“That's uplifting,” said Adam. “Truly inspirational.”
“I should have been a motivational speaker,” said Jesse.
“Yeah, right now you are motivating me to put this 9 mm against my temple and empty the magazine.”
“Don't say that,” said Jesse.
“I’m just joking,” said Adam.
“No, I mean you'd never get more than two shots off,” said Jesse, “I hope you brought more than two bullets.”
“That's morbid,” said Adam.
In his peripheral vision, Jesse watched Adam release the magazine of his gun and look at the rounds. After Adam’s OCD tendencies were satisfied, he reloaded the gun.
“I definitely brought more than two rounds. I've got four mags of hollow points,” said Adam.
“All a growing boy needs to combat the zombie horde,” said Jesse.
“Truer words ain't never been said,” said Adam and held up his pistol. Jesse looked at the gun. It had a simple style and was built like a tank. It was heavy and devoid of frivolities, but it had always fired and it had withstood ample punishment. Adam had dropped it dozens of times in the heat of battle, and he had bludgeoned several reanimates with it. Never once had it failed to fire.
“American craftsmanship at its finest,” said Adam.
Jesse held up his cudgel and said, “The upside of my baby here is that I don't have to reload it.”
Adam nodded and put his gun back into its holster.
They quickened their pace. Jesse wanted answers. He did not want to believe Adam's story about the scream. The idea of reanimates screaming or, worse, communicating worried him. Jesse's knowledge of history had taught him that communication was the first step of many in humanity's quick rise to the top of the food chain.
Ahead was the freeway sign. It bore the message, “Zombiedale Population: 2.” Adam had painted it on one of their missions to check cars for essential supplies. An upended cargo van blocked the northern onramp: a barrier of crushed and twisted steel. On the southern onramp, a silver sedan was stuck between a lifted pick-up truck and the guardrail.
The hill steepened. Sweat ran down Jesse’s brow. He heard Adam’s labored breathing. The road cut a swath between two thick gatherings of evergreen trees. On their right was a tall concrete wall. Ahead was another tangled mass of vehicles. A gnarled blockade: an escape gone awry.
“Shit,” said Adam, and he pointed up ahead.
“We going through that mess, or are we heading into the woods?” he asked
“We might find something useful in the cars,” said Jesse.
“Or, we might get ambushed.”
“We've only got a few hours left of daylight, so I say we stay on the road. The underbrush in that forest is going to be thick and slippery.”
Adam said nothing in reply; he motioned for Jesse to lead the way. They walked up to the wreckage. The windows were all smashed. All of the cars were empty. Their mangled doors prevented entry into the vehicles’ cabins.
“There's no blood on those windows,” said Jesse.
“The rain could have washed away the blood, or maybe those dead fucks are clean eaters,” said Adam.
“Yeah,” said Jesse, and he started to speak again, but the words dissipated in his head before forming a coherent thought.
Adam leaned down next to a blue compact car's open fuel filler door, and sniffed.
“No gas. It doesn't even smell like it ever had gasoline in it.”
“This must have happened after I went downtown.”
“Why did you go downtown anyways?”
“They got into our house.”
“Never mind, you don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it's all right,” said Jesse. After a quiet moment, he began, “When they came in the first time. My brother, father, and I fought them off. They had busted through the side door and had attacked mom, but we managed to save her from getting eaten. Mom was scared and wanted to — just go into the forest, or to head to Seabeck and hope for the best. My brother was keen on the idea too. The problem was they were all out of shape and mom had never set foot out of suburbia. We would have been fucked. It was a bad idea.”
Jesse paused for a while and paced in a narrow gap amid the mass of cars. He stopped, tilted his head back, and swallowed hard.
“So, dad and I convinced them it was better to stay and wait it out,” his voice wavered and his eyes glazed over. “We barricaded the house up tight. Mom had been bitten, but she was fine. It didn’t get infected. Everything was fine for a while.
"What finally did it was the second big attack. I was upstairs reading and killing time, and everyone was downstairs getting ready for dinner. We were having some awful concoction of canned food. Our typical post-apocalypse sodium and protein overload was about to be served, when they started to pound on all sides of the house. It was like they were trying to get in from every side simultaneously. They were bashing in the back door, the front door, the windows, and the barricade where the sliding glass door used to be. In a few minutes, they were already inside the garage. That whole day had seemed like a normal day at home, and then the noise and chaos of it all was overwhelming. The pounding was deafening. We were fine and then we were boxed in. Our safe haven only held up for a few minutes. Maybe staying in the house saved them for a couple weeks longer than making a break for it, but I don’t know.” Jesse paused again. He sat down on the wet hood of one of the sedans.
“As they came in the front door, dad was shooting them with the shotgun. They piled up in the doorway, but they started to crawl through the pile of bodies. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. They tore through each other, just to get closer to him. Dad ran out of shells, so he turned to go upstairs. One of the things in the pile grabbed his ankle. He fell over and they latched onto him and pulled him into the pile. It was like he was being swallowed by this mass of evil. I couldn't do anything. I was wailing on the pile with an aluminum baseball bat, but it didn’t make any difference. I couldn’t find the heads of the ones that were grabbing him. I was just hitting near his legs, and those ones were already dead. He was yelling and fighting, but it wasn’t enough to get free. I dropped the bat and tried to pull him away from them. I pulled as hard as I could. It didn’t matter though. They were tireless. I couldn’t help him. He told me to run upstairs and get his pistol. I didn't want to leave him. He started cursing at me and hitting me instead of them, so I went. I got the gun and the boxes of ammo and I ran back toward the staircase. Dad had broken off a baluster from the staircase, and he was smacking at the hands grabbing his ankles. He was bleeding and screaming, but he was fighting hard. I handed him a cocked .45 and he unloaded the magazine into the pile. It seemed to work.
“They stopped pulling. I ripped the dead hands off his ankles. His lower legs were covered in blood and he needed help getting up. Both of our eardrums must have burst because neither of us heard mom or David go down...,” He stopped for a moment and took a breath. “I helped dad into the living room. I set him down and he pointed behind me. His mouth opened wide and I could tell he was saying something, but all I heard was this dull sound. I turned and saw dozens of the bastards coming into the family room. I remember smelling what mom had cooked. Instead of her and David standing there with a bowl of awful stew, there were those things. They were in the same room where we used to have our Christmas Day celebration; the same room where I used to drink eggnog and play with David on the carpet. Dad grabbed at my shoulder, and I turned around. Two of the things pulled him off balance. He fell back into the pile. They were on him like pigs at the trough before I could do anything. Just like that, it was over. They were all dead. My whole family got taken out in a matter of seconds.
“I was alone in a house full of zombies. I barely had a second to give up on my family and fend for myself. There was no time for, save yourself and go on without me. They were all dead before I could do anything, and if I stayed then I would have joined them. I wanted revenge, but I guess
the survival instinct was stronger. I leapt up to the banister and rolled over it. I ran up the steps and made my way out my bedroom window. I busted through the glass and climbed out onto the roof. They were all still inside, eating my family while I jumped down off the roof and ran away like a coward. I didn't even have shoes on.”
They both stood in silence in the collection of ruined cars.
“No point in just standing here. Let’s go find them,” said Jesse.
“OK, but let's not do anything stupid.”
“You got anything better to do?”
“Live, for one.”
“I'd rather be a lion for a day, than a sheep for a hundred years.”
“I've heard that before, but all the same I'd rather not die today.”
“You've got to die sometime. What difference does it make if it’s here and now or somewhere else and some other time?”
“I'd like to see the sun again before I die.”
“And I'd like to see my family again, but that's never going to happen.”
“Maybe in Heaven.”
“You really believe in all that? Even with all this crazy shit going on?”
“Not really, but it's a nice thought isn't it?”
Jesse and Adam wormed their way through the mess. Once they were free, Jesse pointed to Eldorado Boulevard.
“I know somewhere we can get some food and some guns,” said Jesse.
“Are you sure?” asked Adam, his brow raised.
“We didn’t eat all the food before it all went down and I know damned well that we had some rounds left.”
“Come on, man. We don’t have to do that. That was your family.”
“And they’re dead now.”
“Dude, let’s just walk down toward the high school.”
“And do what? Do you think the zombies decided to get their learn on?”
“There might be supplies there.”
“We might find some disaster kits, but I don’t think it’d be worth the risk. We’re going to my old house.”
A murder of crows shot over their heads cawing as they flew.
Jesse and Adam crouched in unison and looked up. The birds flew southward staying just above the tree line. Jesse motioned toward the bird’s flight path and looked Adam in the eyes.
“All right,” said Adam.
“All right,” repeated Jesse.
They followed the crow’s path down Eldorado Boulevard. Eldorado Boulevard cut through the thick Northwestern forest like an oversized hiking trail. In any other situation, Jesse would be at peace among the trees that dominated the landscape. Western Washington was the greenest place Jesse had ever seen. Firs, pines, and spruces dominated the skyline.
A stick broke and cut the silence. Brush rustled as a reanimate emerged from the brush. A short guardrail stood between the living and the dead. Adam’s hand slid down to the grip of his pistol. Jesse shook his head and grabbed Adam’s wrist. He freed his cudgel from his belt and released Adam’s wrist. He rested the makeshift weapon on his shoulder. Both Jesse and Adam regarded even a single reanimate like a poisonous spider: easy to crush with a single blow, but a small mistake can be fatal. Jesse took a quick survey of the trees and brush. Convinced no other reanimates lurked nearby. Jesse approached the creature. It stumbled into the guardrail: arms raised like a toddler wanting a hug. Its soupy eyes met with Jesse’s keen ones. Jesse struck it hard in its temple. Bone chunks and thick, dark matter scattered across the dirt embankment. It collapsed sideways like a boxer whose clock had been cleaned. Its eyes ceased to track movement.
Jesse and Adam continued a while down the road without seeing anything of note. Rural Washington had not changed much since the dead overran the Earth. The only differences were the lack of moving cars, and that the wilderness had overtaken the small plots of land.
Adam spotted a crow perched on the street sign for Iskra Boulevard. Its black feathers ruffled at the sight of the two of them. It let out a hoarse caw and took flight down Iskra.
“Do you believe in omens?” asked Adam.
“I believe we’re going down Iskra,” said Jesse.
“Great,” said Adam as he drew his pistol. “I just want to tell you, in case we die, that these last few months have been bullshit — and that I’ve grown to both loathe and respect you.”
Jesse crossed his arms and scowled at Adam.
“What? Can’t take a joke all of a sudden?”
“I’m sure I’ll laugh once we get back to the fort.”
“We’re never going back to that fort, Jesse,” Adam said in an uncharacteristically dark tone.
They turned into Iskra. Jesse craned his neck back and forth, scanning the abandoned houses for signs of reanimates. Windows were shattered, doors were bashed into splinters, and most of the cars were still in their driveways. No bodies were around. Jesse could not recall seeing any bodies stick around for long after reanimates overran an area. The reanimates had always cleaned their plate. He shrugged off dark memories and refocused. Above them, a bright patch of clouds obscured the falling sun.
“Adam, hold up,” said Jesse. Adam stopped without a word.
“I want to check this house,” said Jesse.
“Why?”
“It’s Eric’s family’s house,” said Jesse. “I remember his dad was a hunter.”
“You go ahead in,” said Adam. “I’ll post up out here.”
“Fair enough, keep an eye out.”
“Scream if you need me.”
“Funny.”
Jesse passed broken lawn ornaments on the unkempt lawn. He kicked away a triangular slab of the oak door. The entryway was a nightmare scene: dark stains and deep scratches in the linoleum floor. Jesse went upstairs. The stench of moldy carpet and stale air was disarming. It sat on his tongue like an unwelcome meal.
Several picture frames were strewn about, shattered glass decorated the carpet, and bullet holes gave the walls a wartime texture. The door to the first bedroom was hanging off its hinges. Jesse could tell it was Eric’s room because there was a Nirvana poster on the far wall and a Korean-made Stratocaster with rusted strings sitting on a guitar stand. There was a huge, dark stain on the carpet and blood spatter all over the walls, bed sheets, and ceiling. There was no body, and there were no weapons save a bent aluminum baseball bat. All that was left of his childhood friend was DNA.
“Sorry Eric,” Jesse said. Eric’s sister’s room was also empty and filled with things that were no longer important: colorful jewelry, an LCD TV, designer purses, and a hundred other fashionable accessories. On her nightstand was a brand-name purse. Jesse rummaged through it, but all that was inside was makeup and worthless green slips of paper.
“The dollar just hasn’t fared well in this predatory economy,” Jesse mumbled to himself. He dropped the purse on the carpet and went back into the hallway.
The door to the master bedroom was closed. Huge chunks were torn out of it and cracks ran down the painted wood. The door had held an onslaught, but there was a two-man-sized hole in the wall connecting Eric’s father’s office to the master bedroom. Jesse went through the hole as the reanimates had done. Beams of light shone through the narrow spaces in the boards nailed across the windows. There were no bodies, yet remnants of the slaughter decked the walls and furnishings. At the foot of the bed was a pistol. It was not the shotgun that Jesse had hoped for, but the apocalypse did not cater to picky shooters. Jesse picked it up gently and checked out the piece. It appeared to be in working order. The slide was open, and the magazine was empty. The pistol was a 9 mm, the same caliber as Adam’s gun. A rifle leaned against the closet wall next to a metal locker. Jesse flipped open the locker. Inside was Vietnam memorabilia and two full five-round rifle clips. Jesse opened his backpack and put the handgun and clips into it.
He snatched up the rifle, searched the rest of the house, and went outside to meet Adam.
“Nice rifle,” Adam said. “You find anything else.”
“The usual,” repli
ed Jesse. “A pistol with no bullets and a bunch of dead people.”
“Bodies?”
“Just stains.”
Jesse handed the rifle to Adam.
“I’d rather see the bodies,” said Adam. “Something about a stain just leaves the mind to wander.”
Adam looked at the rifle and muttered, “Thirty-ought-six… good shape.”
“Anything else?” Adam asked.
Jesse set down his pack and pulled out the pistol and the rifle clips.
Adam saw the pistol and said, “Holy shit! I knew Eric’s dad had great taste in guns. That’s a Hi Power. These things are legendary.”
Adam snatched the gun out of Jesse’s hand. He checked it and slid it into his jacket pocket. He took his gun out of the holster, released the magazine, and tossed the pistol on the ground. He reloaded his new gun and marveled at it.
“That’s what we call leveling up,” he said. “I’m actually looking forward to shooting this. Should we head up Cobi Place?”
“Yep.”
“All right, you’re sure?” asked Adam.
Jesse nodded and walked toward Cobi. They walked in silence, checking the tree line for reanimates. Ahead of them, an SUV was upside down on the side of the narrow road. It was covered in dents and safety glass was scattered all over the asphalt. All the tiny prisms of light reflecting off of the glass created a majestic aura around an otherwise gruesome scene. Dark marks lined the asphalt from when the driver swerved, to avoid something or someone.
“That’s a shitty way to go,” said Adam. “It’s the illusion of safety.”
“If not here, then it would have been 250 miles down the road when the gas tank ran out.”
“Or that mess on Newberry Hill.”
“Or there.”
They had learned not to dwell too long over the death of strangers, or loved ones. All tragedy had to be dealt with in a matter of seconds, or more tragedy followed on its heels. Before long, they were in front of Jesse’s childhood home: the quaint, suburban house turned into family tomb by a swarm of reanimates. The garage door sat bent on the concrete floor of the garage. He stepped on its panels and went into the house.
The Lost Gods Page 5
