Death and Taxes

by Galen Surlak-Ramsey

  “Nope. Bears and lions ain’t around here. In fact, most of the critters we used to see have gone. Ain’t no one with weapons there either.” The old man grunted and then motioned toward the woods with his hand. “Well, off you go then and have yourselves a look. Take that old dirt trail up into the mountains. A few hours hike maybe if you’re fast; little less coming back, of course. I’ve painted crosses on the trees where the path gets a little hard to follow, but you ought to find the place good enough.”

  “Thank you,” Clarice said with a great exhale. Her muscles relaxed and hope for a quick day’s work bubbled from within.

  Martin pointed with his knife toward the field of gravestones. “When you meet them, keep your distance and don’t be looking to make friends. They don’t take kindly to people from the outside, and I hate cleaning up the mess and making things right.”

  “I’m not here to make friends,” Ryan said. “I’m here to do my job in a proper and efficient manner. I assure you that whatever their reaction may be, I carry the full authority of my position as tax collector. They will respect that authority.”

  * * *

  In the beginning, Martin tried to warn newcomers about Colmera Springs. He told them that it was a dangerous place, filled with people that were centuries old and never seemed to die. He told them of acts of cannibalism and deadly disease. He told them all of these things, and in the end, for his efforts, Martin was fitted in a warm, snug, white jacket and given a padded room to sleep in, both of which made whittling a difficult task.

  To make matters worse, more people came with lovely white jackets and black stethoscopes and did anything but listen, despite their claims they would. Each time he told the truth about what he had seen, whittling became more and more difficult. Finally, Martin gave up, and a few weeks later he was released with a lifetime supply of prescriptions.

  From that point on, his wife and three children lived a good Christian life, all the while staying clear of their ornery neighbors. They decided to keep running the gas station and gift shop, to close each day of business with devotion, bible study, and prayer, and take solace in the fact that they tried their best. After all, what more could be expected of them?

  Occasionally one of Colmera Spring’s inhabitants managed to work its way down the path. Usually, it wouldn’t get within a hundred yards or two of the house before it was given a proper shot in the head and decent burial. Ma was always first to volunteer to officiate the memorial service, mostly because she felt it was the motherly thing to do for one who had been without a mother for so long. Pa had challenged her on how she knew they were without a mother in jest one day, to which she in all seriousness had replied, “No momma would let them out dressed like that.”

  As Clarice, Ryan, and Nick took to the path, Martin watched and said a little prayer for the three as they disappeared into the tree line.

  Chapter Four

  Almost a hundred and sixty years before Ryan Conner, Tax Collector undertook his crusade to Colmera Springs, some men found a few shiny rocks in a nameless river near the West Coast. Shortly after this discovery, thousands and thousands of people—people who weren’t satisfied with their own rocks—took to ship, horse and foot in order to join the fun. Some made it; some didn’t. A number of those who didn’t had decided to feed the local wildlife, namely bacteria and carrion eaters. Other travelers performed the same job, only in a marine environment.

  The founders of Colmera Springs, however, took a different approach to those involved with the California Gold Rush. The philosophy these pioneers had was simple: Why travel thousands of miles to grab rocks and play in water when perfectly good rocks and waters were much closer? With that in mind, these brave men and women loaded their wagons, shoed their horses and ended up a few hundred miles south of Pennsylvania.

  The first few months of the town’s settlement saw tremendous growth. Houses, shops, stables, and a first-class saloon, complete with lodging above and an affable bartender below, were quickly built. Though these were all needed, the population also felt that they should keep up with the progress in California, and so they dug a pair of mines and constructed a few sailing ships, but by the year’s end they were abandoned (fashion trends were fickle in the 19th century, and more than one person had theorized that the townsfolk had lost their sanity due to some unknown virus running rampant).

  Time marched on. Town residents grew ill here and there, and more than one became a touch mad—well, madder than they already were when they built the marina. Funny how something that affects the mind keeps making things worse and worse.

  One particular day, no mail came from the disheveled mountain town. No one on the outside thought anything of it, and even if they did, no one cared enough to find out why. A short while later, a nameless postman delivered two parcels to Colmera Springs, but to no further place on his route. From that point on, the town faded out of people’s minds—primarily since no one had ever found a rock worth bringing back.

  Of all of Colmera Springs’ citizens, Jack was one of the youngest when the twenty-first century dawned. He sported an eighty-something-year-old body that was the envy of all. It was free from rot, save for a small patch in his abdominal cavity that allowed him to keep his pet rat Mandi close to his heart. His skin was a pale moon white, blotched here and there with hues of purple and blue, and it was nearly intact as only a portion of his scalp was missing where his left ear had once been. Aside from the Van Gogh look, the only other thing Jack was missing were two toes from his right foot. Despite this lack of piggies, all four of his appendages were in good working order, which made grabbing and chasing meals simple.

  Though Jack had the one up on all the other zombies in terms of physical fitness, there were two things that they all shared in common: First, they could each only remember two things at any one point in time (three with a pair of half-truths). And second, no one had the desire to explore outside of the town proper. Meals came from time to time, and a good game of Eats was had and enjoyed by all, which was all that mattered. Thus, the inhabitants of Colmera Springs kept to themselves.

  A few times in the past, however, Jack had explored the countryside. Each time he left, all that he found were more of the same rocks he’d seen before, which sat near the same tall trees and the same short bushes. There were also the same streams that never left, and since their vocabulary was even more limited than his own, it made for boring conversation.

  The one time Jack did find something unique to the area, it only served to annoy and teach him all he needed to know about humans: they were fickle and contradictory, especially about their attitudes toward the walking dead.

  The incident started while Jack was taking a nap along a country road. His restful sleep was disturbed by a passerby who ran off in a hurry. This passerby soon returned with not one, or even two or three, but dozens and dozens of others who were all intent on not letting Jack sleep one iota, try as he might.

  Some came with lights on their cars, chalk in their hands, and radios on their shoulders. Others were dressed in lab coats, rubber gowns, masks, and latex gloves. Some held cameras and snapped off pictures faster than a rampaging herd of paparazzi, while still others insisted that they move Jack on their stretcher to someplace new.

  As far as Jack could tell, everyone was fine and dandy as they went about watching, prodding, giving sympathies, and making outlines of his sleeping quarters. But when Jack had decided enough was enough, and it was time to go home, all they wanted to do was run around and scream.

  First, they yelled at Jack, then at each other, and then back at him. Eventually, there was too much screaming, and like any loud argument, it left Jack stressed. So he ate, starting with a supple, young brunette that was within arm’s length. Then there was even more screaming, which led to more eating as well as a few dozen gunshots. By the end of the episode, Jack had made a new friend, Danita.

  Danita was a clever sort, and once she returned with Jack, she was the new envy of all t
he other zombies. For whatever reason, the Lord had blessed her with the ability to remember three things at once (four with a pair half-truths), which enabled her to become quite the philosopher, theologian, and game maker.

  The position of game maker was markedly more difficult to fulfill than others. Games had to be entertaining and have clear rules that could be understood. They had to have fine packaging, smart names, and impressive marketing to compete with all the other games that were available to the undead populace such as Rock-Paper.

  As wonderful as all the games were, they did little to progress the zombies as a whole. It was the study of theology and philosophy that spurred the evolution of zombie communication. Before Danita had been introduced into their ranks, the language they spoke, which was more of an intricate gesture-by-standing, was incomplete. In her discussions, she brought in the missing key—syllables.

  This new component brought to life all sorts of fantastic conversations between the inhabitants of Colmera Springs. Jack had already been fond of picking the brains of others and now enjoyed what Danita had to offer.

  On this particular, present day, it was during an intense debate of whether or not there existed life before death that Jack spotted a figure approaching the town. Soon a few other shapes appeared behind it. They all stank of freshness.

  With a grunt and a gesture, Jack pointed the group out to Danita. She stood in response. They both agreed that the leader held a particularly strange aura about him, one that exuded confidence. Jack started to shuffle toward them. Danita said she had a thought to spare and felt it might be a good idea to utilize it. Apparently, she wanted to lead them closer.

  Jack growled, and his stomach agreed. Anytime was a good time to eat. And if these people were going to walk right at him, he saw no reason to try and hide, despite Danita’s protests about spoiling a good ambush.

  He got only a few steps before his zombie friend spun him around and drew his attention to the parlor with one of her partial, withered fingers. She then reminded Jack how pleasant it would be to have a good nap. Jack, of course, was never one to turn down naptime. And even though he had already been sold on the idea of going back inside, Danita added a bit of icing on the cake by pointing out that inside the parlor, he wouldn’t be disturbed by people with chalk.

  Jack grunted with pleasure, and with all thoughts removed of the approaching humans, he shuffled into the parlor with Danita right behind.

  * * *

  Clarice had opted to take the lead as they progressed up the mountainside, and her attitude continued to brighten that this would soon all be over. And when it was, she decided, she’d treat herself to a pleasant day at the spa, followed by snuggle time and a movie to smooth things over with Nick. Maybe she’d dig up her French maid outfit for him, too, as an added bonus for putting up with her abuse the past day or so. She knew she could get a little bitchy under a lot of stress, and she was grateful he had the patience of a saint with her.

  She also decided, as they traveled, that her employer, Ryan Conner, may have been built for collecting taxes, but he was not built for climbing mountains. Whereas she and Nick traversed the terrain with little difficulty, he made his ascent with the grace of a tipped cow. After three hours of watching him stumble over rocks, logs, and pseudo-pitfalls, the three arrived at a strange construction of timber. The path, having seen all of it before, ran ahead, over a river and through the woods.

  Clarice stopped first and asked what she assumed everyone else was thinking. “What is this?”

  “Ruins of something,” Ryan said with a dismissing hand. After a moment’s rest, he added, “Let’s not stare at poor caretaking all day, even if such bad practice is going to lower the land value.”

  Nick circled the nearest clump of wood. He tapped it twice and then pushed hard with his thumb. “I think…” he said hesitantly. “I think it’s a mast. But it’s preserved by something, almost petrified.”

  “From a ship?” Ryan said, without looking twice. “I think not.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is,” Nick said, crouching down and examining the ground. “I don’t really see what else it might be. This right here has to be a mast.”

  “It’s not a mast,” said Clarice. “I really didn’t mean to stop us for an hour while we figure this out. Let’s get going.”

  Nick ignored the request. He paced about the immediate area, measuring distances with his arms and stride as he did. “I bet those are booms and gaffs,” he continued. “And that’s got to be a block, or what’s left of one. They’re all in the right places.”

  Clarice, having had her hope of a quick exit from the mountains snatched from her by an overly curious fiancé, prayed for an end to the insanity. “Yeah, I’m sure someone just dropped off a frigate as they were hiking through.”

  “No, really. I mean it,” said Nick. With his hands pointing to spots on the ground on either side of him, he tried his best to show what he explained. “Look, there’s the bow—the front of the ship. The aft—back end—is over there. You can even see the entire hull if you just imagine it not so covered with moss and plants, and not quite as flat.”

  “And how did it get up here, mister smarty-pants?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it ran aground.”

  “Aground!”

  “Why not? A careless skipper is all it would take.”

  “It ran aground on top of a mountain!” she exclaimed.

  Nick’s face tangled in a giant ball of confusion. “It’s been known to happen.”

  “No, it hasn’t,” she retorted with force. “Not once has anyone ever hit the top of a mountain!”

  “Well, Noah did.”

  Clarice blinked, stupefied and unsure if he was being serious or a smartass. “Excluding Noah, no one has ever done this,” she said, enunciating every syllable. “And I don’t see a petting zoo around, so let’s assume it wasn’t him, okay?”

  Nick sighed. “Look, I’m not saying that I know how it got here, okay?” he said. It was clear he was trying to placate her as best he knew how. “I just know what I’m looking at, and I’m telling you those are the remains of a ship right there.” He then looked a little farther off. “And I would wager that’s another one, too.”

  “You’re saying there are now two ships here, son?” Ryan said with a calm voice.

  “Yes,” Nick replied. “At least, I think so.”

  “But you aren’t sure?” Ryan asked.

  “I’m not completely positive, no,” Nick admitted. “But if I had to place a twenty on it, I’d say those are boats and would be something to at least check out later.”

  “For what, sunken treasure?” Clarice mocked.

  “Well, you’d need to be certified for wreck diving first,” he said with a grin.

  “Gah!” she yelled. With that, Clarice stomped away a dozen paces and sat on a fallen tree. A fallen tree, she told herself, not a broken mast—a fallen tree that just happened to have been gnawed upon in a few curious places. By beavers. Curious beavers. Satisfied with the explanation, Clarice thought to pursue it no further.

  “Clarice,” Ryan called to her. “Don’t you know what this means? This is fabulous news if it’s true!”

  She turned her face slowly toward him. “What, exactly, does this mean?”

  “A marina means higher property values, Ms. Clarice,” he beamed.

  “It’s not a marina,” she replied. She turned toward Nick whose mouth was partially open and eyebrows slightly arched. She knew that look. “What? What are you just dying to spit out?”

  Nick gave a sheepish shrug. “Well,” he said with hesitation. “It could be a marina. Or could have been, rather.”

  Clarice grabbed a nearby, fallen branch and threw it at his head. “It’s not a goddamn marina,” she barked. She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “It’s not a marina,” she said once more, softening her tone. “Sorry about the stick. I’m tired and just want to get home. None of this is helping.”

  Nick g
ave it a kick across the forest floor and sent it flying to some bushes. “No worries,” he said. “Your aim is horrible.”

  “Why would there be a marine in the mountains without at least it being on a lake?”

  Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they were going to make one or thought they could. Maybe everyone’s brains shriveled up, and they thought it was a genuinely good idea. Who knows? I’m only saying what it looks like.”

  “Fine. I don’t want to argue about it anymore, but if you could think of something else it might look like—something else that at least feels somewhat normal—I’d appreciate it.”

  “Ms. Clarice,” Ryan said, drawing her attention back to her employer. His arms folded across his chest and his brow furrowed. “Do you like collecting taxes?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “Good. Because I would hate to think you are purposefully trying to lower the land value around here and sabotaging our collection efforts.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Good, because if I say this is a marina…” his voice trailed as he raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s a marina,” finished Clarice, who at this point was pretty sure Ryan Conner, Tax Collector would have been sprawled out on the ground had he been within arm’s reach at the end of that statement. But luckily for her employment status and his nose, he was still a few paces away.

  A short while later, long enough to put the newfound marina out of sight but not out of memory, the trio reached Colmera Springs. They paused and gazed upon what no living mortal had seen in over three days’ time.

  The path dodged between a number of scattered, dilapidated buildings. It found its end surrounded on three sides by some of the larger constructions of the town, taking on the shape of a deflated tire. Standing near one of the buildings was a couple who took brief note of the new arrivals before ignoring them and sloughing off toward one of the larger, still standing structures.