Desperate people gravitated towards hope and large groups, sometimes with the opposite result of their desires.
A few miles passed in a blur, though Metzger took note of fewer and fewer undead the further into town he traveled. Experience taught him that urban areas were more densely populated with survivors and undead, so his concerns heightened. He entered a business district that once included numerous gas stations and restaurants, finally spying more dead walkers among fewer vehicles. It looked as though someone had made an effort to move many of the vehicles to the side of the streets, so business parking lots all looked like used car lots, packed from end to end.
Figuring he had a vast choice of options when he wanted to ditch the Harley, Metzger didn’t take time to study the makes and models just yet. He wanted to get through the business district and closer to home, his stomach still aching because his mind was plagued with the idea of finding an image at home that would haunt him forever. When he finally neared a residential neighborhood a few minutes later he spotted a pickup truck approaching an intersection with a driver, passenger, and someone standing in the truck bed toting a shotgun.
Metzger drew to a complete stop at a non-functioning stop light, watching the truck as it passed. It seemed impossible that everyone in the truck failed to notice him, but even the person in the back glanced with brief indifference at the man on the large motorcycle. Hesitating only a few seconds, Metzger rode forward, shifting into second gear quickly before the truck crew changed their minds and turned around.
He wondered who had taken the time to clear so many streets in the suburb, and why, when his motorcycle entered a rather barren stretch of road. A cluster of storage barrels were located on both sides of the road ahead of him, causing his survival instinct to kick in again because they certainly didn’t belong there. His body tensed the second he noticed a chain lying across the road, and as it rose to a taut position about the height of the barrels he prepared for emergency measures.
In an action movie he simply would have laid down the Harley and popped up, uninjured, to draw his weapon and gun down his assailants one by one as the bike skidded down the road with an unrealistic amount of sparks shooting upward.
In the real world he wasn’t a thoroughly accomplished motorcycle rider, though he knew how to lay down a bike well enough to skid beneath the chain and avoid damage to his torso or throat altogether. Beyond the chain is where things went wrong, however, as part of the Harley clipped the blacktop and sent the bike into a double flip. Everything happened so quickly that Metzger only saw the Harley hovering over him for the briefest of moments before the top of the seat landed on his shoulder, possibly breaking his left collarbone as pain shot through that area of his body.
The bike landed behind him and teetered on two wheels briefly as though it might fall his way. Figuring his chances were fifty percent with the Harley landing on him, Metzger reached for the sidearm with his right hand, prepared to defend himself against the four men he’d already spied emerging from behind the barrels.
Likely weighted down with concrete, the barrels had secured the chain to ensure the bike’s momentum couldn’t plow through the crude barricade. Two of the men held baseball bats, and the other two were armed with shotguns, making Metzger’s choice of whom to take out first rather easy. Inside the helmet he could only hear his heavy breathing as he pulled the .357 from its holster while cocking the hammer. He typically used the single action mode for accuracy when shooting the undead one at a time, but in a tactical situation it wasn’t very prudent.
This was not a negotiation scenario because they hadn’t said a word and immediately set to stalking him. He opened fire immediately on the shotgun goon to the right, winging him enough to floor him. The second shotgun carrier brought his gun up immediately, prepared to end Metzger’s life when something behind him drew his attention. From the corner of his helmet visor Metzger spied the truck from earlier making a hard stop behind the group of thugs, likely ready to start a turf war for whatever supplies he carried.
Metzger raised the revolver as he pulled the hammer a second time, prepared to dispatch the second shotgun thug when a large shadow eclipsed the sun and he realized the bike wasn’t going to fall safely away from him.
“Oh, fuck,” Metzger muttered to himself before the Harley came crashing down on his helmet, sending him into blackness.
Two
Metzger immediately sensed a completely different environment when he awoke from unconsciousness. He wondered if he might be dreaming, because his surroundings felt safe, almost peaceful in fact. There wasn’t any wind blowing terrible odors into his nostrils, and in fact he thought he smelled a scented candle of some kind. It took him back to his grandmother’s house as a child, thinking of the handmade soap bars and their floral aromas on the farm outside of city limits.
Images of furniture began to materialize around him, letting him know he was indoors, but not necessarily safe because his hands were handcuffed to bedposts. If not for the fact that he was restrained, Metzger might have enjoyed the feeling of tranquility that lying atop a bed in a clean house provided. He tested the sturdiness of the handcuffs by tugging on them a few times, finding they were less likely to give than the wooden bedposts they were wrapped around.
His left shoulder hurt like hell, but he felt confident the collarbone wasn’t broken. It wasn’t until he turned his head to look at a nearby window that he realized a pounding pressurized sensation like two large hands were clamping both sides of his skull and pushing inward. Thinking he might have sustained a concussion from the crash and his motorcycle landing atop his helmet, Metzger discovered a purple sky that indicated dusk was upon his home city.
He certainly wasn’t reaching his objective on this day, and he wondered if living to see morning would pan out. If the people who set the snare simply wanted to loot his belongings, there wasn’t any need to abduct him. They simply could have killed him or left him in the middle of the road for zombies to feast on before he ever regained consciousness. He couldn’t reach any good conclusion about why someone might want to hold him captive.
Although he couldn’t see much, Metzger figured he was inside a multi-level house, possibly built during the Victorian era. Objects on the ground outside of the window appeared lower, and the skyline was clearly visible, meaning the house likely had two or three stories. As for the room, aside from the bed he saw a dresser complete with mirror, a rocking chair a few feet from the bed, an end table with a lamp that seemed to be functioning properly, and three large boxes stacked in one corner. For a change there weren’t streaks of blood, litter, grime, or dead bodies within his line of sight.
Only his jacket had been removed, leading him to believe he hadn’t been abducted by looters who wanted his belongings or his life. His chaps and boots remained below his torso, which proved a bit uncomfortable when he wasn’t riding where the breeze and the weather kept him cool. Although curious about his captors, he didn’t want to yell out and make a bad first impression. The positioning of his body made any kind of relaxation impossible, even if he suddenly adopted a philosophy of letting the chips fall where they may.
His questions were answered in part when a young girl, probably around eight years of age, stepped to the bedroom door and stopped at the threshold for a look at him. Metzger tried to avoid staring at her, and he definitely didn’t want to talk to her because adults were certainly nearby. The last thing he wanted to do was present himself as a manipulator of children or some kind of evil bastard. Appearing somewhat sheepish to him, she deflected her looks from him to the floor, causing him to wonder how much, or how little, she had seen of this harsh new world.
Her olive skin made him question her ethnicity, not that such a fact mattered much considering his predicament.
Metzger didn’t have to decide his next move because a pair of hands came to rest on the girl’s shoulders, gently ushering her away from the door. A slightly overweight man just over forty years in age came
into view at the doorway, staring at Metzger through trendy eyeglasses. The man’s dirty blond hair seemed thick and well-groomed, and a trimmed beard with blond and gray hairs covered much of his lower jaw. He wore blue jeans and a flannel shirt, both clean as though the apocalypse hadn’t yet struck this part of the city.
Leaning against the doorway, he folded his arms and continued to scrutinize Metzger as though he wanted the handcuffed man to initiate a conversation.
“Are the cuffs for my protection or yours?” Metzger finally asked in a neutral tone, not wanting to anger this man until he understood his motives.
“They’re for ours,” the man answered with a slight lisp.
“I’m not dangerous. I was attacked out on the highway.”
“We know,” the man answered. “Just because someone wanted your things doesn’t mean you aren’t dangerous, too.”
Metzger groaned, really not having a reasonable way to explain his innocence in the entire ordeal since this man didn’t seem inclined to believe him.
“Luke, what are you doing?” another man’s voice called from behind the first.
When the second man came into view, he appeared about twenty years older than the first, with gray, thinning hair shaved close to his scalp. A five o’clock shadow adorned the lower half of his face, but his piercing blue eyes immediately looked to Metzger with concern and surprise. He apparently hadn’t expected to see him awake quite so soon.
“Luke, this is no way to treat the man,” he said, gently caressing the first man’s shoulders a few seconds before stepping inside the room.
Metzger quickly assessed that the two men were more than just friends, though he questioned how the girl fit into their living situation.
He tensed as the older man drew closer until he realized the man was holding a key in one hand, as opposed to a knife.
“A little jumpy?” the man asked as he undid the handcuffs, much to the chagrin of his partner standing with folded arms at the doorway.
“Everything about this world makes me a little jumpy,” Metzger answered, rubbing his wrists once free of the handcuffs.
“You took quite a spill on the road,” the man said. “We didn’t want to take any chances in case you had a head injury.”
“It hurts, but I don’t think I’m a danger to anyone.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” the man at the doorway said.
“Luke! That’s enough!”
The older man provided an apologetic look as Metzger swung his feet to the side of the bed to try regaining full circulation.
“I’m Albert,” he said as he shook hands with Metzger. “Before all of this happened I was an ER nurse in Buffalo.”
Metzger stood, trying to stretch his appendages and assess any damage to his body from the motorcycle fall.
“Why are you trusting me?” he asked.
“Because you’re alone. Those pricks wouldn’t have targeted you if you were a real threat.”
Supposing that made sense, Metzger shrugged.
“My bike?”
“We think the bastards took it. But we managed to fend them off long enough to get most of your weapons and supplies.”
“Thank you,” Metzger said. “I’m Dan, and I was a teacher in Cincinnati when the world fell apart.”
“And what brings you back here?” the husky man asked suspiciously.
“I’m from the area and I never found out what happened to my parents. They live a few miles from here. Well, assuming here is close to where I was ambushed.”
“You’ll have to forgive my partner,” Albert said. “He thinks everyone is the enemy.”
“It’s probably not the worst credo to stand by these days.”
Metzger felt like a third wheel in their cozy setup, knowing it was too dangerous to step outside at night, although he felt uncomfortable staying. He wanted to trust two gay men and their adopted daughter, but he knew some people posed a far greater threat than the undead. Until his weapons were returned to him and he saw daylight outside, Metzger couldn’t fathom feeling remotely comfortable.
“Luke, why don’t you go check on Samantha?” Albert suggested.
Without so much as a word, the younger man provided a sour look before doing an about face and leaving the doorway.
“He’s probably a little bit sensitive with another man in the house.”
“Have the three of you been alone since this began?”
Albert took a seat in the rocking chair to get comfortable before continuing their conversation.
“I was with Luke before all of this began. He’s always felt a bit insecure because for the longest time I made most of the money. Just before the world fell apart he received a promotion to technology director at one of the local museums. It finally offered him some influence and a hefty raise. Just when he thought we were on equal footing the world went and pulled the rug out from under him.”
“The world doesn’t care about money these days,” Metzger stated the obvious.
“Yes. And with a complete lack of survival skills, Luke is now forced to rely upon me once again. I’m teaching him what I know, like how to shoot and scavenge for food, but it’s tough when we’re forced to take care of a young one.”
“Was she orphaned when everything went down?”
“Yes. Samantha lived a few doors down and the poor thing came to us covered in blood, in complete shock, the morning everything went crazy. Like a lot of people her parents were torn to shreds before they had a grasp of what was going on around them. Her father was a black lawyer in the area, and her mother a nice white lady who tutored and did taxes during the spring. They made Luke and me feel like we weren’t the only odd ducks on the block.”
Metzger rubbed his wrists, trying to regain full circulation and lose the red circles that the handcuffs created.
“I might as well give you the nickel tour,” Albert said, standing from the chair as Metzger slowly rose from the bed to follow him.
For the first time Metzger noticed the man had a holstered pistol tucked into his backside, which proved he wasn’t entirely trusting of his guest after all.
“So you two lived here before everything went down and you’re still here?”
Albert nodded without turning around as they exited the bedroom.
“So far we’ve found everything we need in the Tonawanda area, and the house is pretty secure most of the time.”
“Most of the time?”
Albert shrugged, flipping on the light to a nearby bathroom to begin the tour.
“We still have power, but we try to keep light and noises to a minimum to avoid attracting undesirables. There’s no telling how long that’s going to last, so we stock up on candles and firewood.”
Metzger took a look inside the bathroom, which looked practically immaculate considering three people resided within the house. It featured a sink, a full bathtub with shower, toilet, and some white cabinets for storage.
“We still have hot water,” Albert noted.
“Nice.”
“So what’s your story?” Albert inquired as he showed Metzger room by room what the old Victorian house held, including two more bedrooms on the second level.
“I’m from this area, but I moved near Cincinnati to be with a girl I met during my college years. We reconnected on one of those online friend sites and started dating over the internet. I moved there when I got a job, but things didn’t work out between us.”
“Did she make it?” Albert asked as they descended the old wooden stairway.
“I don’t know. Things ended badly between us, so I never really checked.”
Metzger pictured more details of her in his mind, but he wasn’t going to tell his entire backstory and love life to a complete stranger. In truth, he knew a little more than he let on, but he wanted to push that first day of tragic circumstances out of his mind.
“Where do you hope to end up?” Albert asked, showing him the immense kitchen with an island for preparing food and
dining.
A rack full of pots and pans hung over the island, while the opposite side contained three stools with backrests for convenient dining.
“I’m trying to get east because my brother’s ship is heading to their base in Virginia.”
Albert shot him a strange look.
“He’s in the Navy,” Metzger explained. “I’m trying to figure out what happened to our parents before I meet up with him. I figure it’s a lot safer being around military guys with food and rations if I can make it there.”
“Makes sense.”
“I’ve gotta ask. How do you guys keep from getting overrun in this place?”
“Like I said, low profile for one,” Albert said as he walked toward the front door, opening it for them to look outside. “And the other reason is that.”
Metzger stared at a wooden gate that stood close to eight feet high, blocking the view of the street outside. He glanced left and right, finding that the gate surrounded the entire house, though the yard wasn’t very large because the neighborhood houses appeared very close in proximity.
He considered the structure an impending deathtrap because the neighborhood appeared dense with houses, which meant plenty of undead lurking in the area.
“Do you clear the area?” he asked.
“When we go out for supplies I usually clear the block. We don’t get many surprises since we keep things quiet.”
“You’re not going to be able to stay here forever,” Metzger noted. “There’s just as much danger from the living if they find out you have a safe haven with food and supplies.”
He realized what a colossal chance the trio took in saving him from certain death. Even if the people who stole his motorcycle didn’t kill him, they certainly would have left him for the undead to devour.
“I want to thank you for taking a chance on me out there.”
“You’re quite welcome,” Albert said with a nod. “I’m just glad you didn’t turn out to be some psychopath loner.”
The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again Page 2
