‘Unless they hear or smell something that draws them, they tend to stick close to home.’
‘Home?’
‘Well . . . to the places they used to live or work.’
‘Why?’
Tom took a couple of minutes on that. ‘There are lots of theories, but that’s all we have. Just theories. Some folks say that the dead lack the intelligence to think that there’s anywhere other than where they’re standing. If nothing attracts them or draws them, they’ll just stay right where they are.’
‘But they need to hunt, don’t they?’
‘Need is a tricky word. Most experts agree that the dead will attack and kill, but it’s not been established that they actually hunt. Hunting implies need, and we don’t know that the dead need to do anything.’
‘I don’t understand.’
They crested a hill and looked down a dirt road to where an old gas station sat beneath a weeping willow.
‘Have you ever heard of one of them just wasting away and dying of hunger?’
‘No, but—’
‘The people in town think that the dead survive by eating the living, right?’
‘Well, sure, but—’
‘What “living” do you think they’re eating?’
‘Huh?’
‘Think about it. There’re more than three hundred million living dead in America alone. Throw in another thirty-odd million in Canada and a hundred and ten million in Mexico, and you have something like four hundred and fifty million living dead. First Night happened fourteen years ago. So - what are they eating to stay alive?’
Benny thought about it. ‘Mr Feeney says they eat each other.’
‘They don’t,’ said Tom. ‘Once a body has started to cool, they stop feeding on it. That’s why there are so many partially eaten living dead. They won’t attack or eat each other even if you locked them in the same house for years on end. People have done it.’
‘What happens to them?’
‘The trapped ones? Nothing.’
‘Nothing? They don’t rot away and die?’
‘They’re already dead, Benny.’ A shadow passed over the valley and momentarily darkened Tom’s face. ‘But that’s one of the mysteries. They don’t rot. Not completely. They decay to a certain point, and then they just stop rotting. No one knows why.’
‘What do you mean? How can something just stop rotting? That’s stupid.’
‘It’s not stupid, kiddo. It’s a mystery. It’s as much a mystery as why the dead rise in the first place. Why they attack humans. Why they don’t attack each other. All mysteries.’
‘Maybe they eat . . . like . . . cows and stuff.’
Tom shrugged. ‘Some do, if they can catch them. A lot of people don’t know that, by the way, but it’s true. They’ll eat anything alive that they can catch. Dogs, cats, birds, even bugs.’
‘Well, then, that explains—’
‘No,’ Tom said. ‘Most animals are too fast. Ever try to catch a cat who doesn’t want to be caught? Now imagine doing that if you’re only able to shuffle along slowly and can’t strategize. If a bunch of the dead came upon cows in a pen or fenced field, they might be able to kill them and eat them, but all the penned animals have either long-since escaped or they died off in the first few months. No . . . the dead don’t need to feed at all. They just exist.’
They reached the gas station. Tom stopped by the old pump and knocked on the metal casing three times, then twice, and then four more times.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Saying hello.’
‘Hello to . . .?’
There was a low moan, and Benny turned to see a grey-skinned man come shuffling slowly around the corner of the building. He wore ancient coveralls that were stained with dark blotches, but incongruously around his neck was a garland of fresh flowers. Marigolds and honey-suckle. The man’s face was in shade for a few steps, but then he crossed into the sunlight and Benny nearly screamed. The man’s eyes were missing, and the sockets gaped emptily. The moaning mouth was toothless, the lips and cheeks, sunken in. Worst of all, as the zombie raised its hands toward them, Benny saw that all of its fingers had been clipped off at the primary knuckles.
Benny gagged and stepped back, his muscles tensed to turn and run, but Tom put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
‘Wait,’ said Tom.
A moment later the door to the gas station opened, and a pair of sleepy-eyed young women came outside followed by a slightly older man with a long brown beard. The were all thin and dressed in tunics that looked like they had been made from old bedsheets. Each wore a thick garland of flowers. The trio looked at Benny and Tom and then at the zombie.
‘Leave him be!’ cried the youngest woman as she ran across the dirt to the dead man and stood between him and the Imura brothers, her feet planted, her arms spread to shield the zombie.
Tom raised a hand and took his hat off so they could see his face.
‘Peace, little sister,’ he said. ‘No one’s here to do harm.’
The bearded man fished eyeglasses from a pocket beneath his tunic and squinted through dirty lenses.
‘Tom . . .?’ he said. ‘Tom Imura?’
‘Hey, Brother David.’ He put his hand on Benny’s shoulder. ‘This is my brother, Benjamin.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Passing through,’ said Tom. ‘But I wanted to pay my respects. And to teach Benny the ways of this world. He’s never been outside of the fence before.’
Benny caught the way Tom put emphasis on the word this.
Brother David walked over, scratching his beard. Up close he was older than he looked - maybe forty, with deep brown eyes and a few missing teeth. His clothing was clean but threadbare. He smelled of flowers, garlic, and mint. The man studied Benny for a long moment, during which Tom did nothing and Benny fidgeted.
‘He’s not a believer,’ said Brother David.
‘Belief is tough to come by in these times,’ said Tom.
‘You believe.’
‘Seeing is believing.’
Benny thought that their exchange had the cadence of a church litany, as if it was something the two of them had said before and would say again.
Brother David bent toward Benny. ‘Tell me, young brother, do you come here bringing hurt and harm to the Children of God?’
‘Um . . . no?’
‘Do you bring hurt and harm to the Children of Lazarus?’
‘I don’t know who they are, mister, but I’m just here with my brother.’
Brother David turned toward the women, who were using gentle pushes to steer the zombie back around the far side of the building. ‘Old Roger there is one of Lazarus’s Children.’
‘What? You mean he’s not a zom—’
Tom made a noise to stop him.
A tolerant smile flickered over Brother David’s face. ‘We don’t use that word, little brother.’
Benny didn’t know how to answer that, so Tom came to his rescue.
‘The name comes from Lazarus of Bethany, a man who was raised from the dead by Jesus.’
‘Yeah, I remember hearing about that in church.’
The mention of church brightened Brother David’s smile. ‘You believe in God?’ he asked hopefully.
‘I guess . . .’
‘In these times,’ said Brother David, ‘that’s better than most.’ He threw a covert wink at Tom.
Benny looked past him to where the girls had taken the zombie. ‘I’m like totally confused here. That guy was a . . . you know. He’s dead, right?’
‘Living dead,’ corrected Brother David.
‘Right. Why wasn’t he trying to . . . you know.’ He mimed grabbing and biting.
‘He doesn’t have teeth,’ said Tom. ‘And you saw his hands.’
Benny nodded. ‘Did you guys do that?’ he asked Brother David.
‘No, little brother,’ Brother David said with a grimace. ‘No, other people did that to Ol
d Roger.’
‘Who?’ demanded Benny.
‘Don’t you mean “Why”?’
‘No, who. Who’d do something like that?’
Brother David said, ‘Old Roger is only one of the Children who have been tortured like that. All over this county you can see them. Men and women with their eyes cut out, their teeth pulled, or jaws shot away. Most of them missing fingers or whole hands. And I won’t talk about some of the others things I’ve seen done. Stuff you’re too young to know about, little brother.’
‘I’m fifteen,’ said Benny.
‘You’re too young. I can remember when fifteen meant you were still a child.’ Brother David turned and watched the two young women return without the old zombie.
‘He’s in the shed,’ said the blonde.
‘But he’s agitated,’ said the redhead.
‘He’ll quiet down after a spell,’ said Brother David.
The women stood by the pump and eyed Tom, though Tom seemed to suddenly find something fascinating about the movement of the clouds. Benny’s usual inclination would have been to make a joke at Tom’s expense, but he didn’t feel like it. He turned back to the bearded man.
‘Who’s doing all this stuff you’re talking about? To that old man. To those . . . others you mentioned. What kind of dirtbags are out here doing that stuff?’
‘Bounty hunters,’ said the redhead.
‘Killers,’ said the blonde.
‘Why?’
‘If I had an answer to that,’ said Brother David, ‘I’d be a saint instead of a way-station monk.’
Benny turned to Tom. ‘I don’t get it . . . you’re a bounty hunter.’
‘I guess to some people that’s what I am.’
‘Do you do this kind of stuff?’
‘What do you think?’
But Benny was already shaking his head.
Tom said, ‘What do you even know about bounty hunters?’
‘They kill zombies,’ Benny said, then flinched as he saw the looks of distaste on the faces of Brother David and the two women. ‘Well, they do! That’s what bounty hunters are there for. They come out here into the Rot and Ruin and they hunt the, um, you know . . . the living dead.’
‘Why?’ asked Tom.
‘For money.’
‘Who pays them?’ asked Brother David.
‘People in town. People in other towns,’ said Benny. ‘I heard the government pays them sometimes.’
‘Who’d you hear that from?’ asked Tom.
‘Charlie Matthias.’
Brother David turned a questioning face to Tom, who said, ‘Charlie Pink-Eye.’
The faces of the monk and the two women fell into sickness. Brother David closed his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Benny.
‘You can stay to dinner,’ Brother David said stiffly, eyes still closed. ‘God requires mercy and sharing from all of His Children. But . . . once you’ve eaten I’d like you to leave.’
Tom put his hand on the monk’s shoulder. ‘We’re moving on now.’
The redhead stepped toward Tom. ‘It was a lovely day until you came.’
‘No,’ said Brother David sharply, then repeated it more gently. ‘No, Sarah . . . Tom’s our friend, and we’re being rude.’ He opened his eyes, and Benny thought that the man now looked seventy. ‘I’m sorry, Tom. Please forgive Sister Sarah, and please forgive me for—’
‘No,’ said Tom. ‘It’s okay. She’s right. It was a lovely day, and saying that man’s name here was wrong of me. I apologize to you, to her, to Sister Claire, and to Old Roger. This is Benny’s first time out here in the Ruin. He met . . . that man . . . and had heard a lot of stories. Stories of hunting out here. He’s a boy and he doesn’t understand. I brought him out here to let him know how things are. How things fall out.’ He paused. ‘He’s never been to Sunset Hollow. You understand?’
The three Children of God studied him for a while, and then one by one they nodded.
‘What’s Sunset Hollow?’ Benny asked, but Tom didn’t answer.
‘And I thank you for your offer of a meal,’ said Tom, ‘but we’ve got miles to go, and I think Benny’s going to have a lot of questions to ask. Some of them are better asked elsewhere.’
Sister Sarah reached up and touched Tom’s face. ‘I’m sorry for my words.’
‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.’
She smiled at him and caressed his cheek; then she turned and placed her hands on either side of Benny’s face. ‘May God protect your heart out here in the world.’ With that she kissed him on the forehead and walked away. The blonde smiled at the brothers and followed.
Benny turned to Tom. ‘Did I miss something?’
‘Probably,’ said Tom. ‘Come on, kiddo, let’s roll.’
Brother David shifted to stand in Tom’s path. ‘Brother,’ he said, ‘I’ll ask once and then be done with it.’
‘Ask away.’
‘Are you sure about what you’re doing?’
‘Sure? No. But I’m set on doing it.’ He fished in his pocket and brought out three vials of cadaverine. ‘Here, Brother. May it help you in your work.’
Brother David nodded his thanks. ‘God go with you and before you and within you.’
They shook hands, and Tom stepped back onto the dirt road. Benny, however, lingered for a moment longer.
‘Look, mister,’ he began slowly, ‘I don’t know what I said or did that was wrong, but I’m sorry, you know? Tom brought me out here, and he’s a bit crazy, and I don’t know what . . .’ He trailed off. There was no road map in his head to guide him through this conversation.
Brother David offered his hand and gave him the same blessing.
‘Yeah,’ said Benny. ‘You, too. Okay?’
He hurried to catch up to Tom, who was fifty yards down the road. When he looked back, the monk was standing in the road. He lifted his hand, but whether it was some kind of blessing or a gesture of farewell, Benny didn’t know. Either way it creeped him out.
VIII
When they were far down the road, Benny said, ‘What was that all about? Why’d that guy get so jacked about me mentioning Charlie?’
‘Not everyone thinks Charlie’s “cool”, kiddo.’
‘You jealous?’
Tom laughed. ‘God! The day I’m jealous of someone like Charlie Pink- Eye is the day I’ll cover myself in steak sauce and walk out into a crowd of the dead.’
‘Hilarious,’ said Benny sourly. ‘What’s with all that Children of God, Children of Lazarus stuff? What are they doing out here?’
‘They’re all over the Ruin. I’ve met travelers who’ve seen them as far east as Pennsylvania, and all the way down to Mexico City. I first saw them about a year after First Night. A whole bunch of them heading across the country in an old school bus with scripture passages painted all over it. Not sure how they got started or who chose the name. Even Brother David doesn’t know. To him it’s like they always were.’
‘Is he nuts?’
‘I think the expression used to be “touched by God.”’
‘So . . . that would be a yes.’
‘If he’s nuts, then at least his heart’s in the right place. The Children don’t believe in violence of any kind.’
‘But they’re okay with you, even though you kill zoms?’
Tom shook his head. ‘No, they don’t like what I do. But they accept my explanation for why I do it, and Brother David and a few others have seen how I do it, and whereas they don’t approve, they don’t condemn me for it. They think I’m misguided but well- intentioned.’
‘And Charlie? What do they think of him? Can’t be anything good.’
‘They believe Charlie Pink-Eye to be an evil man. Him and his jackass buddy the Motor City Hammer and a bunch of others. They think most of the bounty hunters are evil, in fact, and I can’t fault them for those beliefs.’
Benny said nothing. He still thought Charlie Matthias was c
ool as all hell.
‘So . . . these Children, what do they actually do?’
‘Not much. They tend to the dead. If they find a town, they’ll go through the houses and look for photos of the people who lived there, and then they try and round up those people if they’re still wandering around the town. They put them in their houses, seal the doors, write some prayers on the walls, and then move on. Most of them keep moving. Brother David’s been here for a year or so, but I expect he’ll move on, too.’
The New Dead: A Zombie Anthology Page 20
