by T. W. Brown
By the time everybody was cleaned up and in some newly scavenged clothing, it was almost sunset. They’d eaten in uncomfortable silence. The two cast glances at the girl period-ically, but neither knew quite what to do. After the meal, Heather had wrapped herself up in some blankets. Within moments, they heard her soft snores.
Kevin walked out to the hallway, motioning for Mike to follow. “If she doesn’t snap out of it, we could be in trouble.”
“Dude, she beat a child’s skull in!” Mike exclaimed. He caught himself before his voice grew too loud halfway through his retort.
“That wasn’t a child,” Kevin said. “You cannot think of those things as people in any way, shape, or form, and you know that.”
“Still…it was the first time—”
“And it won’t be the last time,” snapped Kevin.
“We can’t expect her to be some sort of crazed warrior chick.” Mike held up his hands, motioning for Kevin to keep the volume down. “She’s a kid…and, in case you’ve forgotten, she’s just been through a nasty ordeal.”
“Her and everybody else in the world. And she is a lot better off than most. In case you’ve forgotten…she appears to be immune from the bite. Which we now know is only good if she stays alive.” Kevin remembered watching that pervert, Abernathy, as he died a slow painful death. Fed upon by three of the zombie schoolgirls he’d held in the downstairs of the high school in Heath.
Eventually he’d suffered enough injuries to die. Kevin had watched it all, not even wincing when one of the girls had managed to tear open his fat, pale belly. Mr. Abernathy’s eyes had nearly shot out of their sockets. Yep, that had to hurt. Finally the struggles ended. Then the three zombies had turned to him. Of course he’d been ready and put each one down. By the time he’d laid them out, the body tied to the chair had begun to twitch.
Just like Heather, the school teacher, Mister Abernathy, had shown immunity to the bite. He’d had a nasty scar from a bite that tugged at Kevin’s guilt over leaving behind Cary Kolchek, a friend who had set out on this survivalist escapade with Mike and a fourth friend, Darrin Goldburn. Kevin’s childish actions had led—inadvertently or otherwise—to Cary being bitten during a refueling stop. Abernathy had shown that, even if a person is immune from a non-lethal bite, death by zombie still resulted in that person coming back.
That had been a painful revelation for Kevin…more so since he’d left Cary alive. With a disabled car. Surrounded by zombies. And a gun. With one bullet. If Cary was like Heather or Abernathy…Kevin sighed.
“…doesn’t mean she isn’t still just a frightened girl.” Mike had been talking. Kevin couldn’t recall about what.
Mike seemed to take Kevin’s sigh as resignation to or acceptance of whatever point he’d been making. Like a tiny dog that had chased away a cat or squirrel form his yard, Mike walked away with a satisfied swagger of victory. Kevin was still standing in the hallway when he heard the not-so-quiet snoring of his friend.
Heather awoke to voices. They were arguing…again. It was hard for her to decide if those two were friends or not. She heard her name a few times. Great. They were arguing about her.
An unpleasant feeling crept into the pit of her stomach. What if they decided to leave her behind? She’d never been good at being alone. That had been one of her biggest problems when it came to boys. It was why she’d let Erik Dennis go all the way in the back of his car after homecoming. It was why she let Sara Bluth borrow her new iPod a week after she’d gotten it for her fifteenth birthday…and didn’t complain when it was returned…ruined after falling in Buckeye Lake.
Heather stared up at the ceiling as the voices continued in the hallway. For about the millionth time today, she fought back the tears that welled in her eyes. She could still see that little boy’s face, his hideous eyes all gross with the white coating and black, spidery traces running through them. How his teeth snapped together inches from her face. The terrible smell from his body only slightly less offensive that the foul odor pouring from his mouth. It had taken so long to scrub the stench of his drool from where it had splattered on her cheek. Just thinking about it brought the smell to her nostrils.
She’d seen Kevin fighting off that lady and, in that moment, knew nobody could save her. Her hand had closed on that rock…and she’d hit that boy as hard as she could. He didn’t even seem to notice. Somehow, she’d found the strength to roll over and get on top. Then, using both hands, she had pounded…and pounded…and pounded. It felt wonderful! The boy’s face had flickered…Erik Dennis…Sara Bluth…Mister Abernathy. She hadn’t wanted to stop, but Mike and Kevin were suddenly there. And she’d been so embarrassed. That little boy’s face was a mess.
She had never wanted to simply disappear so bad in her life. The looks on both Mike’s and Kevin’s faces had been too much. They were obviously very disappointed in her. Kevin even more than usual. It seemed that every time she caught him looking at her…there was something…wrong. That’s how his look made her feel. Like she was always doing something wrong.
It was totally different than how Mike looked at her. In fact, Mike’s look reminded her strongly of how Mr. Abernathy used to look at her—and all the other girls—in the halls at school before all this had happened. She’d noticed Mike peeking at her while she was bathing in the creek. He’d tried to hide it, but he’d peeked. And Heather didn’t mind. Mike wasn’t gross looking like Mr. Abernathy. Only, she sorta wished Kevin looked at her like that. She liked Kevin…he made her feel safe when he wasn’t making her feel like she was doing something wrong every single second.
The arguing had stopped. She heard somebody coming back into the room. Heather closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Eventually she risked opening her eyes, just enough to see. It was Mike. A few minutes later he was snoring. Heather crinkled her nose in distaste. She wondered if Kevin was coming in. She could see his silhouette in the hallway. She fell asleep watching his shadow, wishing he would come in and lay down so she could pretend to roll over up against him.
“Trucks!” Heather hissed.
Mike and Kevin scrambled up the stairs to the master bedroom where Heather had been keeping lookout. The trucks were single-file…three big eighteen-wheelers were sandwiched between a pair of white, snowplow-mounted city trucks in front and a pair of shiny, new four-by-four pick-up trucks in back. They were rolling south on Highway 13, smashing anything that wandered out in front of them.
“Shaw’s men?” Mike asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice.
“I’d imagine so,” Kevin said. “Unless some rival faction is rolling in like they own the place.”
“Who’s Shaw?” Heather asked.
“The asshole who stole all our stuff, shot our friend, and kidnapped four women,” Mike spat. The anger came fast…his breathing became shaky.
“So he’s like Mr. Abernathy?” Heather turned to Kevin.
“No,” Kevin shook his head, “he’s much worse. He and his men think that they own everything that they’ve decided falls within their territory. And not just supplies…but females as well. They shot our friend in cold blood as a warning for us to leave. Funny thing is…we had no intention of staying—”
“Until they killed Darrin!” Mike stopped trying to fight back the tears.
Kevin said nothing. He simply nodded and went back to watching the trucks roll past. They were obviously rolling into Heath. He watched the lead vehicle slam into a minivan, sending it careening off the road into a ditch. It was just like the sort of tactic he figured somebody like Shaw would take. As the vehicles roared out of view, an idea began to form.
He turned to find Heather hugging Mike, patting his back. Well, he thought, that’s a switch from yesterday. He moved past them and headed for the stairs. Heather made eye contact, raising an eyebrow. No, Kevin shook his head. He knew what he was looking for, and having anybody tagging along would only increase the likelihood of being spotted.
Step
ping through the kitchen, he was mindful of the one large sheet-covered stain, trying hard not to let that face pop into his mind. Too late, he shuddered, and exited through the back door. There was a huge barn about a half a football field’s distance away. The doors were wide open, so he was hopeful that there would be no hidden surprises lurking within.
As he crossed the back yard, he was only slightly surprised at how well the sounds carried in a dead world. He could hear the convoy literally plowing through cars and anything else unfortunate enough to get in their way. He could see singles and groups of the undead turning in the direction of all the noise. His eyes quickly scanned the rolling fields, nothing seemed to be heading in his direction…yet.
Reaching the barn, he paused when he heard the distinct sound of a woman screaming. Shaw and his men had found another for their “collection.” Kevin’s mind raced through a number of variables and possibilities. He had a plan. There would be some things he needed to accomplish to carry it out. He simply had to consider all angles and measure the probabilities. He would get one chance. No more.
Mike took a deep breath. He felt Heather’s tiny frame against his. Her walnut-brown hair filled his vision and the comfort of her arms was like a siren’s song, drawing him in. He was certain that if he looked into her innocent, dark brown eyes he would melt.
But he also knew that all of this was in his mind. This child had no idea what sorts of feelings she was bringing up. She was simply trying to show sympathy. Taking another deep breath, he pushed the conflicted feelings aside, then patted the girl on the back and eased away.
“I know what it is like to lose a friend,” Heather said simply.
“I imagine everybody still alive does,” Mike wiped his eyes. What in the hell was he, a twenty-four-year-old man, doing taking pity from a sixteen-year-old girl? “We should go see what Kevin is up to.”
“I don’t think he wanted company,” Heather said.
“Well, we can at least go downstairs and see.” Mike left the room.
Heather considered following, but decided that she would rather keep an eye out from upstairs where the view was better. She went to the window and peered outside. All sorts of gunfire was coming from town. Didn’t they know they were only making it worse? All along the horizon, as far as she could see, more of those things were coming. In the distance, north up Highway 13, she saw a mob of them. Probably from Newark, Heather thought.
Down below she saw Kevin. He was in the open entry to the huge barn. He had managed to haul a stack of large bags out to a beat up pick-up truck. He was so intent on what he was doing that he wasn’t paying attention. Four of those things were cutting across the yard. It was obvious that they were heading for Kevin.
Heather bit her lower lip as she fought the urge to scream. She didn’t want those creatures…those monsters, to get Kevin. She couldn’t shoot them because that might bring those terrible men in the trucks. Looking over her shoulder, she saw an ashtray sitting on the dresser. She grabbed it and leaned out the window, rearing back, she hurled it as hard as she could.
Kevin hauled the last of the fifty-pound bags of fertilizer from where they’d been stacked so neatly and manhandled it into the back of the pick-up truck that had probably served this family well for a couple of decades. He had been thrilled beyond his wildest expectations when he’d gone inside this barn. It was well organized and compartmentalized. It spoke volumes for the sorts of people that made up the heart of the nation’s agricultural community.
He’d been to a farm during a grade school field trip. He remembered how he and his little cluster of friends had scoffed at the dirty looking family that owned and operated their farm. He had laughed at the girl who was probably the same age as he and his classmates. She’d been shoveling up horse manure into a wheelbarrow. Cary had dared him to go talk to the “poop-girl” and bet him his Snack-Pack pudding that he wouldn’t kiss her…
He’d been daydreaming…out in the open! A dull thud brought him out of his reverie. Looking around, Kevin couldn’t see anything. He took a few steps out from behind the wide-open doors. To his right…smack dab between him and the house were four zombies! One of them had separated from the others and was shuffling back towards the house.
Pulling his axe and knife, Kevin moved away from the truck and barn out into the yard. He had enough time to look around to see if any others were headed his way. Nope…just these.
The one in the lead had been a soldier. His fatigues had several rips and tears in them that now looked liked large black spots. One was a man, naked except for a pair of running shoes. His attacker had taken a chunk out of his left shoulder. That poor guy had suffered for awhile before he died. Bringing up the rear of this group was what might’ve been a short, portly Hispanic man who’d worked as a repairman of sorts. Kevin couldn’t be sure of the gender because the face was torn up and the flesh was sagging so bad that a case could be made for what might be a breast on the right side. A large toolbelt still hung around the waist, but it appeared empty. It was wearing the torn remnants of a pair of coveralls. A filth-coated bandana that had probably been around the head now dangled around the neck.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Kevin sing-songed as he continued to circle wide of the barn and truck to give himself room to maneuver.
The undead trio obliged him further as their lack of coordination and varying ability to walk spaced them out further. Soldier-zombie came in with arms outstretched and stained mouth open wide. Kevin waited until it stepped in close and brought the axe down hard into the forehead, then jerked back as the body collapsed, yanking the blade free. Jogger-zombie came next and was put down with a knife jutting out from the newly ruptured left eye-socket. Last was the repairman-zombie. Kevin was able to see the telltale sign of an Adam’s apple and confirm it had in fact been a man. Swatting down an outstretched hand that was trying to grab him, Kevin brought the gore-smeared axe in from the side, burying its head in the temple.
Mike was wiping off his long blade and coming across the yard after taking down the one that had headed back towards the house. Heather was now standing on the porch with a fireplace poker in her hand. Hmmm, Kevin thought, that’s a good sign. Just as Mike reached Kevin, a large explosion from the direction of Heath made everybody wince and duck reflexively.
“What the—?” Mike turned towards the sound.
Heather took a few steps off the porch, craning her neck. All three saw a huge cloud of black smoke with flames that had to be a couple hundred feet high roiling skyward. A few minor secondary explosions sounded for the next several seconds, along with a renewal of prolonged bursts of automatic weapons’ fire.
“Something seems to have gone wrong for Shaw and his men.” Mike turned back to Kevin with a look of cautious happiness.
“Perhaps,” was all Kevin could say as the distant gunfire continued to chatter.
“Listen to all the shooting,” Heather’s voice was an awed whisper.
“Exactly.” Kevin gave an approving nod, failing to notice her instant blush. “I think they blew something up to kill a bunch of zombies, leave it unusable for anybody who comes along, or eradicate a rival group of survivors.”
“What?” Mike asked. “What rival group of survivors are you talking about?”
“We didn’t exactly search the town, Mike,” Kevin said. “I’m not convinced our Heather was Heath’s sole survivor.”
Mike nodded. That was not something he’d given much thought to. Just because Shaw said that this was “their territory” didn’t mean it was absolutely undisputed. So why hadn’t they looked for anybody else? Enlisted help to take out Shaw and his men?
“Of course there’s no telling if the other folks who might be holed up would be any better than Shaw and his men,” Kevin said as if he’d read Mike’s mind.
“I hadn’t heard any shooting for almost a week before you guys came,” Heather said.
“Well in any case, we don’
t know if what we’re hearing is a good thing or a bad thing for Mr. Shaw and his gang,” Kevin sighed. “Let’s get inside and wait it out. See if that convoy rolls out heading north anytime soon.”
“So what were you doing in the barn?” Mike asked as the three headed back into the house.
“A little surprise,” Kevin said cryptically. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
3
Francis?
“This place is a bust.” Barry wiped the blackened filth from the bayonet he’d fixed on his M1.
“I’m with Barry,” Dave chimed in.
So was I, but seeing the pained look on Aaron’s face, I couldn’t bring myself to put the final verbal nail in the coffin.
“I don’t like saying this,” Barry’s eyes locked on mine, “but it just doesn’t seem likely that we will find Ian or Billy…or anybody. Whatever rolled through this town—”
“And the camp!” Dave blurted.
“And the camp,” Barry agreed, flashing an annoyed look at Dave who appeared absolutely clueless as to how his comments—while fairly accurate of what all of us except for Aaron felt—were dashing the remnants of hope any of us had of finding our friends. Dead, alive, or undead.
“But we’ve accounted for everybody else on that patrol except for Billy and Ian,” Aaron insisted.
“That’s because they made sure to put every single soldier from that foraging team on display,” Barry said.
