by Urban, Tony
Ramey gave a grin full of tired relief. “I do.”
“Then don’t keep them waiting any longer.”
Before she left, Ramey turned back to Wim and flicked her fingers in a barely there wave. He nodded in return.
“Guns down, gentlemen. William isn’t going to do anything rash. Are you William?”
“It wasn’t in my plans.”
“Good. Good. Now tell me what happened out there today.”
Wim did and Doc and the men with guns watched. He told them everything including the gory details and he noticed one of them, a man he thought was named Buck, looked like he was about to lose his lunch when Wim told of the two halves of Caleb. When he got to the part about the boy, Doc motioned for Phillip and the others to leave them. They did.
“You’re aware that you took a terrible risk, are you not?” Doc said.
“I take a risk every time I go out there.”
“Yes, but that’s requirement. A necessary evil, you might say. If you and the men who gather supplies never left this island, we’d all starve.”
“With proper planning, I’d say much of that could have been avoided.”
Wim knew Doc was examining him even though the plastic face shield had gone cloudy under a haze of condensation.
“You’re always willing to share your opinion, William. Regardless of the situation or to whom you are speaking. Some could say that’s a character flaw.”
“No sense sugar-coating things. I just say how I feel.”
“Indeed, you do. And I’m pleased that I always know what to expect from you.”
Wim shifted the boy in his arms and in doing so, a small sigh escaped through sick, cracked lips.
“Are you going to kill him?”
Doc smiled and Wim thought that an improper reaction to such a dire question.
“Am I going to kill him?” Doc took a step closer to Wim, to the boy. He was close enough to touch them but he did not. Instead he peered down on the boy’s swollen, wounded face. “What a silly question, William. No, I’m not going to kill him. We’ll take him to decontamination and, after that, to the medical clinic. Doctor Sideris will do her very best to make him well again, but if those efforts fail, I’m not going to kill him.”
Doc turned his face from the boy to Wim. “I’m not the zombie killer, after all. You are.”
Chapter 7
“Beefaroni.” Emory read from the label as he poured the contents of a can into a pot which sat atop a propane powered burner. “I believe this is a first for me. I wonder if it’s as tasty as spaghetti o’s.”
“It’s not.”
Emory glanced over at Mina as she set aside her bible, then rubbed her hand against her right temple.
“You’ve eaten it before?”
“Any time it was on sale.”
“But it’s not good?”
“Not very.”
“Then why did you eat it?”
“Because it was ten cans for five dollars every fourth week at Save-A-Bunch.”
Emory had never shopped at Save-A-Bunch but recalled seeing them, usually in poor sections of the cities or in downtrodden rural areas, on his travels. He felt rather guilty for bringing it up and felt a change of subject was the wisest action.
“Still on Job?”
“No. I finished that one. I still think God came off like a bit of an asshole.”
“Well, he is God. I suppose the complex must have started somewhere.”
Mina’s face clouded over and Emory again feared he’d made a faux pas. He liked the woman, but always felt like he was walking on the proverbial eggshells when in her presence. And since their current accommodations were a forty plus year old Airstream trailer, he had that feeling almost constantly.
He felt guilty that she should have to live in such conditions. The vinyl seats were cracked and torn. The floor creaked underfoot. The only blessing was that, autumn had brought with it cooler weather and the tin can in which they lived was no longer a sweat lodge. Yet, as the yin to that yang, he worried how they would stay warm through the coming winter.
Emory often thought that this shoddy dwelling well summarized their life in the Ark. Not even a week after they arrived, following hours of interviews about their experiences with the plague and subsequent travails, he, Mina, and Wim were led to a cramped compound on the outskirts of the island where a handful of run down mobile homes were stacked in with little room to spare. The other men and women who occupied those trailers had arrived in the weeks after the plague, but before Emory and his friends. No one had been admitted to the Ark since that day and, to Emory at least, it was clear that Doc only had interest in saving one person from the horror show that had become of the real world. And that was Ramey. Once she had arrived, the Ark was on lockdown and the ones who had gained admittance before or with her were second hand citizens in this new world, housed as far from the chosen ones as possible.
He often found himself wishing they could have avoided this place. Life was dangerous and terrifying and deadly outside the walls but somehow it was still better. Here they were trapped, caged up like dangerous animals and tossed scraps no one else wanted.
That brought him back to the Beefaroni and he again found himself feeling guilty over Mina’s station in life prior to this. He’d always known he had lived an almost foolishly blessed life, but being around her and picking up the offhand remarks she made or the curious things she said made him realize just how privileged he had been. He’d often thought a rich black man was still less accepted in society than a middle-class white one, but he was certainly far more fortunate than a poor black woman.
As he looked at her, he saw her bones poking against her taut skin like wire hangers under cheap clothing. He almost said something. Maybe an apology of sorts. Was there such a thing as ‘rich guilt’? He wasn’t certain. It was probably for the best that the door opened before his mouth.
Wim stepped inside, his black hair dripping wet. He glanced up, saw Emory and Mina looking back, then cast his eyes toward the floor as he sat on a metal folding chair and began to untie his boots.
“It wasn’t raining when I was last outside,” Emory said and he tried to inject some humor into his voice. It half worked.
“Still ain’t.” Wim pulled off one boot and started at the other.
“Did they hose you down again?” Mina’s voice was tight, nervous. She stood and crossed the short divide between them.
Wim nodded.
“Bastards.” She grabbed a dish towel from the counter and handed it to him.
Wim used it to wring some of the moisture from his hair and dry his face. “Brought it on myself.”
Emory didn’t like that. Didn’t like seeing Wim behave like a cowed dog. He’d changed so much in the last five months that Emory sometimes wondered if whatever force inside of him that had been holding everything together had finally broken.
“You did no such thing. You saved a life today. That’s to be commended.”
“Let’s wait and see if he lives or not before you go patting me on the back. Might be all I did was delay the inevitable.”
“You tried though. You tried Wim. And that’s what matters.”
Wim wrinkled his nose and, for a brief moment, Emory thought he was going to say he made a mistake. That he no longer wanted to be the hero. Instead he looked toward the stove.
“Something’s burning.”
Amidst his daydreams Emory had forgotten all about the beefaroni. He rushed to the stove to shut off the burner, as much as an 84-year-old man could rush, anyway.
Wisps of smoke drifted up from the pan and he saw the edges of the food were charred blacker than his own skin. “Oh, shit!”
Emory then heard a sound that almost made his old heart burst. Laughter. Wim’s laughter. Emory couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard it and when he turned around, pot in hand, he saw a broad smile across Wim’s tired, face.
“What do you find so amusing? I’ve ruined our dinner
.”
“I do believe that’s the first time I’ve heard you cuss”
It was Emory’s turn to smile. “Well, Wim, what can I say? There are occasions when ’sugar’ or ‘shoot’ just won’t do.”
“I reckon that’s true.” Wim peered into the pot. “What was it?”
“Beefaroni.”
“Aw, heck, you can’t ruin that. The burned parts might actually be an improvement.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Mina said as she took a seat at their cramped kitchenette table. She grabbed a spoon and began dishing the charred food onto mismatched plates. “So, are you gonna tell us what happened out there today or do we have to wait for the town hall meeting? I’d rather hear your version.”
Wim twirled a fork between his index and middle fingers. Emory looked down at his own meal and took a reluctant bite. Mina was right, this was far worse than spaghetti o’s.
“I’ll tell you. I’d say it might spoil your appetite but…”
Emory saw Wim’s eyes flash and his heart gave another happy flutter. Wim might be bent but he wasn’t broken. Not yet. Not ever, if Emory could do anything about it. And he knew what needed to be done. He needed to get all of them out of the Ark.
Chapter 8
It was quiet on the Ark at night. There wasn’t an official curfew, but most turned off their solar powered lights at dusk to save energy and, with sun setting before 5pm, many residents went to sleep early due to boredom. But Ramey had always been a night owl and found it hard to adjust, even after almost six months.
She lived in a five-room log cabin with her father, but he was usually in the lab, trying to find a cure to what everyone referred to as ‘the zombie virus.’ But when she used that phrase around him, he was quick to point out that the virus itself was not a zombie and that viruses were technically neither alive nor dead, that they were far more clever mechanisms than man or something like that. He prattled on but Ramey lost interest in short order. She always admired her father, but when he talked about his work and research his voice became that of the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons.
The trailer court, and despite what her father and the others in charge of the Ark claimed, that’s exactly what it was, was located a quarter mile from the main dwellings. She rarely went there, partly because it reminded her of her old home and her drug addled mother, but maybe even more so because seeing it in person made it hard not to believe Wim and Emory’s claims that they weren’t really welcome here.
Her father insisted that the encampment was temporary. A place for the new arrivals to live until they fully acclimated to life on the Ark. It was also meant to allow the originals to get to know and trust them. But after all this time, Ramey doubted such trust would ever be found. Especially after a day like today.
The silence bordered on being eerie and the only thing that made the walk tolerable was knowing that she was safe. There weren’t any wild animals lurking in the shadows. No creepers hiding behind buildings. And no zombies. That was the best part. No zombies wanting to eat her. That one simple fact made any doubts or questions she had about the Ark and the people who helped her father run it, fall far down the ladder of concern.
When the trailers came into view she was surprised to see a dim glow near Wim’s Airstream. It came and went in a red flare and she initially thought it might be a lightning bug. The on and off flicker came again and then the smell of smoke hit her nostrils. Not tobacco smoke though. Marijuana.
Ramey considered spinning on her heels and heading back to the cabin, but before she could, a voice called out softly through the night.
“Ramey?”
She knew Emory’s voice immediately, even though she rarely saw him these days. The raspy, but kind tenor was impossible to mistake and she continued until she found him sitting on a plastic crate outside the trailer.
“I see you’ve found an interesting way to burn the midnight oil.”
Emory gave his soft chuckle. “Why, it’s not even nine p.m.” He extended the half-smoked joint in her direction. “Care to partake?”
The last time Ramey had smoked pot she ended up in the back of Bobby Mack’s car, losing her virginity. She knew she was in no danger around Emory, but the memory still made her forearms prickle with goosebumps. Besides, an important conversation needed to be had and she wanted a clear head.
“No thank you.”
“As you wish,” Emory took another drag, then pressed the cigarette against the silver metal siding of the Airstream. It gave a short hissing sizzle as the dew snuffed out the fire. “How have you been, Ramey?”
“Good. I like it here.”
“You do?”
This wasn’t a discussion she cared to have. She knew Emory wanted out of the Ark and there was no changing his mind. But he wasn’t changing hers either.
“It’s safe here. And after the things I saw - we saw - out there, the people we lost, I like being safe again.”
Emory considered that and gave a slight nod. She sensed he had more to say, and was relieved when he didn’t pursue the matter.
“That’s a perfectly reasonable viewpoint. I know Mina feels the same.” He slowly rose to his feet and Ramey heard the joints in his knees pop like snapping twigs. “I assume you’re here for Wim.”
“I am.”
“He’ll be asleep most likely. As soon as his head touches the pillow he’s dead to the world. But I’ll fetch him for you,”
“I’d appreciate that. Thank you, Emory,”
As he started up the metal steps the Airstream Ramey couldn’t resist one more question. “Can I ask you where you got the pot?”
Emory looked over his shoulder and she could see the moonlight reflecting off his vaguely yellow teeth, “I’m sorry, Ramey, but considering the company you keep, I believe I’ll keep that to myself.” He lifted his fingers to his lips and made a locking gesture before disappearing into the trailer.
The notion of an old man smoking pot and not wanting to reveal his dealer was so silly that Ramey wanted to smile, but she couldn’t because she realized what it meant. Emory thought she had chosen a side. A side that wasn’t his and he no longer trusted her. It made her throat tighten up, which prevented any comeback she might have attempted. That was probably for the best.
She heard no movement from within the darkened trailer and after a few seconds became two full minutes, she began to wonder if Emory had simply gone to bed and left her to stand there like a fool. But after another thirty seconds or so passed, the door reopened and Wim stepped into view. His hair was pushed askew and jutted up in the back making him look as if he had half a mohawk. The smile she’d wanted to show Emory earlier came easily now. It was always her first instinct when she saw Wim. No matter what, he’d always be her first love.
But Wim didn’t smile back. Instead he covered his mouth as he tried and failed to stifle a yawn. Then he plodded down the steps but stopped a yard short of her. Why wouldn’t he touch her, she wondered. She wanted that. Needed that. For him to take her hand, to hold her in his arms again. He promised her once that he’d never let her go, but he’d broken that promise after they arrived on the Ark and she still wasn’t sure why. Did he too think she’d chosen a side? That she couldn’t be trusted?
“Surprised to see you,” he said.
“I wanted to talk about today.”
“I already told your father everything that happened. Forward and backward several times over and my story stayed the same because it was the truth.”
There it was. The divide between them wasn’t three feet, it may as well have been a mile.
“I’m not here to interrogate you, Wim. I came to see how you were. If you’re okay.”
His posture sagged and Ramey hoped that was some of the tension leaving him. “Oh. I’m all right.”
“Can we talk?”
He nodded. “But not here. Go for a walk with me.”
They walked and walked, crossing the expanse between the scattering of trailers toward an
open field where the farm animals Wim tended to slept in knee high fescue, but talk was sparse and superficial.
Wim motioned to a newborn calf. “That girl’s only four days old. Had to pull it out of the mama. I wasn’t sure either was going to make it through but they seem to be doing just fine now.”
As if it knew it was being talked about, the calf lifted its head and looked at them.
“You go on back to sleep now.”
The calf’s head lolled to the side and rested against its mother and soon enough its eyes fell shut again.
“You’re so good with them,” Ramey said.
“It’s no special talent. Done it all my life.”
“It’s because they know you’re kind. That you’ll take care of them.” She reached over and grabbed his hand but he deftly slipped it free.
It always seemed to be like this now. Like the weeks they spent together before coming here had ceased to exist. That their bond had been a figment of her imagination. Maybe it was, she thought. Maybe Wim was simply protecting her because he was a good man. Maybe he never cared for her any more than Mina or Emory or Bundy or even these animals.
“I’ve been ordered to butcher three steer so there’s meat through the winter. I told ‘em it’s too soon, that we need to build up the herd first. There’s plenty of canned goods to go around. They don’t need to be killing anything.”
“I’ll talk to my father.”
“Orders came from him. Just like all the others.”
“I can still try.”
“Do what you want.”
His words were curt, the tone cutting. This wasn’t the man she thought she knew and she almost stormed away right then but she forced herself to stay calm. “Wim, why did you bring that boy back with you? You knew how everyone here would react.”
He looked at her. Really looked at her, for the first time that night.
“You haven’t been out there in months. Things haven’t got none better. If anything, it’s worse because everything, and I really mean everything, I’ve seen outside of these walls for months on end is dead. Either dead and rotting on the ground or dead and walking around and trying to eat me. I have no idea how many of those zombies I’ve killed now but its more than all the people I knew my whole life put together.
