by Tony Urban
The men turned their horses in the road and trotted back to him, but Mead wasn't willing to wait. He looked down at Price who varied between walking beside him and the horses. He quite liked the dog, even if he thought Prince was just about the worst name ever, and he didn't want to put him at risk.
"Stay, Prince."
Prince flopped down on his hindquarters, his tail thudding back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Mead grabbed one of his conduit spears and held it at the ready as he pushed through the weeds. They were hard and dry and clawed at his clothing like skeletal fingers and so dense he couldn't see anything but the thicket scraping past the mask of his helmet.
He didn't like going in blind. He knew he should wait for the others. He often told himself that anyone who got killed by zombies more than a year into the apocalypse died from stupidity, not zombies, and he knew what he was doing at the moment was stupid.
But he pushed on, confident that his protective gear, and the fact that he didn't have a single square inch of exposed flesh, would protect him even if something awful laid ahead.
Three strides in and the brush thinned out. He could see a small clearing ahead and a muddy pond in the midst of it.
Mead stopped moving, deciding instead to look and listen. To use his brains rather than his balls. He couldn't see anything moving, nothing that would have caused the noise he heard earlier. And now the noise too was gone. He waited, gripping the spear, but nothing came.
Behind him he heard a muffled curse followed up with Aben growling, "Son of a bitching branches!"
Mead smiled behind his visor. He'd grown annoyed with his companions being able to ride while he walked. They didn't care that he was wearing forty pounds of safety gear while they got by in regular shirts and jeans that didn't weigh five pounds combined. And they certainly weren't concerned with the fact that he had the worst case of swamp ass this side of Louisiana.
Aben emerged from the thicket first, his face angry and a three-inch long scratch trickling blood high on his forehead.
"You should watch where you're going," Mead said.
Aben didn't smile. Didn't respond at all. Wim came through on his heels.
"Must've been a false alarm." Mead lowered his spear and tilted up the visor. "Sorry, boys."
Wim looked past him toward the pond. "Shame that's not clean. I sure could use a cool down."
You could, Mead thought. It's fifteen degrees hotter under all this shit. He thought about saying that out loud, but before he could, something slammed into his back, pounding against his kidney and dropping him to his knees.
What the fuck was that? He felt like he'd been shot with a canon. He reached behind himself expecting to find blood, or maybe his entire flank missing, but his glove came back dry.
He was so confused that he didn't even realize that Wim and Aben were standing by idly, not only not helping, but laughing, until he rolled onto his back and saw their stupid, amused faces.
Mead was so pissed off that he almost forgot about whatever it was that attacked him, but a stab of pain when he tried to sit up brought that back all too quick.
And they still laughed.
"What's so fucking funny?"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth a broad, a gray shape appeared over him. His brain immediately associated gray with zombie and he reached for the spear, all the while wondering why his friends weren't helping him. Had the world gone even crazier in the last thirty seconds?
"Don't!" Wim yelled, and there was panic in his voice, a foreign sound to Mead's ears. Wim was normally as monotone as could be. The oddness of it all made Mead slow down and put his eyes to use rather than rely on his instincts.
He stared at the gray figure and realized it wasn't a zombie. It was too big. And on four legs. And the gray wasn't undead skin, but fur.
"Is that a goddamn donkey?" Mead asked.
Wim started laughing all over again. "It is."
Mead stared at the animal which loomed beside him, its nose twitching like it was trying to figure out what type of cologne he wore.
"I got tackled by a motherfucking donkey?" Mead climbed to his feet, trying to ignore the throbbing in his side. He pushed the animal's snout sideways. "You asshole."
The donkey pulled back its lips, revealing over-sized yellow teeth, and brayed.
Mead looked to the others. "Ready to go?"
"Not so fast," Wim said. "I know it's gotta be rough walking all the time.”
Tell that to my bleeding feet, Mead thought.
"Well..." Wim looked from Mead to the donkey, then back to Mead.
Mead looked at Wim, then the donkey. "You're not suggesting..." He turned back to Wim. "Ride the donkey?"
"Why not? It's a big one. And I'd imagine it’s pretty strong considering how quick it put you down."
"Is that even possible? I mean, do they let you?"
"Depends how feral it is. But it seems pretty calm to me."
Mead still wasn't sure he liked this idea. He moved to the donkey's side and laid his hand on its neck. The donkey tilted its head back, enjoying being petted.
"Why do I have to ride the donkey? I think one of you should trade."
"Maybe you haven't noticed, Mead, but we're both a might bigger than you," Aben said.
"I don't know what that matters."
"I'm just saying, some men are cut out for horses. Some are more suited for donkeys." To demonstrate just how much bigger he was, Aben tapped Mead on top of the helmet.
"I hate you."
Aben wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled him in close. Mead's face was at the same level as the big man's sweaty, stinking armpit. "You're my favorite too."
Despite his annoyance and pain and the heat and the embarrassment of getting taken down by a jackass, Mead couldn't hold back a smile of his own. "Let's get the hell out of here."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Juli puffed away on a stale cigarette as she watched Grady move through his flock. They'd accumulated hundreds of followers since leaving the Signs Following Church two years ago. When Grady originally shared with her his plan - no, it's God's plan, she reminded herself - she thought he was insane. That she should have left with Aben and Mitch after all. But as time passed and Grady took his ministry on the road, he was proven right over and over again. Every time doubt crept into her heart, something happened to prove Grady right.
She saw Grady looking her way and dropped the cigarette, smashing it underfoot but she knew he saw. Juli waved him toward her and his head dipped in a nod. She knew he hated leaving them, that he felt so at peace amid them, but he gradually moved through the crowd and to her. Even though she knew she'd been caught smoking, she moved a dozen yards to the right, so the aroma of smoke wouldn't be so obvious.
When he arrived, the peaceful exuberance in his face almost brought her to tears. She wished he was that happy in her presence. That she could bring him such joy, but the harder she tried, the further he pulled away. She had almost given up trying to figure out what she could do to bring him closer to her. Almost.
"I spoke with Owen," she said. "We're close. Less than two days out."
Grady nodded, knowing. "Tomorrow we're going to set up the tent a few miles from Brimley. While we do that, you and Owen will go there. Tell them about us. Invite them."
Juli fought off a shocked gasp. "Me?"
"Yes. You're quite capable.”
Juli wasn't so certain about that. She sometimes struggled to make sense of Grady's messages and she had years’ experience. How was she supposed to convince a bunch of strangers that the little man from Baltimore had a direct line to God and that they needed to join them to save the world, or their souls, or maybe both. She wasn't even sure and there laid the rub.
"Grady, I don't--"
"You will. I've seen this already."
"Well then tell me what I said because I haven't an idea." The remark came off more flippant than she intended, and she saw Grady's body te
nse up. "I'm sorry."
He nodded, curt, and turned away from her.
"Grady?"
He didn't look back, but didn't flee either and she supposed that was as good as it was going to get.
"What if they won't join us?"
Grady paused, still not looking her way. "They will."
"But what if they won't?"
"They will because they have no choice."
He left her there, alone, his words echoing through her head. Since his last vision, Grady had been more direct, more confident, than she'd ever seen him. And she realized that scared her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
For the past three weeks Saw had rarely left Mitch's side. In many ways, it reminded Mitch of the way things used to be, of their lives on the road, only now they weren't avoiding danger, now they were seeking it out.
Saw had decided that the town had become too boring. Too ordinary. Mitch didn't entirely disagree with that opinion, but Saw's solutions were so extreme and so violent that Mitch could hardly believe this was reality.
Before laying out his plans, Saw caught Mitch inside his motorhome so early Mitch hadn't even had his first piss of the day. Mitch was still in bed when the man hammered at the door.
"Wakey, wakey. Eggs and bac-y."
Mitch was only half-awake, but annoyance pushed sleep away as he rolled out of bed. He wore only a pair of boxer briefs but didn't bother dressing before opening the door. Saw's voice was impossible to mistake.
"Just fooling, Mitchy. I got no eggs or bacon."
"Then you're unwelcome." Mitch turned away from him but left the door open in an unspoken invitation that Saw accepted.
Mitch opened a cooler and took out a jug of water. He grabbed a glass, then looked to Saw with a raised eyebrow. "Want some water? Or do you prefer something harder to start the day?"
I'm a new man. Or me old self, depending on how you look at it." Saw gave him the finger, wagging it back and forth. "Look at it, Mitchy."
Mitch was still annoyed and didn't return Saw's grin.
"Ah, cheer up, mate. I gots us some fun planned it you're up for it."
Mitch sat down at a small table and drank half a glass of water without pausing for a break. "I don't think we have the same idea of fun anymore."
Saw flopped down across from him. As he sat, a booming fart ripped its way out of his asshole and he cackled. Mitch did not.
"I know you're angry at me, Mitchy, and I can't blame you none. I cocked things up. Not just a little either. A whole lot. Like one of those giant whales, the really big ones. Grey whales?"
Mitch shrugged his shoulders, uninterested in species of whales.
"Anyway, a hell of a massive cock up. I could of ruined everything we worked for. Everything we built. And I'm sorry for that. I am."
He looked Mitch in the eyes when he said that and there was a glint that made Mitch believe him even though he didn't want to. He didn't want to fall under Saw's spell again and had to keep reminding himself over and over again that he couldn't trust this man.
"But I'm better now. Better than before even. Because now I got it all figured out. I got complacent and then I got lazy. I'm sure you saw it."
Mitch nodded. Affirmative. Saw slid his chair around so he wasn't sitting across from Mitch but was instead sitting beside him.
"That's because I was bored. We got it good here, we do. Maybe too good though. We need some spice, Mitchy."
"Spice?
"I had a dream, like that Luther Martin bloke," Saw said, wrapping his arm around Mitch's shoulders. "When I was getting off the heroin, I saw it plain as day. There's nothing to do here but drink and drug and fuck and that's all fine and well but there's only so much of each you can do before getting bored with it all. We need entertainment, Mitchy. And I got some good plans."
Mitch realized he was getting excited and he hated himself for it. But if there was one thing he could always count on from Saw, it was that the man knew how to have a damned good time.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Saw started things off by confiscating all the liquor and drugs. That got everyone good and pissed off, but it also put control back in his hands. He had all the supply and was free to make demands.
His first orders were to send most of the men, and several of the rougher women, on missions to capture zombies. He didn't want them dead - or deader - he wanted them mobile.
Over the following two weeks, the residents of Shard End had returned with nearly forty of the monsters. The captured zombies were tossed into the pit where they stumbled back and forth, smacking into the earthen walls and bouncing off each other with hisses or growls.
The residents who were either deemed incapable of hunting zombies or who had already nabbed their quota were given the task of moving many of Shard End’s now useless trucks and SUVs. They were pushed about fifty yards outside of town and then maneuvered into a rough circle thirty feet across.
When this initial work was finished, Saw threw a party to reward everyone for their hard work. It started off with a raging bonfire that stretched several stories into the night sky and turned the entire town orange as a pumpkin. Saw cobbled together speakers and stereos and music from bands like AC/DC and Motorhead blasted.
There was dancing, or what passed for it, and fighting, although nothing serious, and fucking, which took place in the open, bodies pressed against buildings or bent over railings. All of this was fueled mostly by alcohol, but there was ample cocaine to go around for anyone so inclined, and that was most of the rough bunch who called Shard End home. What there wasn't, of course, were opiates, but no one seemed to mind.
Saw, Mitch noticed, avoided anything harder than beer, but the lack of drugs didn't slow him down in the least. He roamed between the men and women from group to group, telling jokes, talking them up, and, Mitch realized, acting as much the role of a glad-handing politician as Senator Son of a Bitch had done when he was still alive. Only Saw was even better at it. Mitch thought these people would have elected him President, given the chance. Hell, they'd probably offer him their first born while they were at it. Saw wasn't just the leader in Shard End, he was their God.
And like most God's, he required not only devotion, but penance.
That came a few days later when most everyone had recovered from their exhaustion and hang overs. Saw asked Mitch to put the word out that there was to be a town meeting at dusk and everyone's presence was required. Mitch knocked on a few doors, but when he made the announcement at the Dry Snatch, he knew it would race through town fast enough.
He went to Saw's house, which still smelled vaguely of trash, but had been emptied of the garbage and had undergone a deep cleaning that left it looking almost new. Mina laid on a lawn chair, her dark skin baking to a dark chocolate under the midday sun. When he closed in on her, he realized she was nude from the waist up and quickly averted his eyes.
"Don't be bashful, Mitch. I don't got nothing you ain't never seen before."
He didn't want to look. He thought if Saw found him in the presence of his half naked wife he might be liable to bash his skull in. But offending Saw's wife wasn't a great choice either.
Mitch turned back to her, eyes darting rapidly and trying not to stare. Her black as coal nipples stood erect atop her barely there breasts. Sweat glistened against her small waist and below that she wore only a pair of white, cotton panties that looked almost bright as the sun when compared to her flesh. She tilted a bottle of beer his way.
"Thirsty?"
Mitch was. The walk here was long, and it was over one hundred degrees, but he also wanted out of this situation as quick as possible. "I'm good."
"If that's what you're selling, I ain't buying it."
She smiled. A rare expression in the time he'd known her. Matter of fact, as he thought about it, he wasn't sure he ever saw so much as a hint of happiness on her face. Her upturned lips revealed a chipped front tooth but, aside from that, the emotion brightened her face and Mitch couldn't
help but smile back.
"Putting the moves on my dame, are ya?"
Saw's voice caused Mitch's smile to vanish. He turned and found the man coming toward him. Saw's shirt was off too, and Mitch could see his bulk was already returning. He wasn't muscular in a body-builder kind of way, he was more of a gorilla. Wide and thick and strong enough to break the average man in half without even trying hard.
"I came looking for you, actually. But I found someone better."
Saw laughed. "You got that part right." He stepped between Mitch and Mina, leaning in to his wife and giving her a sloppy kiss on the mouth. Then, he flopped down in a chair beside her. "You spread the word?"
"Easy peasy."
"Lemon squeezy." Saw responded. He grabbed Mina's beer and took two swallows before returning it.
"So, what's the meeting about? Or do I have to wait to find out like the rest of the riffraff?"
"Aw, Mitch, you know you're my favorite. You held this place together when I was indisposed, after all. Such a smart one, you are. And I won't forget that. Got my word."
"Well, thank you, Saw."
"We've been safe here, you know. Not a single zombie attack since we settled in."
Mitch nodded. He was well aware.
"Most folk probably say that's a good thing. But a safe man's a lazy man more often than not. Just like a man who don't never have to worry about not having food in his belly never appreciates how good it is to feel hungry from time to time."
Mitch was used to Saw's rambles. At one point, he found them entertaining, the way a boy might listen to his wizened grandfather and think the old man had life all figured out. But he'd come to realize Saw was mostly full of shit. Still, he let him go on.
"People here, me self included, we got fat and happy. But at the same time, we got bored. Remember when I said we needed some spice here?"
Mitch nodded.
"I got it figured out, Mitchy. We need entertainment of the sporting variety. In Birmy we had our football, or soccer as you blokes call it. And every week we'd go to the stadium and get pissed with our lads and cheer on our team. God, I still miss that sometimes."
