by TW Brown
“I told you I didn’t want any trouble and that I was willing to walk away. You shot at me,” I reminded.
“Again…just trying to get you to move faster.” Just as the person stopped talking, I heard a noise. There was a scurry overhead and muffled whimpers.
A baby? This person has a baby up there. No wonder he is so jumpy.
“Listen, I am coming up, I won’t hurt anybody.” I took a step for the stairs and heard an even faster scurry as the person upstairs rushed back to the top of the stairwell.
“Don’t even think about it. If you put one foot on those steps, I’ll shoot you.”
I could hear the tremor in the man’s voice. He sounded young. My own adrenaline overload had ebbed to the point where I was now able to start picking out details. This was a young man. I would guess him to be in his late teens.
“I’m not going to do anything, I—” I started, but was cut off.
“You’re right, because if you try to come up here, I’ll shoot you,” the voice warned again.
I pondered for a moment if a young man could kill somebody in cold blood, or if it was all just a bunch of bluster. I decided that I didn’t care enough to test the hypothesis.
“Okay, I am going to slip out the back. Zombies out front and all,” I added that last part just to clarify.
“Whatever, but if I hear a single squeak on the steps, I will just start shooting.”
Wow…this kid was seriously jumpy. I rushed past the open stairwell just in case and then made my way down the rest of the hallway. I passed a bathroom and then eventually emerged into a kitchen.
I paused at one of the open cabinets. The place looked to have been cleaned out. I imagined anything worth a damn was probably upstairs. I reached the back door and was just slipping out when I heard a clatter, a thud, and the sound of crunching glass. Right on the heels of all that was the very identifiable sound of a zombie moan.
They’d come up the stairs to the porch and were getting inside.
I paused. Part of me said to go back inside and help. The other part of me said that I wasn’t wanted. That had been made clear.
I closed the door and started across the backyard. This house bordered the gated community. I could just hop the fence and venture inside. To the left was the street where I’d been approaching. To the right was another backyard.
In a matter of a second, my brain had come up with a theory. If that kid hadn’t gone into the gated community, chances are that there was a reason.
I turned right.
Just as I climbed up onto the fence that separated these two properties, I heard a series of gunshots from inside the house. It wasn’t too late. I could hop down and run in there. Maybe I would save the day. It would be one good deed to put on my resume just in case a pair of Pearly Gates awaited me on the other side.
I was still struggling with what to do and finally lowered myself to the ground and prepared to run back inside when I heard that terrible scream. I was too late. I sighed and fell back against the fence I’d just started to climb.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I wasn’t sure why, but I felt that I might’ve been able to do something. If I was so sure that person was younger, maybe all I needed to do was break out my authoritative voice…like a teacher taking control of a classroom of rowdy kids.
A second later, I heard another sound that made me weak in the knees. It started as a cry…a simple baby’s cry. It was just different enough from what I’d heard from those creepy zombies to let me know it was the real thing. Then that cry changed to something else. Something terrible. Something no person should ever have to hear. It raised in register to a point where it hurt my ears. Maybe I was imagining it…but I don’t think so.
I felt a stabbing pain in my heart that was so sudden and severe that I looked down expecting to see a knife or an arrow jutting from my chest. There was nothing…nothing physical at least.
That terrible cry amped up for another second and then went silent with a wet gurgle. I’d slid down and was now sitting on my butt in the grass. It was a struggle to make it to my feet, and I wasn’t sure my knees would hold. Somehow, I climbed up and over the fence and lowered myself down into the next yard.
I repeated that move another couple of times before reaching the end of this block of houses. I was now on another road with what was apparently the other entrance to the spiral shaped gated community. Straight across the street was a tree line. I could tell that those woods went on for at least a little way. I headed into the gloom of the woods still fighting back the tears that wanted to spill from my eyes as my brain tormented me with the sound of that tiny shriek.
2
The World is a Graveyard
I emerged from the woods and stopped abruptly, my heart pounding in my chest from the sudden shock. I was on the edge of a massive cemetery. It took me a moment to realize that this would not be some gender-swap remake scene from Night of the Living Dead.
“They’re coming to get you, Evan,” I mocked and then laughed.
My pulse slowed back to normal, and I stepped out onto the rolling slopes of whatever graveyard this might be. It was still a bit eerie as I strolled through all the memorial marker plates planted in the ground. I stayed on the paved path and eventually emerged from this tree-walled alcove to discover a series of buildings that at first I mistook for lockers. The names and dates etched on the squares told me these were just more memorials. Each had a metal ring jutting from the lower left corner, and a couple still held long-since-dead bouquets of flowers. There were three tiers of these little structures; this is where the path forked. I took the top path and momentarily paused. For some reason, it fascinated me to discover that the granite or whatever stone that faced these little memorials was of a shinier, better quality stone.
“Even in death we are separated by class,” I mused.
I began to imagine the ghosts or spirits of these structures engaged in a class war of sorts where the upper-class ghosts on this top tier sneered and made faces at the ones below them. Once again, I had to ask myself if madness was perhaps an indication that I was turning. What I wouldn’t give for a mirror so I could check my eyes.
I just wanted to get out of here and find a new neighborhood where I could snag a car. I still had some unfinished business to attend. I wanted to make that run to the vet and drop the supplies off for Carl and the others to find before I died.
Next, I passed by a series of neatly spaced tombstones in even, straight rows. Several were empty of any sort of writing. That creeped me out a bit, but when I rounded a bend in the path and emerged from a naturally made arch of tree branches, I saw something that almost set my heart to racing as much as when I’d first discovered that I was in a graveyard.
In the distance, a green canopy sat over an open hole in the ground. A pile of dirt off to one side completed the scene. My steps slowed involuntarily. I immediately tried to tell myself that this was nothing, but it was still too creepy for my tastes. I skirted wide of the open grave and almost gave myself whiplash as I snapped my head in a new direction every single time I heard even the slightest sound.
When I was finally able to see inside the gaping hole, I saw a single zombie just standing there. She’d obviously fallen in and was now stuck down there. She hadn’t spotted me yet and was just staring at the earthen wall that would’ve been the head of the grave. She was dressed in all black and had some damage on her left shoulder. As I slipped away, I could hear her soft moan carry on the air. For some reason, it made me a bit sad.
Eventually, I entered another section of this massive cemetery that was just trees on either side. I was almost to the clearing when I stopped dead in my tracks again. I looked back the way that I’d come and then faced the direction that I was headed.
“What am I so creeped out by in this place?” I asked the breeze. “The whole world is a graveyard now.”
With that thought actually lightening my apprehension, I continued alon
g the narrow and paved pathway until I emerged again to the rolling, grassy hills dotted with small memorial markers. I could make out the exit now as well as the large building that sat at the entrance. Apparently, I’d just traversed the Lincoln Park Memorial Cemetery. I reached what the sign told me was Southeast Mt. Scott Boulevard and took a look in each direction. To the left, the road bent out of sight and gave me no real clues as to what might be in that direction. To the right, I could see what looked like a collection of houses. Directly across the street from me was yet another massive looking cemetery. The number of flags that I saw planted in the ground told me it might be some sort of military memorial site.
I headed to the right and could not believe I was seeing another damn wall. As an added bonus to screw with my day, it transitioned into one of those pointy-topped wrought-iron fences. Eventually, that pointy section soon vanished behind a wall of tall evergreens.
I considered climbing over the wall since it would be less treacherous than the pointy-topped fencing, but then reminded myself of how that last encounter ended. Also, my arm was really throbbing. I paused long enough to root through my bag and produce a bottle of some over-the-counter pain reliever. It wouldn’t do much more than take the edge off, but it was better than nothing.
After I shoved the bottle in my pocket where it would be available for use much sooner than a doctor would probably consider prudent, I returned my attention to the situation at hand. If there were survivors inside, I might be seen as some sort of raider. It would be best if I walked to wherever the entrance to this place might be. Also, it would suck to find a car, get it going, and then reach the exit only to find it barricaded.
I was patting myself on the back as I strolled along the two-lane road. I was actually feeling relatively safe. On my left was that massive memorial cemetery with nothing obstructing my view for perhaps a hundred yards or more as well as the fence acting as a safety measure. On my right were all the trees and what I figured was that pointy-topped fence that ran along behind the trees. The road ahead was straight and relatively flat. I was going at a slight incline, but I still had the ability to see well ahead of myself.
If not for what I knew to be a harsh reality, this could be a normal day. I might just be out for a stroll. Of course, every so often, I could still hear the moans of the undead or a random gunshot. Those single instances would pop the little bubble, but every time it popped, this casual stroll would re-inflate it.
At last, I reached the entrance to this community and discovered that there was no gate. The fancy script on the brick wall on either side of the entrance told me I was entering the community of Lincoln Heights. Since I saw no need to venture into the heart of any neighborhood, I hugged the wrought-iron fence and ducked into the backyard of the first house. This choice was all that much easier since I could see a few wandering undead up the street from me as well as one crossing at the first intersection.
The back patio was covered by a deck above and had a few pieces of outdoor furniture scattered about, all of it knocked over haphazardly. A small propane barbecue grill sat up against the wall where the house jutted back out and I paused to check it. I was thrilled to discover a small bottle of propane and even more so when it proved to not be empty.
I’d taken time to notice that all the windows—at least those I could see on this side of the house—had their blinds down and shuttered. Once I had the small bottle of propane stuffed into my pack, I slung it back over my shoulders and gave the sliding glass door an experimental tug. It resisted for a moment and then gave way with an audible pop as the seal of what was apparently a well-insulated house finally broke.
I sniffed the air and then slipped inside. I had to imagine that a house that appeared to be fairly airtight would trap the stench of the undead in it and make it easy to detect. All I smelled was rotting garbage and a bit of mustiness.
I stood in a dining room and could see into a nice kitchen. The cupboards were all thrown open and I could see that a lot of what were probably dry and canned goods had been taken. There had been a bag of flour dropped which was then tracked all over the place. I saw footsteps of at least three different sizes spreading the mess in every direction.
I picked through what remained and was surprised to discover a half-empty jar of peanut butter. I unscrewed the lid and opened drawers until I discovered the one containing utensils. Plucking a spoon, I dug out a glob of the chunky, sweet goodness and stuffed it into my mouth.
I continued to roam through the house as I ate peanut butter, my eyes taking in the details and assembling how I thought things had gone. Since I didn’t see any blood, I had to guess (or hope) that nobody here was infected. They’d probably seen the news broadcast and chose to make a run for it. I poked my head into the garage and felt a strange surge of optimistic hope for these people.
It was obvious that they’d cleared out some camping gear. This was one of those two-car jobs with an additional space for recreational vehicles like Jet Skis and such. I say Jet Skis because the trailer with two of them strapped in place was sitting in that extra space. I could see a lot of gaping holes around the garage on the shelves that were built into the walls on the near side as well as the rear of this garage where I assumed outdoor equipment had been stored.
There was a plastic tub on the floor that was obviously scrounged through for specific items. I saw a broken lantern cast off to one side as well as a heavily stained sleeping bag. I was sort of surprised that they’d taken the time to close the garage door in their obviously hasty departure. I was willing to bet it was out of habit.
There was no vehicle inside, but I could see a dark stain where one had been parked. I exited the garage and went to the front room. Again, the shades were down and shuttered, but on only two of the three windows that faced the front of the house. I looked out and spotted what I was pretty sure was a Subaru wagon parked in the driveway.
I started my search from there, checking the walls for a hook where keys might be hung, opening drawers and scanning all the table tops. Once I was certain that there was nothing to be found downstairs, I headed up to the bedrooms. The first thing I did was check every item of clothing on the floor to see if there might be keys in the pockets.
It looked like this would be a bust. I had plopped down on the bed and was staring up at the ceiling when the thought hit me that I hadn’t looked in a mirror. I forced myself to my feet and stood slowly, almost as if against my will. I remained staring into the bathroom that sat off of this master bedroom for a moment. It was dark, and there were no windows. I used that as my excuse for a few heartbeats until I forced myself to stop delaying and trudge in there to take a look. Just my luck, there was enough ambient light that allowed me to see. I had to lean forward, close to the mirror, in order to confirm my assessment.
“Still nothing,” I muttered.
It would be just my luck. I would take that full seventy-two hours. On the plus side, I should be able to make that run on the veterinarian’s office before I turned.
“Provided I can find some damn keys,” I cursed.
I exited the bathroom and my eyes landed on the two nightstands beside the bed. That would be the last place I would look here. If I still didn’t find any keys, I would have to move on.
The first drawer was a bust. The second revealed nothing more interesting than a tiny women’s “neck massager” stuffed in the back.
I headed down the stairs and had my hand on the sliding glass door when movement made me pause. I blinked my eyes and then rubbed them. I was frozen in place. My eyes were the only visible part of me that moved as I scanned the road that I used to enter this neighborhood.
When the burning in my chest began, I realized that I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly. As I was sucking in that next batch of much needed oxygen, I saw it again. This time, it was directly across the street from me. I watched as a heavily clad individual pulled him or herself up and over the tall wooden fence that shut in the entire backyar
d.
I continued to watch as this stranger craned his or her head first back up towards the entrance of this neighborhood, and then down into its heart. The person started to head into this residential area, but paused, and I swear they looked right at me. That was when I realized that I’d been just standing in the frame of the sliding glass door…in plain sight.
The stranger’s head turned away and then snapped back to me in an over-exaggerated doubletake. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person surprised at this chance encounter. As we both stood there, I had an opportunity to at least make some basic observations.
He or she was fairly short. That led me to think the likelihood was high that this was a female. They wore pistols holstered on each hip and had a shotgun jutting up over one shoulder. In one hand was a wicked looking curved blade. During this momentary close look, I was able to tell that wetness dripped from that blade. The main reason I could not confirm the gender, besides all the heavy clothing, was that this person was wearing what looked like a riot helmet with a dark face shield.
The two of us were both obviously frozen due to shock and surprise. I shook it off first—at least I am going to make that claim for now—and raised one hand in a wave. The person raised the helmet’s visor to reveal a face that didn’t do much to help me determine the gender. It was sort of squished, like perhaps the helmet was a couple of sizes too small, and the features were distorted.
Since this individual had made the effort to expose themselves to me to at least some degree, I decided that I could step out onto the patio. I waved feebly. The person waved back and started in my direction. I took a few steps toward the individual out of habit.
“You from around here?” she asked. Hearing her voice, at least now I had a gender.
“Not exactly,” I answered.
