When the scavenging crew returned without Jimmy, Tamara began to scream, “No, no, no!” over and over. She blamed everyone on the crew, telling them it was their fault. She blamed Gordon, for making them go. She blamed Jan for not talking Gordon out of it. Most of all she blamed herself. She could have forced the issue, told Jimmy not go, that she would not allow it, but Tamara knew that had she tried Jimmy would have gone anyway.
That evening, after the truck had been unloaded by a silent crew, everyone except Tamara and her daughters gathered on the ball diamond to hold a memorial for Jimmy. For the first time since it had been built the drawbridge gate went unguarded, nor was anyone on top of the sports building, now the warehouse, watching for distant threats.
Words were spoken and unabashed tears were shed. Anna held Louis as he wept for Garret and Jimmy and for the life that once was. Rebecca held Dean as he cried hot, bitter tears filled with anger.
Standing around a large fire, flames snapping at the chill evening air, even Daniel Brenger, who had been with the group the shortest, held his beaten old farm cap over his heart and shed soft tears, feeling the loss of those around him.
Mike, who had been friends with Jimmy for many years, long before this family of survival-minded people came together, sat on a thick log, head in his hands. The knot in his throat was heavy and painful, letting no words pass. Lisa stayed close and his daughters sat on the ground around him, all were tearful and needing to comfort as much as they needed comforting.
Gordy leaned over, resting his head against Jan’s, drawing strength from her. He looked around the fire, at the forlorn and broken-hearted faces, knowing each as family. He tried to wipe away his tears but they would not stop as he thought of Sam, and Jack. He remembered when he had turned Jenny away, and when Jonathan Cambrey had died, and even young Garret, so new to the group. He felt every death as a weight he had to bear, wearing them as his own crown of thorns, every tear a weak testament to his failure to lead these good people that he loved so much, each sob an insufficient apology to those who were gone.
Rick stood up, Trish and the quiet little Tyler standing with him. He spent a long, silent minute gazing at the people seated around the fire. Tipping back a pint of whiskey he had taken from the stockpiles, he swallowed a large gulp, no longer feeling the sweet burn of the alcohol. “I wanted to...say...I…Uhh…Jimmy,” his voice caught in his throat. Rick looked down at the bottle in his hand and back up, scanning faces, “Fuck.” He sat back down hard on an upturned log and took another long swallow from the bottle.
Many felt the lack of Rick’s words, the inability to say what needed said. They had felt the same for Sam and Jack. Simple, ineffective words could not convey what the heart desperately needed to say.
Pushing himself up, leaning on one crutch, Gordy stood, looking over the fire at no one. He was afraid to face anyone, to look them in the eye at this very moment, fearing they would see his culpability in the deaths of their loved ones. “Jimmy was friend and brother, he was family and to many he was a hero,” Gordy began, “no words can ever be enough to convey what he meant to us all. I’m not going to make a speech, I just want to say…,” Gordy paused, his voice catching in his throat, “that Jimmy was, and is, my brother and will not be forgotten.”
Mike stood as Gordy sat back down, his shadow a flickering giant behind him. He looked around the fire at tear streaked faces, saying nothing, only watching. Mike turned and walked away, silent in his misery.
****
Tamara woke late the following morning with a pounding headache. She made her way from her cabin to the dispensary in an exhausted daze, barely remembering asking Jan for something to ease the throbbing in her head.
She found the girls outside the main hall beneath the pavilion picking at a late breakfast. Neither child wanted to eat, so she sat with them in silence as they pushed food around and stared into their plates.
Tamara wanted to talk to her daughters, but she had no words of comfort, nothing she could give them to fill the emptiness inside. Sitting there with them was almost too much for her to bear. She could see their father in the girl’s faces and mannerisms, in the way one held her fork, or how the other would tap her toe as if listening to a song in her head. Unconscious actions picked up from Jimmy.
Standing, Tamara took each of her silent little girl’s hands and led them back to their cabin, ignoring the sad, empathetic eyes every person she passed cast at the three of them.
Inside she sat down on the floor, back against the wall, and pulled her daughters into her lap, holding them as tightly as she could. Together they cried loud tears, long tears, and silent tears. Slowly the three sank to the floor, curling up together, sharing their sorrow until the girls fell asleep.
Tamara lay there on the rough wood floor with her children, attempting to force her mind to go blank, but it swirled and flipped, turning constantly around Jimmy. He was gone, excised from her life. Tam felt the missing piece of herself there like an amputee might, a phantom limb, unbalancing her in its absence.
Tam felt her wrist throb through the last haze of wakefulness before she slept. The place still bore a faint bruise where her husband had gripped her so tightly while in the throes of his own nightmare. She cherished even that dark reminiscence.
Sleep took her, tumbling her into the fresh hell of nightmare, her synapses firing thought, after fear, after pain into her dreaming, denying her a moment of peace with her husband, even in her dreams.
****
On the third day after the return of the scavenging crew people began to push themselves back into a routine. Gardens needed harvesting; water had to be brought up and boiled.
People focused on completing the wall, which was nearly done. Everyone needed to feel safe and secure; a place to go where the outside world would be hard pressed to reach them, and the wall gave them that.
Surviving as a large group often involves routine, doing many of the same things day in and day out, whether for food, or water, or security. This routine helped focus the group as a whole, allowing them to continue on even at their darkest times.
Maxwell proved his value to the group during this time when he was able to work out a pump system to replace the electric pump the owners of Camp Oko Tipi had installed years ago, tapping into an aquifer.
Though having fresh, cold water that did not need to be boiled before drinking was wonderful, the news was unable to remove the shroud of sadness covering the camp and its inhabitants.
No amount of joyful news could penetrate the heavy cloak of guilt and remorse so many wore. Each person would have to shrug it off on their own, or bear the weight of it in silent misery.
Chapter 27
“How’s the side?” Gordy asked his son as they made their way slowly to the pavilion for breakfast.
“Mom says I was lucky, nothing important has holes in it or got sliced,” Dean replied. “Doesn’t feel lucky,” he said, holding his side, “still hurts like a bitch.”
Gordy chuckled, “I bet it does, but it’s only been four days, it’ll heal.” He could not express to anyone but Jan how he had felt when the men came back. The instant sorrow he felt because of Jimmy and the intense fear of his son’s injury creating a painful conflict inside him.
“Yes, well, it can’t heal fast enough. I had to tell Becca I was just coming up to see Mom and get something to eat before she’d let me leave the house.”
“That isn’t what you intend to do?” Gordy asked, casting a sideways glance at Dean.
“I can’t just sit around that house, Dad. I’ll go stir-crazy. Besides,” Dean paused, his eyes going distant for a moment, “just sitting there means too much time to think.”
Gordy raised his hand, placing it on his son’s shoulder. Dean turned to face his father. “Dean, listen…”
“Dad, I swear if you tell me that Jimmy wouldn’t want me to mourn, that he would want me to carry on and protect everyone here or some shit like that, I’ll fucking lose it.”
“Fine, I’ll sit on the tractor or supervise the gardens. Can we go eat now?”
Rick nodded to the two men as they exited the back door of the main hall, bowls of oatmeal in hand. “Morning.”
Gordy and Dean replied with the same as they sat down across from Rick at the picnic table.
“What’s going on this morning?” Gordy asked.
“Mike’s up on top-watch,” Rick said, tossing a glance in the direction of the warehouse building. “Cal went down to the front gate to relieve Louis; Lynn, Alex and Everett are working on the wall, Anna is with Jan still sorting through the stuff we brought back, which I imagine you know already.”
Gordy nodded, “Yeah, I saw her just before I came out here. So everyone is staying busy, that’s good.”
“Shit has to get done,” Rick said, spooning oatmeal with sugar and fresh milk into his mouth. “I’m going to walk the outside of the wall, then do a drive through town. Since the shit with those jackasses from the armory I think I’ll extend the patrols all the way out to the highway, a couple miles each way along 79, then a mile up Route N.”
“Sounds good to me,” Gordy said.
As Rick stood up from the table Dean said, “Hey, find me after your wall walk is done, I’ll ride with you.”
“Sure.”
Two hours later Rebecca was leaning through the window of the De Soto, kissing Dean. “Where do you think you’re going, Scarface?”
“Just riding with Rick while he does some patrolling, nothing to worry about.”
“Well, ok then, but don’t do anything stupid and tear out those stitches.” It would have been hard to miss the concern in her voice, far beyond just worry over his stitches.
“I thought you were my wife, not my mother,” he said with a grin.
“Common Law wife, which also makes me a mother and sometimes a babysitter,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Ouch, burned. We’ll be back in a little bit, so don’t spend too much time worrying.”
Rebecca kissed him again, lingering for a breath. When she pulled away she glanced to Rick. “Be careful out there, buddy.”
Rick only nodded.
Calvin raised the gate as soon as the men were past, flipping them a wave as they went by.
“Rick…”
“No offense, buddy, but I’m not in the mood to chat,” Rick said, cutting him off. “Kinda the reason I wanted to do the patrols, so I could do what Mike’s doing up there on top-watch. Avoid talking.”
Dean stared out the windshield. “Oh.”
Rick turned left at the intersection of Highway 79, taking them north. Almost two miles down Rick slowed the car, stopping in the middle of the lane.
“Listen,” Rick said to the windshield, breaking the heavy silence, “I’m not trying to be a dick, but damn it I get tired of people wanting me to talk through my feelings, or tell me theirs to be truthful with you, Dean.”
Dean continued to stare out his window for a moment before responding. “I get that, man, I do, really. I guess I just feel like we left him, like we all abandoned Jimmy.”
Rick looked at the young man sitting in the passenger seat, “I know; I feel the same way. But you and I and the others know there’s not a damn thing we could have done that wouldn’t have gotten every one of us killed.”
“Yeah, I know that, but it doesn’t change how I feel about it.”
“Nothing ever will, buddy. Learn to live with it or it’ll eat your insides out, slower than a fucking zombie, but just as sure.”
Rick slipped the car into gear, driving until he came to Fort Mason Drive, where he pulled in and backed the car onto the highway, facing the way they had come.
Silence still hung in the air, though it was not as dense. The two men had found an understanding in their mutual grief.
Driving back, they passed the turn for State Highway N on the left and State Highway E on the right, the turn to Saverton and Oko Tipi. Rick turned off a mile up the road into Brown Estates, driving the few short streets before turning back onto 79.
Following State Highway N, Rick drove almost two miles to the Clark Road turnoff, where he backed the car onto the gravel road, facing the highway and stopped to light a cigarette.
“Back to smoking?”
“Yeah, I figure, screw it why the hell not.” Rick grimaced at the harsh bite of the first drag from the stale-tasting cigarette.
“Good point. Give me one.”
Rick eyed Dean for a moment and laughed. “Your momma would kill me, buddy. Besides, why start now, these things will all be gone soon,” Rick said holding up the smoldering cigarette.
Dean just nodded and grinned at him. “For a big tough guy, you sure are scared of my Mom, Rick.”
“Damn right I am, Deany, I thought she was going to kill me when she found out what I did to keep you from passing out after you got hurt.”
“Yeah, I still hear about that from time to time.” Dean rested his head on the seat staring up at the roof, thinking about the pall of sadness that permeated every thought, every word, every forced smile for weeks following the loss of someone in the group.
Several minutes later Rick finished his smoke, flicking the butt out the window, watching as it flipped through the air to land in the middle of the highway. “Ready to head back?”
“No, but we probably should.” Dean sat up, flicking a quick glance to the right, checking for on-coming traffic out of habit. “Hey Rick, looks like we might have a loner out here.”
Rick looked over through Dean’s window. About one hundred yards up the road they could see a lone figure stumbling along the blacktop, its arms hung limp, head down as if watching its steps. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.
“Yeah, odd to see one out here in the middle of nowhere, and taking a walk when there’s nothing to draw it on.”
“You’re right, does seem odd. I’ll take it out with the rifle.”
Rick saw something dark in Dean’s eyes when he turned to him saying, “No, I’ll handle it. Up close and personal.”
Stepping out of the car Dean slid his FastHawk from the hammer holder he had repurposed as a carrier for the tomahawk style weapon. “I’ll be right back,” he said over his shoulder.
Dean walked with purpose, but unhurriedly toward the shambling creature, allowing the fires of rage to build. He wanted to hurt this accursed thing, to cut and crush and bludgeon for the deaths of Sam and Jack, Garret and Jimmy. Vengeance stoked the fires of loss, burning thought away, leaving only hatred. That the things he hated so much could feel nothing; that hating them was similar to hating a car or a rock never crossed Dean’s mind.
The creature continued to stumble on, its shambling gait bringing it ever closer to its final death.
The zombie appeared to be wearing oddly mismatched clothes; a dark pair of men’s suit pants and a women’s holiday adorned sweater, both filthy and spotted with blood and other things Dean chose not to ponder.
A partially torn off right ear had soaked the sleeve and shoulder in a thick coating of dried blood. Though the creature still looked at the ground he could see a thin stream of bloody drool hanging below its face, dripping off to splatter on the ground. The pants were too short for it, showing a severely swollen ankle, dark with bruising. Every few steps it would stumble, the ankle turning under it.
Dean shouted “Hey! Hey, Hey!” He wanted to look into the dead eyes when he buried the spike of his FastHawk in its skull.
The creature stumbled again, slowly raising its face and left arm. Dean noticed the right arm simply hung at its side, fingers twitching. The face was swollen and badly bruised along the right side, and covered in cuts and scratches that looked fresh.
Only a few steps away he looked into the
creature’s eyes, raising his weapon high for a solid powerful strike. Dean stumbled in his forward motion; the eyes of the thing before him were not dead eyes. They were glazed, feverish, but they were alive.
Rick was watching from the car, wondering why Dean was taking so long. He could understand Dean’s intense rage, and he was willing to let him have the moment he needed to burn some of it out.
It wasn’t until Dean dropped his weapon and stepped forward into the one raised arm of the creature that Rick jumped from the car, fearing that maybe Dean had chosen suicide by zombie.
He made the distance in seconds, but Dean was already on the ground, cradling the body in his arms.
Dean looked up as he approached, tears streaming down his face. Rick looked from Dean to the man held in his lap; tears began to well in his eyes as he instantly recognized the battered face of his friend.
Dean held the man close, rocking gently, whispering through sobs. “We got you, Jimmy. We got you.”
As Jimmy passed out they heard him mumble “…find one…”
Chapter 28
“Get him on the table, here, right here. Be careful!” Jan shouted orders at the two men, her eyes welling at the sight of the battered and broken man they carried in from the car.
People began to gather outside, wondering what was going on. Gordy was hobbling over on his crutch from the main hall, where he had been giving an impromptu history lesson to the children.
“Anna, go get Tam, now! Don’t say anything about this until she’s in this room; just go get her, even if you have to drag her down here by her hair. Dean, Rick, you two wait until Tam gets here, and don’t let anyone else in.”
American Revenant (Book 3): The Monster In Man Page 14
