by TW Brown
“Looting?”
“No…well…” I thought it over. In truth, I was when you got right down to it. “I guess so.”
I started and looked around abruptly. When I’d entered this neighborhood, there had been a few zombies visible. I had this sudden fear of being set up. This person would distract me as a pack of zombies came up from behind and grabbed hold.
“You okay?” she asked, suddenly catching my visible fear and looking around just as frantically as I’d just done.
“Is anybody these days?” I shot back with a nervous laugh.
“A bunch of the infected just came out of this place around ten minutes ago,” the woman said after we both ensured that we were alone for the most part. “I was across the street in the Willamette National Cemetery when they all strolled out onto Mount Scott and eventually turned to the left. Did you just get here?”
“Yeah, just about…ten minutes ago,” I acknowledged.
“A couple of ‘em probably saw you and started for ya. Of course, if they lost sight, then they just keep moving in whatever direction they were headed.”
That fit with everything that I’d observed so far as well. All except for the kid versions, but I didn’t feel like bringing that up at the moment.
“Name’s Evan,” I said by way of introduction. “Evan Berry.”
“Miranda Swells,” the woman replied.
“Out here on your own?”
As soon as I asked that question, I saw her expression change. The curved blade she held down at her side drifted up a few inches.
“Oh crap…sorry,” I exclaimed, holding my hands up with them open to show that they were very empty. “I was just surprised to see anybody out running around all alone. It’s pretty nasty out and about. And if zombies were the only problem, I’d say it was awful, but they aren’t even half the problem.”
“Look, Evan, you seem like a nice guy.” Miranda took a step back. “The thing is, I don’t really wanna hang with anybody. I think I’ll be better off by myself.”
I could understand her to a point, but it was not a decision I would’ve supported if not for my current condition. How could being alone in the apocalypse be a good thing for anybody? And it isn’t as if I’m sexist or anything like that, but a woman least of all.
“I guess you gotta do what you think is right for you.” I gave a shrug.
“If you aren’t minding, then I’d sorta like to give this place a good look around. I’m trying to locate some decent supplies before I head out to the river and make my way to someplace like Elk Rock…or maybe even Sauvie Island.”
“Good luck to you,” I said. And I meant it.
She gave me a nod and headed up the street, pausing to take down a lone zombie that had wandered out from some thick shrubs acting as a natural border between two houses. I was both sad and relieved to see her go. The sad part was just in the simple fact that it was crazy how nice it felt to talk to a living human being for just that brief few moments. The relief came from knowing I was about to be a dead man in the not-so-distant future. I wanted to use that little bit of time left to find and get those supplies to Chewie and the others, not to mention that I could turn at any time. Lonely or not, it wasn’t the time to pick up a traveling companion.
I glanced back at the car I’d failed to find keys for and sighed. Looking up the street, I saw the next few houses on the same side of the street as the home I’d just searched all had cars in the driveway. I would just continue going from house to house until I either started feeling sick, or I found a set of keys.
As I approached the second home, I mused inwardly about all those shows where people found cars still running or with the keys in the visor. I had to question if people even did that sort of thing anymore.
It got so bad that I was almost up the front steps of the next house when I just had to run back and check the Subaru. It ended up being a bust, but I soothed my ego by telling myself that they would’ve been there if I hadn’t gone and checked for sure.
I tried the front door and discovered that it was locked. It had skinny windows on either side of the front door, so I used my elbow to break the glass. Once I cleared an opening, I stuck my hand in, found the deadbolt, and unlocked the front door. I was pulling my hand back when I realized how monumentally stupid I’d just been.
Cracking the door open, I was hit by a smell, but it wasn’t zombie. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. Down the hall, I spotted a stairwell going up as well as a kitchen at the end. I decided to check out the kitchen first, but as I passed that stairwell, the smell was at its strongest. I decided to take a detour and head up to investigate.
I reached the top of the stairs and the smell became overwhelming. There were three doors up here, all of them shut. The first one was almost directly across from the stairs. I opened it very cautiously and was almost knocked back by the force of the stench.
Once I recomposed myself, I opened the door the rest of the way. Sitting in the bathtub was a man—at least what remained of him. The shotgun between his knees and the clumpy dark stain that grew up the side from where his head had once rested on his neck told the story.
Stepping inside, I saw the box of shells sitting on the bathroom counter. Even though I was not long for this world, I could still use the firepower. Plus, I could leave it with the veterinary supplies when I made my drop at the old sanctuary. I scooped the box into my bag and then wrenched the shotgun free, slinging it over one shoulder.
There were two other doors to check. I was almost afraid of what I would find, but I could not suppress the curiosity that welled up inside me. I went to the door on the left. I listened first. Even though I couldn’t smell a zombie, there was no need to be foolish.
That was what I told myself, but the sign dangling from a small hook on the door that read “The Princess is in!” probably had more to do with my hesitation. I opened the door and was very surprised to find the room empty. I had to guess that the former occupant of this room was a pre-teen. There were plenty of animated princess faces looking at me from the posters that adorned the walls, as well as a red-haired mermaid bedspread and pillowcase.
I entered very cautiously, not convinced that I wouldn’t find something terrible. After checking the closet and even looking under the bed, I was satisfied that the room was indeed empty.
I gave the room one more glance just before I closed the door. That left just one mystery door to be opened and have its surprises revealed. I paused, but once more, I could not smell that very distinctive zombie funk. I opened the door slowly and saw what had to be the master bedroom. It looked like a fight had taken place in here. The lamp on one side of the bed had been knocked to the floor and broken. The bedding was wadded up in the center of the bed and I saw the dark blood stains in some of the folds.
I entered the room and searched for any signs of keys, but I was already deciding that I could move on to the next house and so did not search that intensely. I exited the master bedroom and shut the door behind me as I had the others. Something terrible had happened here and, while I didn’t believe in ghosts, I hadn’t believed in zombies until very recently either. Something was nagging at me and giving me a chill.
I went to the front door, prepared to leave this house and simply move on, and paused. A trio of zombies were making their way down the road in the same direction that I was headed. I didn’t see the need to tempt fate and try to take them down. I could just as easily slip out the back, hop the fence, and enter the next house from the back door.
I ducked back through the house and ended up in the kitchen. I felt my heart leap when my eyes fell on the keys sitting out in the open. They were on the counter in plain sight. It was almost funny. I’d already given up on this place, consigning myself to searching the next house…and there they were for the taking.
I scooped the keys off the counter and stopped short as I was about to exit. I sniffed the air, almost certain that it had been just my imagination. Nope…I co
uld smell the very distinct odor of the undead. It wasn’t strong, but it was there. I turned to the door beside the refrigerator. It had to be the door to the garage.
I stepped to it and paused. The smell was there. It was faint, but it was definitely not my imagination. If there was something trapped in the garage, I guess I could just leave it. It wasn’t like I needed to go in and see for myself. I turned away and got three whole steps before I returned to that door. I gave it an experimental knock. There was no response. If there was a zombie in there, I was certain it would come to the door and start pawing at it after I’d knocked.
I rapped on it again and literally jumped back like I thought the stupid door would transform and attack me. I was being ridiculous. The only problem was that I really needed to know. I’d equated that certain smell with the undead. Could I be wrong? It didn’t seem likely, but this was still so new…and who knew what sorts of assumptions were being made only to eventually end being debunked.
I turned the knob slowly and gave the door a little nudge. It opened and the smell was stronger, not overpowering, but it was definitely present. I listened, but it was silent.
Opening the door further, I spotted a black sports car. As I opened the door a bit more and was able to fully take in the entire scene, things made immediate sense. At the same moment I was connecting all the dots, a meaty slap of a hand on glass made me jump a little.
I’d been staring at her just as she stared at me. The little girl was perhaps eight years old. Her curly red hair was now a fright wig fouled with clumps of dried gore. Her mouth still bore the old stains that had faded to the point that they could’ve been from dark cherry Kool-Aid if I didn’t know the awful truth. Her skin had probably been very fair before she’d turned. Now it was almost the blue of a robin’s egg. The multitude of freckles had darkened to nearly black like she’d been flicked at with a paint brush. Her hideous, filmed-over eyes stared at me and I stared back. She cocked her head first one way, then the other as she continued to observe me. Once again, she reached up and slapped the window. Just that one time, but it was almost plaintive in nature.
She wanted out of the car.
I took a step into the garage. It was almost as if I was hypnotized and she was willing me to her. I knew that to be false, but my curiosity more than made up for my lack of being under some sort of mind spell. I could see another figure in the car, and I was almost certain as to what I would discover, but I’d come too far to walk away now.
Next to the little girl, in the passenger’s seat was a woman who was obviously the mother. Her hair was red and very curly. Now that I was beside the car and looking in, I could see a single bite on the mother’s arm. I could also see the dark hole in the middle of her forehead from what was obviously a very small caliber weapon. I was willing to bet it was a .22. If I searched this residence more intensely, I was almost certain that I would discover that weapon.
From this vantage point, I was also able to make another discovery. The wrists of the little girl were an awful mess. A strand of twine dangled from one wrist. The hand at the end of that wrist reached up and slapped the window again. I focused my attention back on the child zombie in the car and was stunned to see that she was making no other moves. So far, just those few slaps on the window had been her only action. There was no sustained effort to get at me. It was so strange. But none of it as strange as how the child simply continued to stare at me. Every so often her head would twitch or cock to the side. It was giving me the creeps to no end.
“I can’t leave you like this,” I said to the zombie. Once again she twitched. It was almost as if she understood. “A stupid person would be fooled by whatever this little trick of yours might be.”
I wasn’t stupid.
I reached down and pulled my hand axe from my belt. As soon as I did, it was as if a switch had been thrown in the child zombie. Suddenly, it was trying to bite the glass and slapping at it with both hands instead of just the one.
I retreated, just a bit spooked by the sudden noise. The child zombie continued her futile attempts to get at me. Concerned that the noise would bring other curious zombies to the front of the house and put a kink in my escape, I exited the garage. I wasn’t two steps away when the slapping suddenly stopped.
I continued a few more steps, but again found myself drawn back to the garage. If this was something relevant, perhaps I could write it down. I could include the notes in this supply drop I was intent on gathering for Chewie, Carl, and the others. Of course, there was the very real possibility that they would dismiss it as the ramblings of a loon, but maybe they would read it, laugh it off, then see an example of what I shared that would get them to take it more serious.
I glanced down the hallway to the front door and didn’t see anything that gave me cause for alarm, so I returned to the garage. I opened the door and peeked inside. It was almost like stepping into a time loop.
The girl regarded me, her head cocking first one way, then the other. I slipped my axe back into my belt and re-entered the garage. The child zombie continued to regard me with what was almost pathetic curiosity.
I walked all the way up to the car again. A single hand came up and slapped the window. She studied me just as she had before—those creepy, blackshot eyes boring into me. I had to take this to the next level. I reached for my axe and pulled it free. Once more, the child immediately reverted to what I would now consider “standard” zombie behavior. I tucked the axe back into my belt, but that did nothing to alter the slapping and attempted gnawing at the glass.
I left the garage and was rewarded with the return of silence a few seconds later. Since I’d been in the child zombie’s presence longer than the first time, I hurried up the stairs and chanced a look out front. There were a few shambling corpses in the area, but none seemed to be headed my way.
I returned to the garage and ran my little experiment four more times. The results were almost identical. The only glitch I could discover was that the child zombie basically saw anything I picked up as a trigger. I knew that somebody smarter than me could probably make real sense of this information, so I was determined to try and take the time to write it down.
At last, I was done with my study and decided that it was time to give the child peace. I reached over and opened the car door. The child was no more coordinated than any other zombie and fell out gracelessly. She landed hard on the cement pad of the floor and I stepped in quick, my axe burying itself in the back of her skull.
I pulled my weapon free and then scooped the child up and placed her in the car beside her mother. It wasn’t much, but the gesture made me feel good inside for the first time in a while. Recent events and thoughts had gotten me to question my own moral fiber.
I exited the garage and looked outside to see that I’d lost most of the day. The sky was changing as the sun sank in the west. A few of the clouds were capturing and enhancing the reddish glow of sunset.
“Red skies at night…sailor’s delight,” I mumbled.
I decided that, if I stayed quiet and didn’t do anything to draw attention to myself, it would probably be in my best interest to ride the night out here. I went to the bathroom on the ground floor and looked into the mirror again.
Still nothing.
What the heck was taking so long? It was becoming a bit ridiculous. Even worse, I was beginning to feel a glimmer of hope. One of the advantages as well as the disadvantages of the zombie apocalypse that is seldom addressed in any of the fiction would be the horrendous boredom. It is in that boredom that the mind sort of caves in on itself. I worked very hard to keep from letting memories of Stephanie overwhelm me. Maybe once I knew it was over, perhaps then I could sink into her one last time before ending it.
Right now, my mind was trying to focus on the task at hand. No tracers at the moment meant that I still had a little while before the turn would occur.
Chewie had been bitten early on when this nightmare began. That was how she’d lost more than half of h
er tail. I’d seen with my own eyes a zombie version of a dog. That confirmed one of Carl’s earlier observations that dogs turned. I’ve yet to see a cat or any other animal that turned.
To date, all the way up until I’d walked away from the group, my Newfoundland showed no signs that she was any worse for the wear. I was now wrapping up my second day post-bite.
Only…it wasn’t really a bite. It was just a nasty scratch. And while I had no doubt as to the origin of the scratch, this lack of any black tracers in my eyes led me to believe that perhaps the rate of infection was different depending on where a person was injured. Also, perhaps the scratch and the bite had different rates. There had been an announcement that bites and scratches were equally fatal, but I wondered if the powers-that-be had taken the time to monitor the separate cases and see if there were differences.
And that was how I drifted off to sleep; my mind racing with the possibilities that I was perhaps turning slower due to the nature of my injury. I only woke once before the sun rose and began to bathe everything in soft golds. I was not able to roll over and return to sleep until I ventured into the bathroom once more to see that my eyes remained their normal selves.
As soon as I woke to discover that it was morning, I hopped up, collected my things, and made my way to the front door after one more look in the mirror. Peering out the window, the coast looked clear. I opened the door just a bit and gave a look up and down the street. I saw a few zombies stumbling about as well as a couple lying dead in the street. There was nothing close enough to be considered an immediate threat.
Remaining cautious and alert, I crept to the car in the driveway; I could smell the undead. I couldn’t see any close by, but there was definitely one in the area. The vehicle was a Dodge Durango. From the outside, it appeared well taken care of and clean. I opened the driver’s side door and smiled. The first thing my eyes lit on was an old french fry. It had the size and shape of Mickey Dees. Back before the madness, I’d often joked that I was pretty sure every car came with one as a standard feature. It didn’t seem to matter the social status or income level; you could climb in just about any car in this country and feel that your odds were good when it came to finding an old fry somewhere on the floor. Maybe under a seat, or wedged in between the lip of the floor mat and the actual floorboard of the car…but you would find one.
