Haven From Hell (Book 3): A Young Man's Game

by Won, Mark

  Chapter 8

  “How come the birds keep going in the trap,” asked young Jeremy. I liked the kid. He was no genius (such as myself), but he was smart enough for someone of his tender years. At first I’d been afraid that he would prove to be an idiot. It had been the big ears that had thrown me off, combined with the general level of dumbheadedness that all the adults had been casting my way, that had skewed my judgment of him.

  “Because birds are super dumb. That’s why we call stupid people bird-brained.” I was showing Jeremy how to set a simple box trap. Mine was made from screen, chair legs, and duct tape. The method was to use a long string, hide real well, and wait. Then, when we had got our prize, we took the whole thing and dunked in water to kill the birds. Easy.

  We’d been at the motel for two weeks without any meaningful trouble. It had a kind of courtyard which we’d blocked off, more or less, with a few vehicles which had been lining the road. I used the trunk of one of them to hold the water I used to drown dinner. There was no way our little blockade would stop a ghoul, or even slow one down, and an ogre would push through it in about one second. But it might hold off regular zombies for a minute or two. Long enough for us to do something about it.

  Every now and again we would get a zombie wandering by and I got to go out and kill it, but that was rare. I think that I’d already killed off most of the town’s ogres and ghouls, and the zombies had all either split up or wandered back into more familiar territory.

  Isabella said, “I think it’s cruel. Drowning the birds is a cruel way to kill them.”

  “I think you’re right,” I replied, “but what am I supposed to do? If I try and reach in there,” meaning the trap, “then some are sure to escape. My hunger is more important to me than their lives. At least I don’t close the trap on any interesting or pretty birds. Give me credit for that much.”

  Aria walked over to see how we were doing. “How many did you get,” she asked.

  Jeremy answered, “We got eight so far,” while handing them over to her. It was her turn to pluck them since June refused to do it.

  “That’s not too many for all of us,” was all she said. She was right, but what was there to do about it?

  I said, “It’s a good thing the fields are full of corn. The birds can’t be expected to come to us forever. Every time I set the trap they see me do it.”

  Jeremy reminded me, “I thought you said that they’re dumb.”

  “Not that dumb. They’ve got to catch on sooner or later. Nothing’s that dumb.”

  Isabella asked, “Not even zombies?”

  “I don’t know, but yeah, not even zombies.”

  Mr. Hawk called to us, “What we really need to do is hunt us up some deer. Wouldn’t that be tasty? If only I had a gun! Venison for us and coon for the coons!” I got the impression that was another bad thing to say, but I was home schooled so I didn’t know exactly what it meant. People pretended not to hear the comment.

  Janet felt that she needed to second her dad’s sentiment, “Good one Dad!” Then to Mr. Smith, “If you give me my pistol back,” she said him, “Maybe I could bag us some game.”

  June spoke up, “Please give it to her. Anything is better than another disgusting bird on a bed of corn mush!” These days most of the standing corn was pretty hard and dry. In order to eat it we had to soak it first, or grind it up.

  Mr. Smith thought about it for a second. I could see the wheels turning. On the one hand he was afraid of what Janet might be tempted to do with a firearm and he didn’t want to lose the control he had. On the other hand, what was she really capable of? If she murdered him she’d have to murder everyone else, too. Or drive everyone away, and how much good would that really do either her or her dad? I was the only one who had brought in any food at all, for the last thirteen days. Also, to not return her firearm would display a dangerous lack of trust. I decided to help Mr. Smith out.

  “Hey, Mr. Smith, I think it’s okay. She’s too smart to waste bullets murdering us just so she can draw in a bunch of zombies.” Then I turned to her, “Maybe save the bullets, though. No offense, but I really don’t think that you’re going to be able to bring down a deer with a pistol. That’s why hunters mostly use bigger guns. If you want, though, we can go out in the woods and set a few snares. I think Isabella and Jeremy can handle the bird trap from now on.” What I really wanted to do was give her a fair chance to kill me. If she took it that would help me figure out if I could trust her.

  She said, “Sure,” as she took her gun back. At no time did she look like she had been contemplating using it to murder anyone, including me. Time would tell.

  During the last two weeks it had been kind of fun to watch all of the normal people interact. Sometimes I’d even help. Like when Kim tried to get some alone time with June and I’d suddenly show up with the partially eviscerated carcass of some dove for her to ‘help’ with. That never got old. I couldn’t tell if she’d rather avoid Kim or avoid work, it was hilarious either way.

  When I asked June how she’d survived the day of the Change, she said that her and Kim had been busy flipping burgers at work when all their co-workers had gone nuts and tried to put them on the menu (not that the fast food dump they worked in actually had menus). While Kim was busy deep frying his shift manager’s face, June had managed to make it to the back door and escape. Outside she saw that things were no better.

  Kim told me that the cook’s work area was so narrow that only one zombie could come at him at a time. That way he could hold them off by tipping over stuff into the isle and watching the zombies stumble over it. That’s how his zombie manager get his head stuck in a fryer. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  When Kim had finally caught up with June, he formed a plan for them to keep to the alleyways and sneak out of town. I got the impression that the only reason he was able to catch June was because she ran out of wind, ideas, and hope. Otherwise she would have surely left poor Kim in the dust. As it was, they managed to make it to the market, lucky them, where they met me.

  Another interesting time for me was when Mr. and Mrs. Smith were trying to comfort Jeremy about the loss of his grandparents. I chipped in with an amusing anecdote about cutting off the top of the head of a zombie who used to be a grandma. At first that didn’t go over as well as I thought it would. I had to explain how at least Jeremy’s grandparents had the good graces to remain unconditionally dead.

  It was by using such a soft and compassionate touch that I was able to coax out of the little kid how his family had survived the day of the Change. As he told it, they had been visiting his grandparents when the Change happened. At first nobody even knew it happened because the TV was off. That all changed when a zombie mob came bursting through the patio doors and fell upon grandpa and grandma, tearing them limb from limb. According to Jeremy, Mr. and Mrs. Smith had grabbed Jeremy up and bolted for the door to the dying screams of loved ones.

  From there, they tried to escape the wandering hordes of undead stumbling about the street by driving their family four door through the enemy. Eventually they were forced to abandon the vehicle when something broke while ramming through the crowd of horrors. Mr. Smith adopted a new plan then, and they stuck to the shadows, managing to make their way to the market without being intercepted. Jeremy’s story would have been better if the kid hadn’t kept bawling when he got to the interesting parts.

  Avery was a lot of fun to hang out with. He had one of the best adventures. He told me how he had come across Isabella on the day of the Change and how he’d had to carry her away from her zombified mom before she ate her daughter, with a zombie horde closing in all around. It was a super harrowing story. Isabella didn’t remember any of it.

  According to Avery, as soon as he’d put some distance behind them and the pursuing mob, they’d hidden in the trunk of some random car. Avery had to dig the keys out of the dead driver’s pocket. Once the mass of undead had passed them by, the two of them had snuck out and made for the nearest c
over, an alley dumpster. They had to keep still while dozens of rats scrabbled all over them through the rest of the day. Only when night had fallen could the man and little girl risk venturing forth.

  As the pair slipped through town, moving away from the more populous areas, a man accosted them, demanding Avery’s non-existent car at gunpoint. It was so silly I had to laugh. Normal people are so panicky stupid! Avery threw the man his car keys and told him that he’d left his car parked a block away. While the idiot ran in that direction, Avery and Isabella slipped away in the other. I could tell by the way that Avery told that last part that if the man hadn’t taken the keys and left, that Avery was the kind of man who was ready to kill him. I really liked that about him.

  I really liked Isabella too. Not because she enjoyed killing things like me, but because she really knew her way around board games. We had found a couple in one of the motel rooms, and between her, Jeremy, Aria, and me we had a great time. I hardly won at all, but she never rubbed it in. She was a total class act, and in that she wasn’t alone.

  The morning of the Change had found Mr. Owen at home and getting ready to go to work at the factory. He used to help make light bulb parts and was only one year away from retirement. While he was getting ready he remembered seeing some people running around on his back lawn. He said that he poked his head out the back door to yell at the neighborhood kids to ‘get off his lawn’. He said it like it was supposed to be funny, but I didn’t get it.

  Anyhow, the kids weren’t kids, they were adults, and they weren’t adults, they were zombies, so I guess that was a bad call for Mr. Owen. Of course they began stumbling over toward him, and that was when Mr. Owen caught up with the rest of the world.

  Once the three zombies which had been in his yard came crashing through the back door, Mr. Owen was ready for them with his two claw hammers. He bashed them upside their heads and hoped that would be the end of the matter. I told him he should have known better.

  Then Mr. Owen drove over to his son’s house, since he couldn’t raise anyone on the phone. Inside was exactly what anyone would expect: the whole family was zombified and Mr. Owen had to paint the walls with the grey matter of his family. I could empathize.

  I was really impressed with what he did next. He went to his grandchildren’s homes, one by one, clearing them of every zombie he found. It was like he had no fear. He was a killing machine bent on vengeance against the monsters which had murdered his kin and stolen their bodies. The way he told it wasn’t so flowery, but it did bring some tears to my eyes, the way he so lovingly killed his whole zombie family. Very classy; very respectable.

  By the time he was done it was night, so he wandered the street, killing whatever stray monster crossed his path, until he came to the market. I had to guess that the zombies, ghouls, and ogres weren’t so organized then or he wouldn’t have stood a chance. No sooner had he reached the market then he collapsed. It was a miracle that he made it.

  Then there was Aria, she was a nice lady. She had made her way to the market I’d met her at the hard way: by crashing her car across the street. There were so many car wrecks around that it was difficult for me to remember which one was hers, but I guess it didn’t really matter.

  She had woken up on the morning of the Change in bed with her husband right next to her. Except, of course, it wasn’t her husband anymore, it was a zombie drooling black goo and reaching for her. I told her how lucky she was to escape. I figure most people in that kind of situation don’t do so good.

  Anyhow, she pushed away from her dead hubby and fell on the floor. While the zombie was trying to get disentangled from the sheets she ran outside and saw that the whole world had gone to heck. That’s when she thought that it would be a super idea to try and get away by car.

  It was while she was passing the market that another driver with similar ideas had rammed her from the side. You’ll never guess who was driving that car. It was Mr. Hawk! What were the odds, right? It kind of makes me glad I never actually bothered to get a driver’s license (that, and the fact that I was too young).

  Mr. Hawk and his daughter, Janet, didn’t have much to say to me during that time, but that was okay, I didn’t really like them. Not enough to kill them or anything, I just didn’t like them a little bit. You know, like maybe just enough to beat them up a little if that wouldn’t have made things weird between me and everybody else.

  -

  An hour later Janet and I were crouching through the thicket, setting snares where I deemed best. I had Tracer with me, naturally. He could find a game trail in a heartbeat. While we were poking about I managed to spot a beautiful white mushroom growing off the side of a tree. It was destroying angel for sure, and it wasn’t the only one. I had stumbled upon a pretty little clump of them. I took it as a good sign. If push came to shove I could offer up a mushroom or two to Mr. Hawk and eliminate a problem, hopefully with no one the wiser. He was kind of old, even for an old person, and they die all the time from natural causes. Food for thought.

  Janet saw my interest but had her mind on other things. She said, “You think I’d kill you if I had a chance, don’t you? Well, I wouldn’t. Things have just been tense, that’s all.”

  I looked her over, “You’re problem is you’re afraid. Mostly for your dad, and I get that. But ‘if you don’t rule your fear, your fear will rule you’. ‘Survival is a marathon’ and both you and your father are going to need other people in order to keep on living. From what I’ve seen, if you think that you two can go it alone, your nuts. Also, it’s not like the people you’re with are going out of their way to cause you any trouble. So do everyone a favor and quit being so antagonistic; just chill and it’ll all work out. You’ll see.”

  She was angered by my bluntness but seemed to get over it quickly. She said, “It’s not that simple.”

  “You’re right. It’s your dad’s fault. He’s a bully and a braggart. A racist redneck through and through. If he had your gun he’d be waving it under the nose of anyone who dared to cross his path. But he’s your dad, and you love him, and that’s that. Right now you’re about the only thing keeping him alive. Don’t get mad, it’s true. If it weren’t for you he’d make himself so odious that no one could stand him. Things would escalate until your dad killed someone or drove everyone away. Either way he wouldn’t last a month.”

  She appeared reduced by my words, a shadow nearly broken, because she was wise enough to know they were true, “What should I do?”

  “You’re doing it. Keep close to him. Try and be a moderating influence. Try and keep his racism under wraps. Maybe whisper in his ear that Kim is one of the ‘good ones’ and that Aria, Avery, and Isabella at least have their uses. Maybe every time one of them helps out, plucks a bird or whatever, remind him that he’s like a plantation owner. I bet he’d like that.”

  She looked like I’d made her suck on a lemon flavored suppository but she couldn’t really argue. We talked about other things after that. She had wanted to be a nurse before the Change. I told her I knew some nurses. That led to what school she’d gone to, and wondering if we would ever be able to call on Mark for a bus ride to Haven. She was a major tom boy but denied it when I accused her. Said she didn’t know what I meant. She was such a tom boy she probably really didn’t.

  With an hour left in the day (according to the sun) we called it quits and decided to head back, and that’s when I saw Tracer was on to something interesting. When I asked him what the something was, he indicated that it was a bunch of humans, not zombies, northwest of our position. Maybe four or five people with some livestock as well. Between one hundred and three hundred yards off. Interesting indeed.

  When I deciphered that information for Janet she seemed dubious, “How can a dog tell you that much? How can it even know that much? Dogs aren’t that smart. They may have good noses but not that good.”

  “Shows what you know. Tracer knows all kinds of stuff you wouldn’t believe. I’ll admit it takes a little work getting the info
rmation out of him, and maybe some colorful interpretation, but that’s what God gave dogs tails for. So I could talk to them.”

  She still thought I was crazy, but she didn’t think it in a mean way. I told her that she should go back and report and that I was going to scout out the situation. She said she wanted to go along with me just to see for herself. I would have preferred to have scouted things out with just Tracer and I, but I had inadvertently piqued Janet’s curiosity. Not about any potential encounters with other survivors, but about how crazy she thought Tracer and I were. So we all went together.

  Trying to move through the woods silently with her tagging along was like being ankle chained to a lowing cow. She kept trying to start up a conversation, for heavens sake! I mean, I know she didn’t take Tracer’s abilities seriously, but even so, you’d think a little common courtesy would be in order.

  Eventually we made it through the woods and to a farmers field. From our slightly elevated perspective I could see that the field was full of corn and surrounded by a joined mix of fence types. On some of the wooden posts there was a sign which read ‘Danger Electric Fence’. Part of the fence was a light electric mesh like farmers sometimes use, and part of it was a wooden fence with some wires strung along it. In the middle distance there was an old two-story farmhouse with a big covered porch. Off to the right there was a big red barn set up on a high foundation. To the left of the house was a big garage, probably used to keep some farming machinery. From the garage there wound a gravel track which disappeared around the other side of the house (presumably leading to a road somewhere). We saw a couple of people from our vantage point. One was an old lady sitting on the porch, and the other was a man going through the fields with a shovel.

  Immediately, Janet yelled out, “Hello! Over here!” while waving frantically. What a dunce. On the other hand I suppose it was as good a way as any to test for negative intentions. In any case, the man with the shovel looked at her and began jogging over.