and he grabbed a single Glock along with six spare magazines. When it came to hand held weapons, he’d grown partial to the simple one he’d found in the barn with the black handle. In addition, he tossed a few tools into the knapsack that he would be carrying.
As soon as it was dark, Jason jumped into the truck and got ready to head out. Imp followed and tried to come along, but Jason gave the dog a scratch and called Gabriel over.
“Will you watch my dog for me?” he asked the little boy. The youngster nodded and wrapped his arms around the Border Collie’s neck in a gentle hug.
As Jason locked the gate behind him and started off, he realized that that had been the first time that he had officially claimed Imp as his own.
