by Bible, Jake
“Upstairs,” Melissa says and we all follow to the second floor.
The scavengers space themselves out evenly along each side of the barn, their line of sight broken only by the occasional frame post of the barn, otherwise they can see in every direction clearly.
“It’ll keep the weather off us,” Melissa says, “and give us a defensible place to sleep.”
“Where are we going to cook?” Landon asks. “This place’ll go up in flames if we start a fire.”
“That’s why we won’t start a fire,” Alison says. “We eat what we have, cold.”
“Cold?” Landon asks. “What about in the morning? I brought green tea.”
“Oooh, I want some green tea,” Greta says, then sees her mother’s look. “When we get to the Farm. Let’s save it for the Farm.”
“This blows,” Landon says. “Stuck in some fucking barn like a yokel and can’t even have my green tea.”
None of us see it coming. We’d been so used to giving him space and letting him be, that I think we forgot about Tran. It just was easier to push it all out of our minds and let Tran keep to himself. So when he pounces on Landon, I think it takes even Melissa and her scavengers a few moments to realize what is happening.
“Jesus fuck,” Andrew says as he dives for the two men.
Tran is on top of Landon, having tackled him and knocked him to the barn floor, his fists slamming again and again into Landon’s head. When Landon gets his arms up to protect himself, Tran starts in on his gut, landing gut crushing blow after blow. The distinct smell of shit hits our noses. Tran is literally beating the shit out of Landon.
“Enough!” Andrew hisses as he yanks at Tran.
The man shoves him away and starts back in on Landon. It takes Andrew, Carl, West, Stubben, and Melissa to pull him off. Landon just lies there, whimpering, his arms covering his face. The rest of us stand around, looking at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.
“You’re a fucking douche,” Brian says quietly to Landon and walks away to another part of the barn.
We all decide to do the same thing and leave Landon to his wounds and the shit in his pants. He eventually gets up and makes his way down to the field to get cleaned up. It’ll take a lot of leaves and grass to get that shit off, but he’s got nothing better to do.
Tran settles down and collapses against one of the support beams, his eyes closed, tears dripping down his cheeks. We share looks of empathy, but none of us know where this is going. Tran could pull out of it or he could spiral down until he gives up. Like I’ve said, it’s a debate and choice we’ve all had to face. But facing it is the first step, and I don’t know if Tran will go there. Nobody but Tran knows that.
The sun finally starts to set and we hand out some of the food. There isn’t much left, just enough for a small breakfast, so we had better make it to the Farm tomorrow. You get used to hunger in the apocalypse, but it never gets easy. It slows you down, dulls your senses, and makes mistakes more likely. But we’ll face that tomorrow.
No one is up for much conversation, so we pick our spots and bed down. I have Stella and the kids with me and we curl up into a tight ball, resting against each other for comfort and warmth. As the last rays of the purple and pink sunset fade, I watch the silhouettes of the scavengers against the open sides of the barn, their bodies rigid and alert. I wonder how many times they’ve been in this type of situation while out foraging. I’ll have to remember to thank them in the morning. Not until recently did I really understand the shit they walk out into every time they leave the gate.
The Zs leave us alone during the night and I’m surprised to wake to the sun coming up over the field below us.
“Why didn’t anyone wake me for watch?” I ask.
“You need your rest,” Stella says. “It’s easier on everyone if your leg is healthy than for you to stay up watching for Zs.”
“But now that you’re up,” Melissa says. “Time to hike. We have to backtrack a little bit to get to the Farm. We still have a long day ahead of us.”
It is a long day, made that much longer by Tran. He stays behind us, barely part of the group. His head is down; his eyes watching his feet take step after step. At times, each of us want to go to him, to give him useless comfort and speak useless words. But we don’t. Not our place. Even still, I can’t help looking over my shoulder every few minutes, hoping for eye contact, some way to tell him I get it. Which, of course, I don’t. Useless words...
“Did they feel it?” Greta asks as we eat the last of our food for lunch. Water is scarce and I pass around what’s left in our family canteen. “Or did they die quick?”
“I pray they died quick,” Stella says, hugging Greta to her. “I prayed for that all night long.”
“I don’t even remember their names,” Charlie whispers. “I only spoke to them a few times, you know.”
“Josie, Jeremy, Laura,” Tran says, suddenly standing by us.
“I’m sorry,” Greta says and Tran looks at her.
“Thank you,” he nods.
“We’re all sorry, Tran,” Stella says.
“Daniel,” he replies.
“What?” I ask.
“Everyone calls me Tran,” he says, “that is, uh, my end name”
“Last name?” Charlie asks. “Is that what you mean?”
“Yes, last name,” Tran says. “But my name is Daniel. I took Daniel when we move to America.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry. I didn’t know. I’ve always thought Tran was your first name.”
“You didn’t ask,” Tran says. He looks at the group. “No one ask. Never.”
He walks away and we watch him go, his shoulders slumped, his body looking to weigh a million tons, being crushed under the weight of his grief.
“We suck,” Charlie says.
“You got that right,” I reply. “We do.”
There are only a few Zs to take care of the rest of the way. Just stragglers, no hordes or herds coming at us. Not that Andrew was wrong. We crested a hill at one point and looked off to the south, seeing a herd of a couple hundred way off in the distance. They were choking I-26, just south of I-240, a mass of putrid limbs swarmed about the abandoned cars and trucks. It was hard to tell from that distance which way they were going; we just knew they were moving. And then we descended the hill and they were gone, out of sight, out of mind.
Those were the last Zs we saw for a few hours. But not to worry, the next Zs we come upon make up for it. And explain why we hadn’t seen even one for a long time.
They are all at the Farm. Waiting for us. Well, maybe not exactly waiting for us, but waiting. Just standing there, their grey eyes focused intently on what is beyond the several layers of fencing and booby traps that surround the acreage that is the Farm. I don’t know what stuns me more, the amount of Zs between us and the Farm or the size of the Farm itself. Both are considerable.
“Okay, people,” Melissa whispers, motioning for us to hunker down. “This is the hard part.”
“Because the rest was so easy,” Landon says through his split lips and bruised, puffy cheeks.
“You want to stay here?” Melissa asks and Landon looks down at his hands. “Didn’t think so.” She takes a deep breath and starts to draw a crude map in a patch of dirt. “We are here. The Farm is here. The Zs are between us and the Farm.”
“I think we can see that,” Stubben says.
“Can you?” Melissa asks. “Can you also see the way into the Farm?”
“Uh, well...no,” Stubben says.
“Then care to shut the fuck up and let me show you?” Melissa snarls, her patience finally gone. I keep forgetting she just lost her husband. I want to keep forgetting that, but it slams into my brain like a wall of shit.
Melissa points to a spot off to the side of where we are and quite a ways away from the Farm. “We are going here. We have to do it quickly and quietly. Both of those are non-negotiable.” She looks at me. “Can you move quickly?”
&n
bsp; “If that’s what I have to do,” I say.
“It is.”
“Then, yeah, I can.”
She gives Landon a harsh look. “Can you move quietly?”
“Why are you asking me?” She just keeps looking at him. “Yes. Yes, I can move quietly. I don’t want to die either. That’s why I came with you guys. Whispering Pines is gonna be overrun pretty quick. I’ll hold my own here, okay? Stop looking at me like that!”
“Way to be quiet,” Charlie says.
“Hush, everyone,” Melissa says. “When we get to where we are going, there’s no turning back. Once inside, we are inside. You stay close, you keep your mouths shut, and you’ll live. Break one of those steps and you’ll die. And probably get the rest of us killed.” She looks at each of us in turn. “Ready?”
We all nod, even Landon.
I have no idea how long it takes or how far we go before we get to our destination. It seems like all we did was double back on ourselves while walking in circles. But finally, we reach an overgrown rocky outcropping. There it is, just sticking out of the hill. Rocks.
“Uh...what now?” Carl asks.
“Now we knock,” Melissa says. She walks up to the rocks and then she’s gone.
“Nice trick,” Brian says.
“Coming?” she asks as she peeks back out.
We all follow, except for half the scavengers, who are behind us, watching our backs. Between two large rocks is a narrow passageway. We all have to take our packs off and hold them against us as we scoot sideways forever. The light fades, fades, fades, and is gone. There are some murmurs and shushes as people bump into each other, but no one stops or complains.
And then we are in a wide open space. It’s pitch black and I only know it’s wide open from the echoes of water drops from above us. The drip, drip, drip, bounces around what must be quite a cavern.
“Can we get a light?” someone whispers.
“No,” Melissa says. “Not until we are all the way inside.
“This isn’t inside?” Landon asks. “Ow.”
Someone close to him must have punched him. Good for them.
“Take hands,” Melissa says.
We do and then we each feel a tug as we are pulled forward by the person in front of us. We leave the cavern and are in a tunnel for a long while. My leg is killing me and not being able to see the floor doesn’t help. I stumble and just manage to stay upright several times. On and on we go until Melissa whispers for us to stop.
Then there’s a quiet knock. Whatever she’s knocking on is metal, that’s easy to tell. From way ahead, I see a small slit of light.
“Hey,” a man’s voice says, “we saw you outside the fence. How many?”
“About eighteen,” Melissa says. “Daddy gonna be okay with this?”
“Of course,” the voice says. “As long as they can abide by the rules.”
“They can and they will,” Melissa says. “Or I’ll walk them outside the fence myself.”
“Good enough,” the man laughs. “Then get your butt in here, big sis.”
There’s a clang of metal and the tunnel is illuminated in torch light as a huge door opens before us. Several men and women are standing there with rifles across their chests, watching us with indifference. We filter past and say a few hellos, but we’re mainly ignored.
“Don’t bother,” Melissa says. “You’re no better than livestock until Daddy says otherwise.”
“So true,” Elsbeth says. I try not to think what she means.
We follow a long, carved tunnel before we get to a wide set of stone steps. I make it up the steps although my leg is nearly ready to fall off, and we all step out of a small stone shed at the top of the stairs. Before us is the Farm and I want to cry. It is beautiful. I look at Stella and see the tears in her eyes. She hugs the kids to her and we just smile.
“Where’s Tran?” Stubben asks.
I look about and don’t see him. Melissa waits until we are all up the stairs and out of the shed before she calls down. “Tran? You down there?”
“Who you looking for?” a very large man, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, with tree trunks for legs and arms bigger than my daughter. “That Asian guy?”
“Yeah, Pup, that Asian guy,” Melissa says, frowning at the man. He ducks his head and looks away.
“I wasn’t bein’ racist or nothin’, Mel, sheesh,” the man says. “I just was wondering if that was who you was lookin’ for. Cause he’s outside the fence. We been watchin’ him.”
“What?” Melissa asks, more than alarmed.
She hurries past the man, past a row of sheds and a large red barn. We follow quickly until we are standing before a huge farmhouse and looking out across the fences at the swarm of Zs. Behind them all, up on the hill where we started before finding the rocks and the tunnel, stands Tran. It is really too far to see for sure if it’s him, but we all know it is.
“Ah, fuck,” Melissa says as Tran starts to walk right towards the Zs. “Dumb bastard.”
“Melissa Helen Fitzpatrick Billings,” a stern voice says from behind us. “You are mucking out the pig pens tomorrow for that. You watch your mouth, young lady.”
Chapter Seven
“TRAN!” I scream.
“Quiet,” Stella says.
“He can scream all he wants, ma’am,” the stern voiced man says as he comes around in front of us. “Don’t make no difference. This is a working farm. We’re nothing but zombie bait. They keep coming and coming because our slice of Paradise just smells too good.”
“TRAN! STOP!” I yell, cupping my hands to my mouth.
Tran doesn’t stop. In fact, he starts to wave his arms and shout at the Zs. Despite my screaming attempt to divert their attention, the Zs lurch about, slowly realizing there is food right behind. Once they see him, they move as one, a swarm of undead, shuffle stepping to supper.
I keep screaming at him. For some reason I feel responsible. I don’t know why. It makes no sense at all, but I just feel like my years as a shit neighbor have finally led to this point. If I’d invited him over for a beer or to watch a game. Or just to hang and play some pool. Maybe to one of my poker nights. Anything. But I did none of this and now, well...
“Don’t look, kids,” Stella says, steering the children away. “This is not to be seen.”
“Good for the young ones to understand the way of life these days,” stern voiced man says. “Hardens them to the daily truth our Lord has seen fit to bestow upon us. This is no accident, ma’am. This is God’s will.”
“Jesus, he sounds like Carrey,” Landon says.
“You blaspheme again, young man,” stern voice growls, “and I put you outside the fence.”
“Daddy, calm down,” Melissa says, turning to her father and placing a hand on his chest. “The past few days have not been easy.” Melissa looks at us and tries to smile. “This is my daddy. You can call him Big Daddy Fitz. That’s what he likes and what he goes by.”
None of us introduce ourselves because the screaming has started. Tran’s voice is high-pitched, a child’s voice almost. Then it isn’t. We can see the Zs swarming on him. A red mist fills the air as they tear at his body. One of them must have gotten his throat. Not another sound filters to us.
“How about we all go inside,” Big Daddy suggests. “We’ll let nature take its course then come back out later for refreshments.”
“Refreshments?” I ask. “Refreshments! Are you fucking kidding me? A man just died!”
“There is no cursing here, sir,” Big Daddy says. “And while yes, he did just die, he made that choice. That was an obvious suicide and that is an affront to God. That, sir, is a mortal sin. His soul is lost and cannot be redeemed.”
“Daddy?” another horse-sized man says from the porch. “How many sweet teas do I need to pour?”
Big Daddy looks about and starts to count, then stops. He looks at Melissa and counts again, then stops. “Sweetie, Mel, where’s your man?” Mel just shakes her head. �
��Oh, my poor girl, come here.”
Melissa is enveloped in her father’s arms. She instantly transforms from the tough woman in her late forties to a little girl sobbing against her father’s chest. We all look away then up at the man on the porch.
“Hey, y’all,” the man says, “I’m Gunga.”
We stare.
“What?” he asks, looking startled. He wipes at his nose. “Do I got a booger or something?”
“Gunga,” Carl says. “That’s an interesting name.”
“Oh, that?” Gunga laughs. “It is ain’t it? Nah, it’s because Toad couldn’t say Howard when he was a baby so he kept calling me Gunga. Don’t know why. My English teacher in high school made me memorize that poem by the Jungle Book guy. Not sure why. His name was Mathews and it’s not like he ever had to memorize the Book of Matthew.”
“Woulda been a good thing to do, though,” Big Daddy says. “Gunga, don’t worry none about the sweet tea. Go find your brothers. We need to have a family meeting and get this all sorted out.” He looks down at Melissa and pushes her face from his chest, his thumb and forefinger wiggling her chin. “No need to go into it now, Sweetie Mel. We have plenty of time for that.” He looks around at us. “But I think introductions are in order.”
“Yes, sir,” Melissa says, wiping her eyes. She turns and sweeps a hand at us. “These are my neighbors. We’re having a bit of a problem back home.”
“I can imagine,” Big Daddy says. “How do you do, folks?”
Melissa makes the introductions, saving me for last. Not sure how I feel about that.
“So you’re Mr. Smarty Pants, eh?” Big Daddy asks, smiling. I’m very glad he’s smiling.
“I’m Jace, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” I say. “Don’t know about the smarty part, but I am wearing pants.”
“Yep, that’s him,” Big Daddy grins. “You and I will be speaking further. Gotta run some ideas past you.”
“I’m not really qualified to talk about farming,” I say. “I could barely keep the kids’ gerbils alive.”
The wind shifts and the sounds beyond the fences drift to our ears. Smacking lips, slurping, crunching bones, bickering hisses and groans.
