by Urban, Tony
"Wim, look at me."
Grudgingly, he did. Aben thought his eyes looked wet but no tears came.
"There's no shame in not wanting to kill a man. None whatsoever. So, don't you beat yourself up over it."
"Have you? Killed a man, I mean?"
Aben had figured the conversation would lead down this path. Reminiscing wasn't something he enjoyed, but he felt he owed Wim honesty. "I have."
"In the war?"
Aben nodded.
"More than one?"
Aben nodded again.
"How many?"
"As many as I needed to kill to stay alive, Wim."
Wim clenched his hands together, the knuckles turning white. "If-- When, I kill Doc, I know he deserves it, but I don't know how I'll be able to forget about it after its done."
"You don't forget about it. You just move on."
Wim nodded and stood. Aben thought his eyes looked marginally less pained than before and he took that small progress as a good thing.
"When the time comes, I have no doubts you'll do the right thing, Wim."
"Thanks."
"Welcome. I'm not good for a lot these days, but now and again I manage to try."
Wim gave a small smile. More progress. Another minor victory. Aben watched him return to the road, then looked down at Prince who had so enjoyed his belly rub that he'd fallen asleep.
He thought the life of a spoiled dog must be pretty damned good when compared to being a person. Dogs didn't have guilt and bad decisions that haunted them. He envied the dog.
Chapter 16
When they crossed the border into West Virginia, Wim realized that they better start looking for a boat or canoe. Something they'd be able to use to cross the void between the shore and the Ark. Outside a small marina they found an aluminum Jon Boat. The bottom and sides were covered in dents, but they could find no holes or rust and Wim supposed that a motley crew like themselves didn't warrant a fancy ride anyway.
It was two more days of riding before they reached the dock Wim remembered so well. The place from which he was sent to neighboring towns to hunt and scavenge supplies. It looked much the same, only the sun had bleached the wood an even lighter shade of gray. The memories the sight conjured were not pleasant ones.
"We waiting for better weather or something?"
Mead's voice startled Wim out of his memories. "Sorry. Just thinking."
"Don't make a habit of that, big fella." Mead hopped down from the wagon and immediately began to grab weapons.
Wim joined him on the ground and tied Gypsy off to a tree. He made sure she was close enough the water that she could drink and left the knot loose enough that she could break it if she tried hard. As old and cantankerous as she was, she didn't deserve to die of starvation should something happen on the Ark that prevented their return.
Prince had jumped free of the wagon and ran to Aben's side as he tied off his own mare. Wim wandered their way and told him about the rope and the knot and Aben understood.
"What about your dog?" Wim asked as Prince ran loops around the horse’s feet and just narrowly missed getting kicked.
"Him?" Aben looked down at the mutt as it grabbed hold of the horse's reigns and used them as a chew toy. "He can handle himself. I don't have a single doubt as far as that goes."
"All right then," Wim said. But before they left he tore open a bag of dog food and left it for easy pickings in the rear of the wagon, just in case.
Pablo eased down the kickstand of his bicycle and stared out at the water. "I don't see your island, Wim"
"I doubt anyone moved it." Wim followed his gaze. "It's a big lake's all. And it's not my island."
Wim and Mead pulled the boat free from the wagon and carried it to the dock. The wind was strong and blowing their way, making whitecaps rise on the choppy water. Wim had little to no experience with boats, but he knew that wasn't going to make it any easier.
"Think we should take any food with us?" Mead asked.
"I don't plan to be there long. And if we are, then I suspect food won't be too high on our priority list."
Wim, Aben, and Pablo each had two guns. Wim had a machete and Aben his war club. Wim didn't know exactly what all Mead had strapped to his body, but he knew the man was more capable and prepared than any of them, even without a firearm.
Between the four of them and their weapons, the boat dipped low in the water when they climbed aboard. So low that, for the first few minutes, Wim thought there was at least a fifty-fifty chance it might founder. But once they settled in, it steadied itself out and they were afloat.
"If anyone wants to stay ashore..." Wim looked at them and no one volunteered.
"Well hell, Wim. That would be like driving your family all the way to Disney World and waiting in the parking lot while they go inside to play with Mickey and Goofy." Aben grinned and the wind whipped at his scraggly hair, revealing more of his scarred flesh than Wim had noticed prior.
"I was never at Disney World, but I've been to the Ark. And if I had a choice, I'd wait in the parking lot."
Mead clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, farmer. This is your rodeo. May as well try to enjoy it."
Wim and Mead did the rowing. That seemed only fair since Aben was down a hand and Pablo was almost twice their ages. While Wim liked to think he was in good enough shape, half an hour into the voyage he was bordering on exhaustion and a glance Mead's way showed him that Mead was hurting too. The others had also noticed.
"Allow me to help," Pablo said. "I might be an old man, but I could provide one of you a temporary reprieve."
Aben dipped his stump into the lake. "I'd offer, boys, but I'm afraid I'd only row us in circles,"
"I'm all right for a while longer." Wim wasn't sure if he believed himself, but this had been his idea - his rodeo as Mead proclaimed - and he wasn't going to make others do the hard work on his behalf. Mead too insisted he could go on, and both men continued, pulling the oars through the choppy, gray water. Forward and back. Forward and back. The monotony of it was almost as bad as the fire that sizzled away in Wim's arms.
Another forty minutes in, and Wim was just about ready to give in when--
"Land ahoy," Aben said.
Wim scanned the distance and after much searching, saw a small, dark dot on the horizon. It was barely there, but all too familiar. He felt a mixture of dread and relief at the sight of it.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived.
The wooden gate leading to the Ark hung open, just as it had when Wim and Ramey fled years earlier. As far as he could recall, it was in the exact same position and the path through it, which had once been worn down to bare ruts, was now taken over by weeds and grass almost two feet high.
That gave Wim some hope. No one had been coming and going for a long time. He hoped that meant Doc had remained every bit the demented captain he'd always been and had decided to remain on the proverbial ship until the bitter end. And, as far as any of them could see, the land ahead was empty.
"I have to admit, I'll be pretty fucking disappointed if we came all this way only to find the place vacant," Mead said. "I had myself all psyched up for a good fight."
Wim chewed on the inside of his lip. That was his biggest fear - that he'd led these men on a goose chase.
"I doubt they went all Roanoke, Mead. Don't be such a pessimist." Aben clapped Mead on the back.
Mead glanced Wim's way. "Sorry, I'm just tired. That was a fuck a lot of rowing."
"It was."
"Yeah." Mead pulled on his helmet and took out a conduit spear. Then the four men began the march into the Ark.
Mead saw the zombies before the others. Not that that surprised him. No matter how much he preached situational awareness, they all seemed to get distracted from time to time. At that moment, it was the first of the outbuildings which drew their attention. Wim had remarked that the trailer had been his home on the island and Aben and Pablo fawned all over it like it was the Taj Mahal when in fact it was
just a piece of shit mobile home little different from the one Mead had grown up in.
While they poked around inside and took the five-cent tour, Mead remained in the open, alert, watching. That's why he spotted the zombie when it was still forty yards away. A few others shuffled along behind it. Altogether, Mead counted eight. Not a lot, but more than they'd seen in one spot since passing through Tennessee. That was a little strange, he thought. Why weren't there more zombies? Almost every damned person in the country had turned into one, so where the fuck did they all go? They'd avoided the cities, of course, but still, it was weird.
Mead's definition of weird was redefined when the nearest zombie moved within fifteen feet of him. The creature had looked the same as any other undead bastard from a distance. Slow, stiff, gray. But, upon closer inspection, he realized that it was anything but ordinary.
To start with, the motherfucker had four arms. The sight so surprised him that Mead jabbed his spear into the ground, flipped up the visor on his helmet, and rubbed his eyes to make sure he hadn't suddenly developed double-vision. He checked again. Still four arms. And then, he saw its lower jaw was gone, leaving only a gaping black hole and a gray tongue lolling to and fro like a metronome.
What kind of hopped up horse shit is this, Mead thought.
The other zombies were close enough to see in detail. They were like something a demented child would piece together from a box of GI Joe parts. One of the males was completely nude and its extremities had been cut off and sewn back on. Another had its head on backwards. Two were missing an arm and a leg and had been somehow affixed together at the torso in an extra broad version of the undead. Further back, one of the zombies was almost nothing but tendons and bones as most of its meaty bits had been cut away. Each of the creatures had its own unique deformities but they all shared one common trait. No lower jaw.
"So they can't bite... I'll be a son of a bitch," Mead said to himself. Then he cocked his head toward the trailer. "Boys. You might want to take a look at this."
He heard rustling inside the abode and even though the four-armed zombie was closing in, Mead saw no harm in waiting for them.
Aben was the first out of the trailer. As he pushed through the doorway Wim and Pablo followed. Mead simply pointed in the direction of the zombies and smiled.
"What the..." Aben's words trailed off.
Pablo pulled a pistol from a holster, ready to shoot but Mead held up his hand. "Easy now. This bunch looks harmless, but we don't know how many more are out there," he motioned to the land beyond them. "That we can't see. And for all we know, those might be able to bite. No need to call attention to ourselves just yet."
Mead looked to Wim. "This is like you were telling me. Only more fucked up."
Wim nodded. "These are new."
Pablo had moved toward the zombies. He was only feet away from a creature which had been vivisected. Its torso was open from neck to groin and all its insides were missing. The loose flesh hung from its frame like oversized clothing on a wire hanger. The old man muttered something, but Mead couldn't make it out.
"What was that?"
Pablo had traded his pistol for a bowie knife. "This is unholy. An abomination."
He stabbed the zombie through the eye, the blade sinking in to the hilt. Then, he twisted the handle, jerking it back and forth and scrambling whatever brains were still inside its skull. The monster collapsed to the ground.
Mead wasn't about to let Pablo have all the fun. He grabbed the spear and finished off the rest of the zombies in less than a minute, then turned to the others. "I know you're a man of few words and all that, Wim, but you really underrepresented what a twisted son of a bitch your father-in-law is."
Wim grimaced and Mead felt bad for the father-in-law jab.
"He's evil," Wim said. "No other way about it."
"Shit. He needs a word stronger than evil." Mead looked to the others. "What's worse than evil?"
Aben shrugged his shoulders and Mead knew Wim was far from a walking thesaurus.
"El diablo," Pablo said.
Mead couldn't hold back a smirk and a comment. "Sorry, Pablo, but I don't believe in the devil."
Pablo wiped his blood-covered knife off on his jeans, then looked at Mead. "That is fine. But know that he believes in you."
Mead wasn't sure what to make of that, but decided to take it as something akin to a compliment. Maybe the old man wasn't so bad after all.
"Well, we're done here. Are you all ready to head inland?"
They were. As they walked, Mead cozened up beside Pablo. "Can I ask you something?"
Pablo nodded.
"Why do Mexicans always throw out random words of Spanish like that? Even when everything else they say is in English? And it's always a word you know us white people know like 'diablo' or 'muerto' or 'pantalones.' You never just randomly interject the word for, I don't know, television, into a normal conversation."
Pablo stayed quiet as they walked for several yards, then said in his typical barely above a whisper voice, "We do it to keep you confused. And I am not Mexican, you loco gringo."
He stared at Mead for a long moment, then a tight grin spread across his lips. Mead thought it might be the closest he'd ever seen the man come to smiling and he couldn't hold back one of his own. The old man wasn't so bad after all.
Chapter 17
Wim led the way as they entered what had once been something of a town square in the Ark. Only now all the buildings were either burned entirely to the ground or charred, black husks that stood out in stark contrast to the overgrown, green grass that had sprouted up everywhere.
They'd seen a few dozen more zombies on the way in. All were missing their bottom jaw, and most had been on the receiving end of what Wim assumed to be Doc's insane experiments. A great many of the creatures were also minus large chunks of their bodies.
They couldn't make sense of that when they passed them, but the puzzle came together when they found a fire pit with the remains of a leg strung across it like it had been roasted on a spit. The meaty parts of the thigh and calf were gone, but the foot remained intact. The toes were charred and looked a little like burned marshmallows, except for the toenails.
"It just keeps getting fucking weirder," Mead said from the sidelines. When they realized the zombies were harmless, he'd taken his helmet off and his stringy hair was plastered to his skull from the sweat. He pushed a few strands out of his eyes as he looked from the campfire to Wim. "You think this was your guy?"
"I was never much one for wagers, but I'd say that's as close to a sure bet as you can get."
"He's like that Nazi guy. Mangler or something."
"Mengele," Aben said. "Josef Mengele."
Mead nodded. "Yeah, him. This is all kinds of fucked up, man."
Wim wouldn't have used those exact words, but he agreed.
As the men searched what remained of the encampment, Wim headed toward the clinic underneath which Doc's laboratory had once lied. The building itself had been spared from the worst of the fire. Even the door remained, and Wim remembered with a pang of guilt Emory's plan to sneak inside and find out what Doc had been up to. The plan which led to his death. Or the first one, anyway. Wim had taken care of the second.
The door was unlocked and hung partially ajar. Wim pushed it open with his foot and saw the clinic had been gutted with only a few cots remaining behind. Past them was the doorway which led to Doc's lab. That was wide-open and the dark cavern behind it practically called to Wim, even though he all too well remembered the evils at its end.
He was half-way down the tunnel when he heard Aben call out. "Wim."
Wim paused a moment, staring into the abyss ahead. He wondered if anything was still down there. If any of those mutations - like the baby - were still alive. And he wondered what else the madman that had once been Douglas Younkin had conjured up.
"Wim. I think we found him."
That broke his trance and he turned back.
Wim found t
he others near the burned-out building that had been the meeting hall. It seemed every place here held a bad memory. This one was being sentenced to the box, of having everyone turn on him.
Now it was only a shell, and a few yards beyond it Aben, Mead, and Pablo stood with their weapons in hand facing Wim's direction. Before them, the half-naked form of a man was turned away from him. When he got closer, he could see the man wore nothing but a pair of tattered briefs which were a mustard-y shade of yellow-brown. His flesh was tanned almost mahogany in color and his hair hung past his shoulders, pulled back in a sloppy ponytail.
"Is this him?" Mead asked.
"I'm not sure."
Wim still couldn't see the man's face and circled around to get a frontal view, but before he could, the man spoke.
"My dear, William. Is that you? Come all this way to see an old friend?"
Doc turned to face him. He was grayer and fatter than before. His purple, boot-shaped birthmark was almost black from sun exposure. But if Wim had any doubts, they were erased when he saw the man's maniacal, cold eyes. They glinted in the sunlight as he smiled.
"I must say, William, I'm flattered. Welcome back to the Ark."
Chapter 18
They'd led Doc back to the fire pit, which upon closer inspection Wim realized could double for an altar. They tied his ankles together and bound his hands behind his back. In his dirty underwear, the man looked like an oversized toddler, but Wim knew better then to underestimate him.
He'd told them he was the last person alive on the island. That most died in the days after the attack and that he'd killed the few who survived. He rambled and ranted and raved and Wim wished they'd have thought to gag him.
"The zombies aren't bad at all now," Doc said. "A little like house cats really. Always finding their way into places they shouldn't be and partaking in various shenanigans. It's amusing to watch, I must say." He grinned, watching one of the creatures try to climb over a fallen tree branch only to tumble face first into the ground. "However, in the early weeks, before I'd been able to capture and 'de-jaw' them, for lack of a better term..." He shook his head. "It was harrowing, to say the least. They're so hungry. Perfect eating machines really. A little like sharks in that respect."
