Life Among The Dead

by Daniel Cotton

  “You’re practically swimming in that.” Lindsey tells the girl in her old sweater. She vows to herself to stay strong for Barbara’s sake, she always wanted a little girl. “We should make some food for the road.”

  Lindsey will do for Barbara what her own mother did for her when her father died. She wasn’t much older than Barbara when it happened. Her mom taught her to provide, to fight for what’s yours, and to be self-reliant. She had also taught her that food can solve most problems, which Lindsey now realizes looking at her old wardrobe is probably why it no longer fits her.

  #

  All the ammo is loaded into the van. The men are resting, sitting upon the rear bumper with the hatch open. Between the weight of their supplies and the combined weight of the gentlemen, the rear of the vehicle is sagging.

  “Here is my plan.” Bill breaks the silence. “Lindsey will drive, I will load, you will be the shooter. Little Barbara can pass supplies, and be an extra lookout.”

  “You can load fast, right?” Dan asks.

  “I’m all right, I guess.” Bill nods.

  “Please, just tell me you can load fast.” Dan says to the man. He doesn’t know if he would care if he lied, just as long as he told him he could load fast.

  “Bill won second place in a speed loading competition.” Lindsey says as she carries a large blue cooler out from the kitchen. “3 years in a row.”

  “Just second?” Dan asks.

  “We’ll be fine.” Bill stands putting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. The van rises slightly when he removes his girth from its shocks. “If anyone needs to pee before we go, do it now. And, Lindsey could you grab the ice cream on your way back please. No sense letting it go to waste.”

  Lindsey and Barbara take Bill’s suggestion and excuse themselves to the restroom. Dan is nervous about their departure. He paces around the two-stall garage while Bill struggles with something inside the van, talking about the ice cream. Apparently, Lindsey makes it herself and ‘it’s the best in the world’ according to Bill.

  The garage is very tidy. The plain cement floor is clean and actually looks like it has been swept recently. There are tools along the walls on steel shelves as well as on pegboards. The tools have been outlined with permanent marker so anyone borrowing a hammer will know exactly where to put it back. There is a large, black pick-up truck parked in the second space next to the white family vehicle.

  Dan concludes his tour ending up by Bill again. The man is kneeling on the floor leaning into the van’s sliding right side door. The soldier can see he is trying to remove one of the seats.

  “It sounded like such an impressive feature when we bought it.” Bill grunts as he tries to pull the release lever. “We just never used it.”

  Dan is about to offer some assistance, but the lever finally gives and Bill lets out a triumphant sigh.

  “This’ll give us more room to maneuver inside.” He hands the seat to Dan and starts on the next one. Dan carries the car seat to the back wall and sets it down; Bill already has another one waiting for him. The van is rocking as the man moves the supplies around inside, trying to get everything organized. He left two seats for them inside behind the driver’s side of the vehicle. The right side is now reserved for ammunition.

  Lindsey and Barbara return from the restroom and immediately board. The cooler is placed up front with the young girl who rests her feet upon it. They seem so calm, Dan observes. He wishes he was, the idea of going back out there made his stomach hurt. He knows he has to if he wants to get to Heather.

  Bill pops up through the van’s sunroof. That must be where I’ll shoot from, Dan realizes. He had been wondering about that.

  “You can hand them down, and I will hand them up.” Bill explains. The soldier is about to enter the vehicle until Bill rushes past him. “I just need something from my truck.” He tells the group.

  “What do you need?” Dan asks.

  “Hunting supplies.” He says simply.

  “Oh no, Bill. Not hunting supplies.” Lindsey says from her open window. Dan wonders what the big deal is, hunting supplies sound like a good thing to take along.

  The soldier looks around while he waits for Bill to return. He doesn’t want to get in just yet, knowing that once he is in they will be departing. He spots an item that may prove useful. A little red jug with a spout marked gas. He picks it up and feels that it is pretty much full. The plastic container is slid into the hold of the vehicle and pushed towards the back.

  Bill rifles through his enormous truck, kicking himself for not cleaning it out since his last hunting excursion. Everything is a mess and there is junk in his way. He locates his toolbox in the behemoth vehicle’s extended cab. He flips the top open and pushes away objects until he finds several small packages, each containing two green earplugs. Beneath the plugs he uncovers a box of 12 gauge shells.

  “Must be Buck’s.” He mutters. Buck is Barbara’s dad. The man wonders what had happened over there. He knows Damien died, but what became of his hunting buddy and his wife? For Barb to be out with a stranger, something bad must have gone down. He leaves the shells since he didn’t have Buck’s gun to fire them from anyway.

  From the glove box Bill retrieves another important piece of hunting equipment, a bottle of Wild Turkey.

  “It’s kinda like hunting honey, only we are the prey.” He says to himself, practicing for when Lindsey finds out. She only let him drink when he went hunting. She will be mad and make that clicking sound with her tongue. Bill hates that sound.

  “If I am to become a zombie, I want to be three sheets to the wind.” He states to himself as he returns to the white van of survivors.

  “Oh Bill, you don’t need that.” Lindsey tells her husband, finishing the statement with a click of her tongue.

  “Disinfecting wounds, dear.” He responds to her scolding, forgetting his rehearsed line. He takes his seat inside right behind his wife.

  Here we go again. Dan thinks, putting one foot inside the vehicle. Bill holds up a hand to stop him.

  “The power is out, soldier.” The man points towards the large sectional door at the front of the garage. “We have to open it manually.”

  Dan’s eyes must have given away his shock over this new information. Bill opens his door.

  “I can do it if you want, son.” The man offers in a calming tone.

  “No, I got it.” Dan responds and heads to the retractable door. “Just cover me.”

  Dan looks through the small windows and sees the dead are still searching the area. Zombies pace the street and loiter on the front lawn. There are a few occupying the driveway. The soldier crouches to grasp the handle at the base. He holds one of the long rifles in his right hand. The butt of the bulky weapon rests on the cement floor with its muzzle pointed in the air. Dan takes a preparatory breath and lets the door fly up before he loses his nerve.

  The door makes a lot of noise as it glides on its rollers and bounces back and forth becoming the ceiling. The dead outside look at the occurrence for a few seconds. The sudden action has them stunned, almost in awe. Their brains slowly register what they are witnessing before heading towards the promise of food.

  Dan scrambles around the van and almost falls, clumsy from haste and fear. Passing the workbench, an unseen hand snags his flak jacket. The man recoils, slamming his back against the side of the van. He is paralyzed with panic until he sees that it is just the claw end of a hammer that has caught him. The tool hangs from the folds of his jacket. He resumes his journey into the sliding door and closes it, disregarding the stowaway still dangling from his flak.

  Dan can’t stand up through his post just yet. He has to wait until they exit the garage. He kneels below it.

  “There will be some obstacles in the street.” He tells the woman behind the wheel.

  “Got it.” Lindsey replies while starting the engine. The zombies are entering the carport, Bill is not happy with this.

  “They’re going to touch all my stuff.”
He whines.

  The van pulls out slowly, bumping the walking corpses aside that are in its way. Some are knocked off balance and get caught under the tires. Lindsey cringes at the feeling of the bodies being crushed beneath them.

  “It’s OK, sweetie. They’re already dead.” Bill consoles her. The van takes a left leaving the driveway, heading towards the city.

  Dan stands up taking his position as human turret. He doesn’t see any immediate danger, but wants to try out the foreign weapon.

  Bill can see Dan taking aim. He pulls out a packet of earplugs. The green foam is pinched between his fingers and rolled into tight points. The man inserts them into Barbara’s ears.

  “Here you go, sweetie. You’ll need these.” He tells her then inserts plugs into his wife’s ears. Barbara remembers wearing the uncomfortable things before when she went shooting with her daddy at the range. As they expand in her ear canal the volume of the world is slowly turned down. She barely registers the first shot.

  Dan has taken aim on a zombie in fatigues, an ex-comrade of his. He can’t recall the man’s name. Like all the other guys Dan always referred to him as ‘new guy’. He was no more than 18 years old and fresh out of boot.

  The gun recoils violently as he squeezes the trigger. The butt slams against his shoulder, knocking him back against the edge of the sunroof. If not for the flak jacket he wore Dan could have seriously injured himself. The round nearly takes New Guy’s head off. The entire left side is gone, what remains is a large red crater.

  “I told you they’re powerful,” Bill says handing up a fresh rifle and taking the spent one. “.54 caliber kicks like a mule.”

  The van speeds up to 25 miles per hour, bullying its way through the mass of dead that crowd the street like zombie Mardi gras.

  “Hey,” Lindsey points. “It’s Abby.”

  “Not anymore.” Bill responds. He quickly loads the rifle Dan had exchanged.

  Barbara is keeping her eyes on the floor. She doesn’t want to see the people outside the windows that claw at them. What really scares her is the possibility of seeing her mom.

  “Are you doing all right?” Lindsey asks the frightened child. The girl just nods and tries to keep her mind on the living souls inside the vehicle with her. Barbara wishes to be strong like the adults, though she feels she should be crying.

  18

  Becka had landed hard on her arm, but feeling vulnerable she forced herself to her feet. It was mobile so the pain was inconsequential. Dashing to the tree she had seen earlier she found a makeshift ladder of plywood scraps nailed into the trunk. The thin planks wobbled under her weight and turned under her feet at awkward angles. She wouldn’t stop. She carried her bruised and sore body all the way to the top.

  She now sits in silence except for the moaning below and her incessantly beeping phone that wants attention. She finally takes the cellular out of her purse. The screen reports that she has a voice mail. Becka holds the phone to her ear and depresses the buttons in the familiar ritual needed to retrieve her message.

  “Becka, it’s mom.” She listens to her mother’s tinny and distant voice. “Stay where you are. It isn’t safe outside.” A crashing sound can be heard over the line.

  “Oh shit! I love you, honey.” The message ends with that. A mechanical voice starts asking questions that Becka doesn’t respond to. The phone just gets folded up and Becka begins to cry.

  “Mom never swears.” She says. What was that crash? She ponders, trying to dissect the message. She said ‘I love you’ so urgently. Like it’s the last time she’ll be able to say it. The girl fears her mom is dead. In fact, she is almost positive, but won’t fully admit it to herself yet. Tears are flowing from her eyes. She can’t help but blame herself. What if my calling home caused this? What if they heard the phone ring and got my mom?

  Like a lot of kids her age she only has one parent. Her mom was all she had left in the world. A world now reduced to a rickety old tree house above a stranger’s lawn.

  The handmade structure in which she hides is bigger on the inside then she imagined from Derek’s lawn. The boards are rough and weathered. She can see the zombies that chased her next door through a window overlooking her dead friend’s place. They are just pacing around in circles, their heads move trying to catch sight of the meat that got away.

  Below the window is a short wooden box. From the fruit depicted on the side Becka can tell it was once full of peaches. The box now contains hundreds of ball bearings. The floorboards beneath the crate are sagging from the weight of the steel. Sitting on top of the shimmering orbs is a slingshot. It has a padded arm that juts from the base of the handle. Becka had seen one of these used before. The arm cradles the user’s forearm so they can pull back on the thick elastic cord without straining their wrist.

  She scoops up a handful of balls and kneels by the window. One bearing gets loaded into a suede patch affixed to the middle of the thick, yellow rubber band that is a half an inch in diameter. Her sadness becomes anger as she lines up a target between the prongs.

  Thwip! The missile sails to its mark, a man in a suit and tie. The steel ball buries itself into his chest. The zombie staggers, but is relatively unfazed by the attack. He seems to be searching for whatever just hit him.

  Becka releases another that lodges in his throat directly above his double Windsor. The third time is the charm as the cheerleader scores a headshot.

  The dead man stops in his tracks as his head knocks back from the impact. He stands for a split second before crumpling to the ground in a limp heap.

  “I fucking hate zombies.” The girl says loading another ball into the sling. She looks out the crudely cut window for her next victim. An ex-cop shambles past the last to incur her wrath. Becka takes aim.

  From her point of view the cop is standing profile. Becka wishes to send a ball through his temple. She pulls the elastic back, the cradle presses down painfully on her skinny forearm. She ignores the pain in favor of her vendetta. The prongs are lined up and she is about to let go.

  A gunshot rings out startling Becka. The ball flies wildly off its mark. The assassin of the undead crouches below the window. Who would shoot at me? It takes a second for her to realize it wasn’t her being shot at.

  “People are out there.” The cheerleader says, running to the entrance. From here she can see the road. The only movement is that of a zombie housewife in a red splashed sundress who stumbles around. The woman’s throat is torn open; the sight makes Becka feel nauseous. The girl wants to overcome the sympathy by rationalizing the fact that the lady is already dead. It helps that the woman is put out of her misery by a speeding white van.

  “Holy shit!” Becka exclaims. She rushes back to the window to fill her pockets with as many ball bearings that she could grab. I have to catch that van, she tells herself.

  Heading down the treacherous ladder, her pockets are heavy with steel. The sides of her pants now swing with every step throwing her balance off. Becka is two thirds of the way down the tree when one of the tired rungs decides it wants to flip into a vertical position while she is upon it.

  Becka lands hard on her butt. She gets up fast and runs towards the alley. A chain link gate blocks it at the middle. The girl hides behind a lumpy object covered by a crisp blue tarp; the plastic cover is old and starting to break apart from years of use. She sees hundreds of zombies chasing the van. It would be suicide to go out there.

  “I’ll never get to them.” She sits on the tarp, all hope erodes. Her body depresses the blue shroud she sits upon as her hands idly fiddle with the object it obscures. She looks at what her hand is toying with and a new hope springs to life.

  The girl kneels before the mystery object as she whips the covering off like a magician doing a trick. The tarp disintegrates from the sudden motion, little bits of blue plastic fall from the air like confetti. She smiles at what she has found.

  “I’ve always wanted one of these.”

  19

  The dead fol
low the van faithfully.

  “Like we’re the fucking Beatles.” Dan mutters from his post. The vehicle is slowing and the zombies are able to catch up to them, the dead along the sides of the street are starting to converge.

  Up ahead the cars Dan had seen earlier still block the road. There isn’t much room on either side of the wreck for them to pass. Lindsey must want to take it slow, Dan figures as he lights a cigarette. Not too slow I hope. The corpses are within feet of them.

  A few of the deceased lunge at the glass in their attempt to grab the people behind the panes. Some just stare at the vehicle with their mouths agape. Most are trying to reach the man exposed on the roof. Their pale emaciated fingers clutch the air as they close in on him.

  At this distance Dan doesn’t need to aim. All he has to do is point and pull. A man in a Hawaiian shirt takes a round point blank in the face.

  “A little too cold for that kinda shirt, huh?” Dan drops the spent rifle to Bill and takes up another. The van crawls along with the soldier firing gun after gun. He is pretty impressed with the rate of fire they achieve with the muzzleloaders; there is almost always a fresh one waiting for him.

  Dan notices a slight lag when Bill has to clean the bore of one. He has Barbara handing up the weapons now so he can have his hands free to run a patch through the barrel. The small girl has to turn in her seat up front to do the job, but she is more than happy to have something to occupy herself. It gave her something else to look at instead of the zombies trying to reach her through the glass.