Apocalypse Alone

by David Rogers

  “I don’t know. They might know something.”

  “Maybe they’ve seen Byron.” Milo said immediately.

  “What if they’re …” Jessica said, trailing off only because she didn’t want to set Milo off. He was already eager, and skittish enough. She was too, but for different reasons; but she was also better at being realistic about it than the Houseboater was. At least, as far as she was concerned anyway.

  “Nothing about it looks, I don’t know, evil or whatever to me. It just looks like a decent defensive setup. Maybe a little more creative than anything we came up with in Afghanistan, but then again this is a swamp. Digging ditches is a little harder to do with the water table being so high, and sandbags or walls would require materials.”

  He lowered the binoculars and glanced at her. “Let’s just see what happens if we approach calmly.”

  Jessica took a slow breath, commanding herself to remain calm. Survivors were possibly dangerous, but she knew his default position was that talking to any they encountered could be useful. After a moment she shrugged slightly. “I guess we can always duck down beneath the grass and head back this way if we have to.” she said, gesturing at the road behind them.

  “Exactly. We’ll take it slow.”

  “So …” Milo said leadingly.

  Austin stepped on the pedals of his bike and swung back into motion. The other two followed suit, Jessica letting him ease up ahead a good five or six lengths before she started matching his speed.

  As they drew nearer, the “Mad Max” camp began to resolve into detail that she could pick out for herself. It wasn’t just four semi-trucks; it looked like a freaking village out of one of those movies. Somehow they’d assembled a large tarp that covered all four trailers with room to spare, shading it all from the incessant Florida sun. When she got closer still she figured out they’d roped smaller tarps together, forming the canopy.

  Smaller tarps had been affixed to the sides of some of the trailers in places; creating little lean-to looking areas that were further protected. Some of them had furniture — tables and chairs — beneath them, others only tables with what she thought were collections of tools or some other gear on them. There was a line running along one side, between the poles that supported the big overhead tarp, that held what could only be laundry drying.

  Folds had been seemingly purposefully placed in how the overhead tarp, the big one, hung. The center was higher than the outer edges, and there were two or three folds per side. Under each fold, right at the edge of the tarp, big barrels had been placed. Jessica gazed at them for a couple of seconds before realizing they were rain barrels, to supply the survivors with whatever water they could capture during the still frequent rains that came most afternoons.

  The trucks themselves seemed to have turned into observation posts; there were boards in place atop the cabs that converted the vehicles into flat platforms. Two of them held people, and they’d noticed the trio of bicycles approaching. There were other people visible as well, in and around the little camp. Jessica counted at least ten.

  Most of them seemed to be armed, at least with a long gun that was visible even at a distance; but that didn’t particularly alarm her. She’d, unhappily and more unwillingly than was probably healthy in the face of zombies eager to eat anyone they could get their cold hands on, made her peace with the necessity of weapons. Anyone still breathing needed a way to deal with the zombies.

  What she drew heart from was how the camp didn’t seem to spring into any sort of flurry of action as her little group appeared. No guns came off shoulders or pointed in their direction; no scramble of feet erupted as people rushed to organize any sort of defense or counter-attack. The two obvious lookouts stood watching their approach, but the others seemed content with a few glances as they continued going about whatever they were doing.

  “Hello.” Austin called out when he was close enough to be heard comfortably.

  “Hi.” one of the lookouts called back.

  “Just passing through. Couldn’t help but notice you. Can we stop a minute, talk a little?”

  “Sure, if you want. But we’re not taking in strays.”

  “We’re not looking for a new home.” Austin assured him.

  “Nothing wrong with talking some then. Got any news?”

  “Things are still quiet around here, as far as we’ve seen. No hordes, no big packs, no problems.”

  “That’s why we set up out here.” the lookout said with a nod. “You guys gotten a look at any cities near the coasts recently?”

  “No, we steer clear.”

  “Same. Last we heard, they were buffets with teeth.”

  “Have you seen any other travelers in the last week?” Milo asked.

  “Just some regulars we’re on good terms with.”

  “Any of them named Byron, or Carlo?” Milo pressed. “Arcelia, Nate?”

  “No. Why; you lost some friends?”

  “He has.” Austin said. “My friend and I are helping him look around a little.”

  “Well, we haven’t had any foursomes come through, or anyone else looking like they’re missing someone in the recent past.”

  The other lookout spoke up, while Milo frowned unhappily. “We’re looking for someone who has a background in electrical stuff. Like wiring up battery banks. Generators. Anything like that?”

  “Afraid not, sorry.” Austin said, shaking his head. “You guys trying to pull something together?”

  “We’ve got some spots marked down where we know we can appropriate some solar panels, and there’s batteries all over the place if you’re willing to spend the time to bring them in. And we can put together a wind propeller with a little work, but we don’t have anyone who knows how to tie it into a generator. Might be handy to be able to get some power up, you know?”

  “I agree. If you want, we can send anyone we come across, who’s willing, in your direction.”

  “That’d be handy, thanks.”

  “Any problems around here?” Austin asked.

  “Like how?”

  “Bandits, crap like that.”

  “Oh. No.” the first lookout scratched at his shoulder for a moment. “I mean, our teams hear some shooting sometimes when we’re out closer to one of the towns, sometimes other places, but that’s just zombies we figure.”

  “Probably.” Austin agreed. “So quiet all the way around.”

  “Except zombies, yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  The second lookout spoke again. “How far out are you guys?”

  “From where?” Austin asked, as Jessica made herself not startle visibly. She didn’t like advertising where the house was. It was about as zombie proof as anything could be these days, but if armed people showed up to take a look, its defensibility rating plummeted sharply.

  “I mean, it ain’t like there’s a lot of big road trips anyone’s making these days, but you guys are new.”

  “We’re local, but not exactly neighbors. We spend most of our time closer around Palmdale, Labelle, that area. Except that his friends,” Austin said, gesturing at Milo, “were supposed to be poking around near the south end of the lake. So we’re detouring around the towns on its south side to get to where they were headed to have a look around.”

  “How long they been missing?”

  “A week.” Milo said.

  The second lookout snorted. The first simply shook his head. “Good luck.”

  “Well, thanks for the talk. Stay safe.” Austin said while Milo flinched at the casual dismissal of Byron’s chances.

  “Same to you.”

  Austin caught Jessica’s eye, and she kicked off with him as he started pedaling again. Milo took a few seconds longer, but she heard his bike following as they went past the truck camp and started heading east again.

  Chapter Four — New town, same story

  “Nineteen.” Candice panted, bouncing off the wall at the end of the back hallway on her outstretched hands and turning to run back towa
rd the front of the house. She darted down the hall, across the living room, and into the sitting room that was where she tended to spend a lot of her days. She bounced off the wall there, again using hands and arms to help her redirect her momentum as she turned, and ran back toward the back hallway.

  “Twenty.” she said as she caught herself against the wall next to her, and mom and Austin’s, bedrooms. Stopping, she drew a deep breath, then turned more normally to walk back up the hallway. She walked the same track she’d just been running back and forth along, touched the sitting room wall, went back to the hallway wall, five more times.

  Austin was a big fan of fitness. And mom had seemed to agree with his suggestions, which Candice was sure were tailored to fit in with mom’s preference for her to stay inside. Fortunately she was still small enough that it was possible, sort of, to run in the house. The routine she’d settled into, which she tried to stick to, involved the laps back and forth across the house, caroming off the walls, before a cooldown walk to stretch what Austin called the “cardio phase” out a little more.

  After the cardio, she had what he called “strength and fitness.” Candice liked the running the most, but she never liked disappointing Austin. He never yelled, never raised his voice, never even really got any sort of tone or look on his face when she did something she knew he didn’t like; but when he did, she just sort of knew it somehow. Mom would yell, sometimes, or more often talk to her — the worst was the finger that she would point when she was really mad — but Austin’s disapproval was somehow worse.

  If she didn’t keep up the exercise, Candice knew he’d know when he and mom got back. Another thing about Austin was he tended to just know things, even things that happened when he wasn’t around. Like when he got back from a run one time and asked mom if she’d checked the fishing lines yet. He asked when he was still on the ladder, and even as he spoke Candice just sensed he knew the answer.

  Mom hadn’t been mad, and neither had Austin; which was the best thing Candice liked about them when it came to how they interacted. Whether it was mom talking to Austin, or him talking to her, they never got upset. They always talked like they liked each other, even when they were teasing each other. Which was a lot. Candice liked that too.

  Flopping down on the floor in the sitting room, Candice started her pushups. She did them properly, as Austin termed it; using her arms to lift her whole body up off the floor until she was balanced on hands and toes, then lowering slowly back down. The lowering was as important as the lifting; just dropping back to the floor missed good exercise, Austin said.

  She did ten, the last two coming slower than the first two, then rolled over on her back. A brief moment to catch her breath, then she scooted over to the sofa where she could hook her feet beneath it and start her sit-ups. These were easier, but she made herself do them as smoothly and steadily as she was supposed to. Rushing through them used momentum instead of her muscles, and the point was to work her muscles.

  Another breather, then Candice slid away and rolled back on her front to do another set of pushups. These were harder still, since she was now getting tired. But she did ten more, and then ten more sit-ups, before she lay still on the floor and was done for the day with the exercises.

  When she caught her breath, and the slight heavy sensation of exertion left her arms and legs, she rolled back to her feet and stood up. Since she was up, and she’d been busy for a bit, she took a tour around the house peeking through the little peepholes mom and Austin had installed in the walls. They were all real peepholes, like in the front door at home back in Atlanta; but taken from houses Austin and mom had found. None of them were drilled to where she could reach them, but she was used to that; she dragged a chair around with her to stand on so she could peer out.

  Everything outside looked normal. No zombies, no people. Candice nodded to herself and put the chair back in the sitting room, then pondered for a moment. Her daily chores were all done; water drawn and boiled and poured into the storage tote that held all the drinkable water. The bathrooms both had full toilet tanks. She’d swept the house, flicking it all out onto the back deck, where wind would whisk it away. All the breakfast dishes were clean and back in the totes that held the cookware and dishes.

  That was basically it, especially with just herself in the house. The pantry and shelves and stacks of supplies were all already organized, and wouldn’t have somehow disarranged themselves without anyone fiddling with them. What to do?

  Candice went into the kitchen, which was really used for storage instead of cooking with no power or gas or water supplying any of the appliances, and looked at the wind-up clock mom kept on the counter. It was almost noon. She decided she was hungry, and went into the pantry. While mom supervised, and had made the initial divisions, Candice was in charge of keeping it sorted and neat. She didn’t even really have to look at the label when she reached for a can of chicken soup and another of green beans; she knew where everything was, even the stuff on the upper shelves that she had to stand on a chair to reach.

  The last of the “eternal stew” as mom called it had been eaten for breakfast, and not replenished with anything else since she and Austin were going to be gone. Candice could barely lift the stew pot anyway; it was heavy steel and held five gallons. Mom had a little trouble with it sometimes too. But that was okay; there were smaller pots that went on the fire just fine, and Austin had lifted the stew pot clear of the hook-and-stand it hung from when in use, so it was out of the way.

  She opened the cans, dumped them into a saucepan, added another can of water and a handful of broken up spaghetti strands, and lifted the cover on the fire pit. After stirring the coals around with a stick to get them going, she set the rack Austin had made by bending some barbecue grate into a shelf that would stand up on its own over the coals. The saucepan went on that, and she pulled her chair closer to the fire to wait with a long cooking spoon to stir the soup with so it heated evenly and didn’t burn.

  Lunch would be over pretty quick, she thought as she stirred and waited for the fire to work. She couldn’t wash the pot until after supper, since it would take her two sittings to eat all of the soup. With supper she’d get pop tarts, or maybe some cookies; she hadn’t decided yet. And bug juice, which was what Austin called Kool-Aid. There were still tons of drink mixes, from coffee and tea that she didn’t like — especially the coffee, yuck — to more fruity envelopes and cans of flavorful powders. And sugar; there was still bag after bag of it stored in one of the bedrooms.

  Candice scraped the bottom of the saucepan with the spoon as the first bubbles of boiling broke the surface, making sure nothing was sticking or burning, and thought about what she could do with the afternoon. Lunch was here, and supper was a ways off. She eventually decided that even if she couldn’t work on the garden, she could still keep reading about it. Mom hadn’t gone through all the books yet, she was certain. There might be something in there that would be helpful.

  When the soup was ready, she took it off and moved the rack to the side of the pit using a stick. She let the soup cool for a few minutes, then ate her fill directly from it before sticking it back on the rack with the lid on where it would remain warm. Mom had stressed this repeatedly; if the food didn’t stay warm, it wasn’t safe to eat after a couple of hours. Lunch to supper was too long to let the soup sit out.

  Leaving the back deck, she skipped back into the sitting room and looked through the gardening books to find one. With the house closed up — she normally opened one of the shutters to let some light in, but mom had forbidden that while she and Austin were away — Candice took the book back out to the deck and settled down to read.

  * * * * *

  “That’s not too bad.” Austin said, standing straddled across the bike with his feet on the ground.

  “We’ve seen more.” Jessica agreed.

  “More?” Milo said uneasily.

  Jessica sat on the urge to say something sharp to him, perhaps along the lines of this
whole charade being his idea. Instead she just reached into one of her many pockets and pulled out the map she’d brought. Torn from a larger one that covered the entire state, the piece she had with her was only for the lateral section of the state that covered Lake Okeechobee, from Sarasota and Port St. Lucie in the north to Naples and Fort Lauderdale in the south.

  “That’s South Bay.” Austin said, glancing at Jessica as she broke the seal on the plastic bag and extracted the map. “We’re on US-27, and have come north.”

  “Right.” she muttered, spreading then refolding the map to find the city. She knew they were on the south side of the lake … “Ah, here we go. Yeah, gotta be. And Belle Glade’s just east of it.” She looked up, at Austin. “We’re probably going to have to do some zig-zagging to circle Belle Glade.”

  “Not enough major roads, right?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.” Jessica said with a nod. “I mean, Florida-80 goes through the south side before cutting straight in. And the north side looks like it’s sort of spilled out some, all the buildings don’t just stop like they do on the other three sides.”

  “We’ll take it slow, do the circle and have a look.” Austin said. “If we need to cut cross-country, push or carry the bikes, or even pull back and change the circuit, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “The farms are everywhere. Except on the northwest side, where the main canal comes down from the lake before … yeah, it reaches to, I don’t know, a mile or so maybe above South Bay, then it loops back into the lake. Over toward Lake Harbor. Everything on the lake side of the canal looks like it’s wide open.”

  “Swamp.” Milo said.

  “Sorry?” Jessica said, looking at him.

  He shrugged uneasily. “I was on the water over that way day before yesterday, got a good look from the lake and in the canal when I was looking for Byron’s boat. It’s all swamp, marsh, you know.”

  “We really don’t want to get caught up in the swamp.” Austin said. “It’ll slow us down a lot, sap energy.”

  “Zombies probably worse than us.” Jessica said, thinking of how any obstacle gave the monsters so much trouble. They were best on flat and clear ground. Even curbs tended to trip them up and send them tumbling. The problem was they usually got right back up, in zombie fashion, and kept staggering after whatever had caught what passed for the zombie’s attention.