by Russ Watts
“Come on, Hamsikker, we need to check out the house,” said Erik standing in the garage doorway. The man’s face was flushed, and he looked embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, Erik,” said Jonas. “You’re allowed. You’re not on duty anymore.”
Jonas walked over to the doorway.
“Are you kidding? I’m always on duty,” said Erik.
Together, the men approached the farmhouse.
“So, now what?” asked Jonas. “It looks quiet, but…”
“Let me go first,” said Erik. “I’ve done enough house searches to know how to handle this. We go in through the front door, quietly. If it’s clear, I’ll go on upstairs and check around while you check the ground floor. Sweep the rooms first. Once we’re in the clear, we can see if there’s anything useful, and get back to the others. If we’re lucky, we may just be able to bunk here for the night.”
Jonas nodded, and followed Erik, not for one second believing they were going to get lucky. He saw Erik take up position by the front door, his back flat against the wall. He held his knife out ready, and then stepped inside quietly, motioning with a deft flick of his hand for Jonas to follow him. Jonas could see that Erik had lost none of his expertise. All his training was kicking back in. It was as if he was back at work, doing nothing more than going on an everyday drugs-bust. There was more than likely worse inside the farmhouse than a bag of weed though, and Jonas held his axe in both hands firmly. The moonshine had made him feel relaxed, but the feeling was gone so quickly. He was on edge again, worried about what they might find inside. Was it too much to ask for that it was deserted?
Floorboards creaked and groaned as he followed Erik inside. Jonas saw movement. It was as if the very walls were alive, and when he looked closer, he saw bugs. There were hundreds of bugs everywhere. Cockroaches and beetles scuttled up and down the walls, ants and spiders scurried over each other, and moths and flies flew around the ceiling lazily. Jonas put a hand over his mouth to try and keep the stench out. He could smell it, taste it, and feel it washing over him like a wave of death. Jonas looked across at Erik, but if he’d smelt it too, then he was not showing it. The farmhouse had seen death, and it had not let go.
Erik was scanning the foyer carefully, his eyes looking up at the grand staircase in the middle of the room, then back to the doors that lay on either side. There was a dusty fake chandelier hanging above them that seemed to be swaying slightly in the gloom, as though someone was pushing it. The air was stifling, and the house reeked of death. Jonas tapped Erik on the shoulder and whispered to him that they should leave.
“Stick to the plan.” Erik shook his head. “From the state of the place, I’d say there’s one dead body in here, if not more, but that’s no reason to bolt now. We need to check it out.”
Erik placed a foot on the first step, and began stealthily to creep up the stairs. Each foot he took left a print behind, and Jonas wasn’t sure if the steps were covered in dust or blood. The house was dark. Even though there was still a semblance of light outside, it was as if the house was forcing it away, revelling in the desolate gloom, embracing its new found evil. The building seemed unsteady, as if it has given up on living and wanted to go to the other side, where no one comes back from.
Jonas crossed the floor to a closed door, and pushed it open. The wooden door swung back slowly, a faint creak echoing throughout the room as it did so. Jonas could see a living room of sorts through the doorway. Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust and dirt. He saw two lazy-boys, a silent TV set with bent rabbit ears, a sideboard adorned with photo frames, and a dark green couch that was stained with something orange and sticky. Jonas wandered around the room, seeing little of interest, and purposely ignored the photographs. He didn’t need to know who had lived here. Whoever the occupants were, they were evidently long gone. The fireplace sat cold and empty, but it could be started again, and Jonas saw a pile of kindling next to the hearth, clearly collected and stacked up ready. Whoever had lived here probably thought they would need it to get them through winter. Perhaps, if it wasn’t damp, Jonas thought, they could use it now and get some warmth in them tonight.
He crossed to another door on the far side of the room. This one was already open, and it led to a kitchen. The room was small, but practical, with a square window perched above a stainless steel sink, still full of dirty crockery. There was a small table in the middle of the room, and the chairs were still neatly tucked under. He began to search through the cupboards, looking for food. He brushed aside the centipedes and spiders that hid in every corner, hoping to find something he could take back to the others.
“Not even a damn tin of tuna?” he said as he rummaged through the kitchen. Drawers were slung aside as he searched for any food, but he drew a blank. The house had already been emptied, and anything useful had been taken. There was nothing. Even the fridge was empty. Cursing, he looked out of the window, into a small garden surrounded by ash trees. There were three bodies on the lawn, laid out in a row beneath the twilight and a weeping willow tree. They weren’t moving, or breathing. Jonas decided it didn’t warrant investigation. It could be the family who had lived here, it could be the dead, it could be something, or it could be nothing. As long as they stayed out there, they were nothing to him. The garden was off limits for now anyway. They were checking the house out, and if the dead were in the garden, who cared. He wasn’t looking for more dead bodies. He’d seen enough of those today.
Jonas retraced his steps back to the foyer, hearing the occasional creak and groan from upstairs as Erik went from room to room. Jonas saw another door, nestled under the staircase, and pulled open the door. The room was tiny, cold, and had been some sort of bathroom-cum-storage closet. There was a toilet, a cracked dirty sink, and mirrored cabinet above it. Opposite the toilet, there was an ironing board, a mop, and a collection of cleaning materials. One look at the scuzzy toilet was enough to tell Jonas he didn’t want to stay in the room for too long. It was blocked, and the white porcelain now stained with a hue of rich colours that defied logic. The floor around his feet was sticky and wet. The smell was only worse in here, but he knew he had to look in the cabinet. Tyler was in pain, and if there was any medicine inside, Jonas had to get it.
He wiped the dust coating the cabinet mirror, and rested his hands on the sink. His reflection surprised him. He felt tired, and knew he looked far worse. The dark bags under his eyes were a clear indication of how weary he felt, but he actually looked older. It was as if the last six months had aged him six years. Just the last six hours were enough to send him over the edge. Stubble grew over his chin and neck, as shaving was a rare occurrence, not to mention painful without water. His greying hair was shiny and flecks of blood covered his skin; washing away the evidence of the day’s bloody work was a tricky business, and going for days without washing at all was now the norm. He turned the tap, but nothing came out. The pipes groaned and ached, sending wailing sounds around the house, but no water came.
Jonas turned the tap off, frustrated, and pulled open the cabinet on the wall. The three small shelves contained within it were all near empty, but coated with an inch of dust and yet more spiders. There was a half empty roll of toothpaste, some cotton swabs, and a couple of vials of unmarked pills. Shoving them all into his pockets, he left, pleased to be out of there. The confines of the small bathroom had given him the shivers. The house was turning out to be a dead end. They might be able to spend the night, but with the doors and windows broken, it wasn’t very secure. As he crossed the foyer, he looked up the staircase, wondering how Erik was getting on. Jonas thought about calling up to him, but it was too risky. Better not to startle him, or let anyone hiding know of their presence. Jonas kept quiet, and tried the last door. As it swung back, if creaked ominously, sending something small and furry scurrying for cover. It ran over Jonas’s feet as he stood in the doorway, and he almost brought his axe down on it. It would’ve been a sure fire way to lose a couple of toes, and he managed to g
et a grip on his nerves. The rat, or whatever it was, had run off, and Jonas was left with nothing but the sound of his own beating heart thumping loudly in his head. He took a step into the room, a sort of dining room and office combination, and the smell hit him. It was far worse than the foyer, and Jonas put his arm across his face to mask the stink. An armchair sat facing the doorway, and the body slumped on it had been dead a long time. Buzzing flies swarmed the air as Jonas approached slowly, his axe raised, his eyes watering as the smell permeated his clothing, and soaked into his skin. The identity of the dead body would forever be a mystery. Jonas guessed it was a man, probably the farmer who lived here going by the work boots and dungarees on the body, but even if he had looked at the photographs in the other room, he still wouldn’t have been able to recognise him. The man had blown his head off. A shotgun still lay nestled in the man’s arms, its barrel pointed upward where the man’s face should’ve been. Splattered on the wall was dried blood, traces of it arcing all the way from the floor to the ceiling. Chunks of brain and skull still stuck to the flocked wallpaper like crude decorations. The ceiling was flecked with blood too, and matted hair adorned hunks of flesh. Jonas saw writhing maggots crawling around the man’s neck, swimming in his death. The body had decomposed, and must’ve been dead for some time. Yellow skin was stretched tightly across the man’s bony fingers, and the clothes were loose, as if the man had shrunk into the chair.
Jonas’s hands were shaking, and he couldn’t take any more. He turned to leave, but as he planted a foot on the floor, he trod on a sizeable piece of skull that had come from the dead man. Jonas’s feet slipped from beneath him, and with a crash, he landed flat on his back, his axe falling from his hands as he hit the hard wood flooring. His eyes flickered shut, and his brain thought about shutting down. Pain coursed through him, and he knew he had to get up. There was a creaking sound from above his head, and Jonas lifted a hand to feel his head. There was no cut that he could find, but as he felt around, he kept touching the feet of the dead man. The creaking sound grew, and Jonas could sense what was happening before he could do anything about it. His fall had dislodged the body, and slowly it was tipping out of the chair. Jonas opened his mouth to shout, but it was too late, and the body of the dead farmer fell forward. It tipped out of the chair and landed right on top of Jonas. Dead fingers caressed his face, as the surprisingly heavy body covered him. Maggots showered down over Jonas, obliterating his vision. Thick, juicy, crawling maggots fell down the collar of his shirt, wriggling into his hair and nesting in the crook of his shoulders. Jonas kicked himself free, pushing aside the bloated body, spitting and shouting as he scrambled to his feet. He ripped open his shirt, brushing frantically at his chest, pulling the maggots off him, and all the creepy crawlies that had been living on the body. Jonas’s mouth was dry, but he summoned up enough saliva to spit again, desperate to make sure he didn’t swallow anything.
“Fuck this.” Jonas swore as he buttoned his shirt back up. He was shaking, cursing, hopping from foot to foot, and frantically shouting to Erik to hurry up and come down. This place was a death trap. What were they thinking? As he began to calm down, he realised the farmer’s shotgun had fallen free, and he picked it up. If they could find some shells, it would be very useful. The door creaked open, and Jonas felt a little embarrassed about how he had reacted.
“Sorry, Erik, I didn’t mean to shout like that. This fucker caught me by surprise.” Jonas examined the shotgun in his hands. It was cold, but with a little cleaning, it should work fine.
There was no reply from Erik, but Jonas heard the footsteps cross the room, each one causing the floorboards to creak.
“Look, Erik, I said I’m sorry.” Jonas turned to face his friend, to rebut another lecture, but discovered that Erik wasn’t there. A woman faced Jonas, long blonde hair wrapped about her face, hiding her eyes. The woman was tall and thin, her arms hanging slack by her side. She wore a blue dress covered in white flowers, and her feet were as bare as her arms. As she walked toward Jonas, she said nothing.
“Say, are you…” Jonas wanted the woman to speak, but she said nothing, and kept walking toward him. “Look, lady, we don’t want any trouble.”
Jonas raised the shotgun and pointed it at the woman. She was only a few feet away from him, and still shuffling toward him. The dead farmer lay at Jonas’s feet, and Jonas felt uneasy. What if this woman had been hiding inside the house, waiting for help? What if she was the farmer’s wife, or daughter, and she thought Jonas had killed him? He was holding the shotgun, and it looked to all intents and purposes as if he was guilty.
“I’m sorry,” said Jonas lowering the gun, “it’s just…”
A low moan escaped the woman’s lips. She raised a hand and leant forward. Beneath the shaggy fronds of hair hiding her face, Jonas could see her mouth open, or at least what was left of her mouth. Her lower jaw was gone, and she had only a row of neat teeth along her upper jaw. With one more step he could see more, see her dead eyes and the bruising on her skin. As the dead woman lunged for him, he quickly raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, and the woman knocked it aside easily. Jonas felt around for his axe, but remembered he had lost it when he’d fallen to the floor. He could smell the woman now, only a foot away from him. Months of decay and rot were billowing out to him, and he knew the zombie must’ve been hanging around the farm somewhere. She’d probably snuck through the open doorway whilst they’d been looking inside. The woman raised her other hand and the fingertips touched his chest. There was no way past her, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He had to get rid of the zombie approaching him, and fast. The woman’s upper jaw was moving, and she might not be able to bite him, but he knew that it only took one scratch from those teeth on his skin, and he was done for.
Jonas reached behind him, pulled the gun from his belt, and fired three times at the woman. The force sent her spinning backward, tripping over the dead farmer, and crashing into a small wooden desk. A computer and lamp rolled off, crashing to the floor, and the woman staggered to her side before finding her composure and resuming her hunt for Jonas. He had punched three bullets into her chest, one right through the heart, but she’d been too close for a head shot. This time though, he aimed, and pointed at her face. Her greasy blonde hair was swept back around her neck, and he could see her eyes. He used them as a focus point for the gun in the gloomy room. As a beam of light caught her eyes, he remembered the last time he had pointed a gun at someone. That person had been living, breathing, and moving. He remembered the last time he had killed someone. Was that why was it so hard to pull the trigger now? The woman was going to kill him if he didn’t, but when he saw those eyes, he hesitated. It was so final. The woman, whoever she was, had been living once. She had loved and cared for someone, been someone’s daughter, perhaps someone’s mother. Maybe she was the farmer’s wife. Jonas felt sick. She had taken time one morning to put on that nice blue and white dress, to choose it, perhaps thinking it brought out the blue in her eyes, only to die that day. Now he had to put a bullet in her brain, and end it. His hands shook, and sweat dripped down his face as he aimed between her eyes at the top of her nose. Any second now, she was going to take a chunk out him He knew he had to pull the trigger.
Shoot her.
Kill her.
Kill the dead.
A booming shot rang out, and the woman crumpled to the floor. Her head was ripped from her shoulders, and her skull was blown apart from the gunshot that Erik had put in her.
“What the fuck, Hamsikker? You got a death wish?”
Erik stood in the doorway to the room, his eyes taking in the dead farmer on the floor, the blonde woman who had now joined him, and Jonas.
Erik looked at Jonas as if he were mad. He knew he was covered in blood and gore from the farmer, but he had brushed off most of it. He lowered his gun, and stepped toward Erik. The man was clean, calm, and Jonas noticed how thick his beard had grown. It was so thick and red now that Erik was beginning to
look more like a Viking every day. They often joked as teenagers that Erik was descended from them, and his nickname had been Erik the Red. Erik the Angry would be more appropriate now.
“You need a shave,” said Jonas. His heart was still beating wildly, but the danger had passed, and he was starting to calm down. With Erik at his side, he felt like they could accomplish anything.
Erik put a hand on Jonas’s chest as he tried to leave the room. He leant his red face toward Jonas, so close that he could smell the moonshine still on his breath. “Hamsikker. What the hell was that? That bitch was about to have you for dinner, and you just stand there like a mannequin. Where’s your axe?”
Damn it. Jonas realised he had almost left without it, and he retrieved the axe from where it had fallen. “Thanks, I almost forgot it.”
Erik licked his lips. He checked behind him, making sure there were no more surprises. “Well?”
“Look, it’s not a big deal. I just froze. I was about to shoot her. But after the damn farmer fell on me, I just freaked out a little. It’s nothing.” Jonas wanted out of the room with the two dead bodies, out of the farmhouse, out of Jeffersontown, and to get as far away as possible. A minute ago he would’ve gone anywhere with Erik, done anything for him. Now he hated him. If only he could click fingers and be in Canada with Dakota, Janey and the kids.
“Nothing?” Erik laughed. “You call that nothing? We were supposed to be doing this quietly, Hamsikker. I heard you clattering about down here, shouting your head off, shooting the place up, and then you make me fire my gun too.”
“So fucking what?” asked Jonas. He could feel his anger rising, but couldn’t stop it. “So fucking what?” he shouted. “This house is useless. It’s completely fucking useless. There’s nothing here, just a dead family and a world of shit. We have to move on. It’s not safe to stay here, you must know that. The windows and doors are all broken. The place is empty, Erik. There’s no food, no water, and no drugs for Tyler. We’re way too close to town. Even if we stayed overnight, there’s no defence. If the zombies from town found us, we’d have nowhere to go. You keep telling me to get my head together, but I think it’s you who needs to get it together.”
