On a full stomach he gathered his belongings, received a set of keys from Luke, and said farewell to all three of them on the front porch. He thanked the men for their hospitality, and for saving him, and openly wished they could stay in touch. Before turning to leave, he gave Luke a look with a nod, indicating he wanted him to talk Albert into the right course of action before more marauders came to the neighborhood. They lacked the skills and the numbers to make a stand on their property, particularly with a child involved.
During one of the last warm days in the fall, the sun shined from a virtually cloudless sky, giving the impression all was well in the world until Albert opened the front gate and Metzger spied five undead in the vicinity. Unwilling to leave them there for the residents to deal with, he drew his short sword and made his way to each of the walkers before they could surround him. He wasn’t going to give them the opportunity to claw at him or use their teeth, so he dropped his excess gear and went to each one of them individually, slicing through the center of their craniums with precision swings.
Blood spewed from the fresh wounds, but it didn’t gush or spurt. On some rudimentary level the undead still lived, though they did not appear to breathe. Their senses of hearing, smell, and sight all seemed to function at an almost normal human level, and blood remained a liquid in their systems, whether it flowed or not.
Metzger felt less out of breath each time he confronted the undead and did battle with them. He attributed this to both calmer nerves and getting into better physical condition over the course of the past month. They weren’t exactly adept at silent attacks, often groaning and hissing with excitement when they spotted potential prey. And while he didn’t procrastinate when dispatching any zombies, Metzger did study how his attacks affected them and their overall condition.
The first four zombies had headed directly for him, inadvertently making a semicircle which allowed him to slice through their heads with relative ease, dropping them all immediately to the ground. When the fifth one approached him he stabbed it several times in the chest, legs, and arms, backing away each time as he did so because the wounds failed to faze the zombie in the slightest. Only when it started gnashing its teeth and chomping repeatedly did he finally kick it in the knee hard enough to break the joint and topple the attacker to the ground. Feeling no pain whatsoever, the zombie struggled to regain any footing for its next attack and Metzger decided to cut through its skull with the sword before it discovered it still had one good leg for footing.
He watched the top half of the skull fall to the pavement, looking something like an upended turtle with the rounded portion seesawing on the ground, part of the graying brain still inside. Taking a quick look around, he heard and saw nothing, so he gathered up his belongings and headed toward the gray Toyota Prius Luke told him was parked in a driveway three houses down. Careful as ever, Metzger checked the alley where it was parked for any danger, which included looking beneath the car.
From experience, he knew zombies sometimes preferred to lie around in a dormant state until something came their way.
Satisfied no immediate danger surrounded him, he opened the car and threw his belongings inside the trunk and backseat. He slid into the driver’s seat, and pushed the button on the dashboard to start the vehicle, pausing a moment in thought. His objective, the only objective that mattered in this moment, awaited him mere city blocks away.
Mere minutes, in fact.
A wave of hesitation crashed over him, because not traveling there meant the possibility of his parents alive and well would always exist in his mind. He didn’t want to see them in a walking state of rot, and if he found such a horrific sight, Metzger didn’t know if he could finish the job. Closing his eyes, he knew his parents wouldn’t want to walk around like monsters, endangering people and animals still among the living.
The fact also remained that he’d promised his brother he would find out the truth so they could move forward to the next hurdle, or hurdles, before them.
Opening his eyes as he exhaled through his nose, Metzger decided to visit his old neighborhood one last time and discover what was certain to be a painful truth.
Four
Driving to the familiar home he had visited for years when staying with his folks wasn’t very difficult to reach. Unlike the highways and interstates, the city streets weren’t completely littered with vehicles. Of course the undead staggered here and there, sometimes in packs and often times in solo fashion. Metzger avoided them whenever possible, not stopping to deal with any of them individually because he still wondered if looters remained in the area.
Very few houses he passed retained any sort of natural appearance. Most of their yards were strewn with debris, household items, and occasionally a dead body that didn’t move. Metzger wondered why some bodies failed to reanimate, because some of them didn’t have obvious head trauma. He tried to drive carefully, but quickly, because while the hybrid car traveled rather quietly the undead still spied it and heard debris crunching beneath its tires, which drew them to it.
Luckily for him they didn’t move very quickly, and he was able to lose them around a left turn before pulling onto the street he barely found familiar. Metzger’s heart sunk when he found the street in worse disrepair than the others he’d traveled to get there. Residential windows were smashed, doors kicked open, and patches of grass were barely visible through the items discarded on every yard. Because the street was part of an isolated neighborhood, with limited ways in and out, the houses were likely targeted because the undead couldn’t easily navigate the few streets, fences, and shrubs surrounding the houses there.
While that likely held true a month ago, time allowed them to find their way everywhere, including this particular neighborhood. Metzger didn’t care, so long as he didn’t have to deal with more assholes like the ones who tried to behead him on the Harley. He couldn’t believe the world had become so cutthroat in just a month’s time, when survivors could further their cause by banding together. Groups were essential to surviving the apocalypse long-term, but Metzger hadn’t found a pack worth joining, and he still hadn’t completed his two personal missions.
He stopped down the street from the familiar house, in part because debris blocked the road, but also because he wanted time to approach the house and gauge exactly what awaited him. Once again the nagging doubt hung over him like a dark cloud, even as he stepped from the car and quietly shut the door without looking at it. His eyes scanned the street ahead for any lurking danger before he turned in place to take in the remainder of his surroundings. Seeing nothing dangerous, he let his mind slip back in time when his parents awaited his arrival on the porch, or neighbors said hello whenever he came and went.
Now those people probably wandered the streets in a strange purgatory, craving flesh while they shuffled aimlessly along.
Metzger began moving towards the house, feeling unsettled by the complete lack of noise around him. Once the sound of industry echoed through the Buffalo area, and even after the ships stopped traveling Lake Erie the city survived by other means. A wind farm replaced one of the major rail and boatyards, and even the whoosh of the giant propellers no longer reached the suburbs. Only the sound of his motorcycle boots clopping against the concrete reached his ears, and he looked through the windows of each house as he passed.
In the green house immediately before his parents’ residence he stopped in his tracks to look at the haunting view in the front picture window. He spotted what appeared to be a mannequin in the blood-spotted window with tattered curtains. The figure wore clothes soiled with various maroon and brown colors, and it slowly turned his way due to a complete lack of anything else to occupy its time. When the faded brown eyes spied him, the figure put its hands against the window, trying in vain to venture outside, like a hamster trapped in a plastic cage.
“Mr. Garvey,” Metzger muttered under his breath, recognizing the familiar neighbor, even in a deteriorated state.
He wanted to walk up
the front stairs and put the poor soul out of his misery, but stepping inside the house might present other unseen dangers. Sighing to himself, Metzger planned to move on when another figure walked to the window beside Charles Garvey. Wearing a floral print dress, the man’s granddaughter was frozen in time as a five-year-old child, her attire also stained, and her face a twisted snarl when she turned and saw a living person standing outside. Like her grandfather she clawed at the window, causing a tear to form in Metzger’s right eye. He hadn’t stuck around Ohio long enough to see loved ones and colleagues transform into monsters, but this scene made him face the awful truth for the first time.
After a moment of standing in place, stunned by what he saw, Metzger continued toward the more familiar yellow house. Only a month into the apocalypse, it wasn’t obscured by overgrown shrubs, faded from the sun, or coated in dust. Except for the messy front yard, it looked much as it had the last time he paid a visit.
The moment he stepped around some empty cans, a backpack, and a few trash bags Metzger turned to see a highly disheartening scene at the front door.
Although the porch appeared mostly intact, a bloody handprint stained the paint along the jam. Even the mailbox hanging beside the door had fell victim to bloody graffiti, a few junk mail letters still jutting upward past the open metal flap. Memories of the last conversation with his parents haunted him because it felt completely unfinished, much like the scene before him. He suspected all along that things hadn’t ended well for his folks, but the front door, open a few inches as though inviting everyone inside to impending doom, concerned him.
Wincing, he drew a large knife from the sheath along his belt as his right foot hit the bottom step. He heard the clop of his boot against the wood, wondering if the noise might attract any nearby undead. His knuckles gripped the handle a bit more tightly as he reached the landing, pausing momentarily at the threshold. Hearing and seeing nothing unusual after a few seconds, Metzger quieted his breathing before slowly extending his fingers and pushing the door open.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him without turning around. Surprised it still latched, and hadn’t been damaged or kicked in, Metzger stood perfectly still a moment. He wanted to see if anything came for him while he breathed in what he suspected was his final trip to the old homestead. If he failed to find his parents, he thought of no reason to ever return to the house, or the Buffalo area for that matter.
Despite the ominous exterior of the house, Metzger felt a rush of shock and relief to see the inside of the residence very much intact. Just beyond the small foyer he found the living room complete with chairs, a sofa, and a coffee table that all remained untouched. The hardwood floors barely displayed a coating of dust, leading directly into the kitchen and the stairway that led to the spare bedrooms and bathroom on the second story.
A mantel held several family photographs of Metzger, his brother and his family, and a few old framed photos of the entire family. A painting of a farmer at work in his barn around dawn hung above the couch, still untouched by vandals or the effects of time. Several throw pillows still lined the couch, a few of them turned sideways, but not necessarily victims of a struggle. His mother loved candles with floral scents, and he thought he detected lilac and rose pedals from somewhere in the house.
Although the entire house only contained seven distinct rooms, Metzger felt a bit overwhelmed because each one he searched might hold no answers for him. And as the number dwindled, so did any hope Metzger held for finding his parents alive and safe. He didn’t want to face complete disappointment, but he couldn’t put off the inevitable, so he slowly walked to the kitchen to cross it off his list.
Continuing to check around him for any silent undead that might silently approach, Metzger stepped into the kitchen and looked at the table, which still had a plate and a stained empty glass, long since deprived of any contents they held. Vermin likely stole what morsels remained atop the plate, if any, before seeking refuge somewhere else. He opened the refrigerator, finding it stocked with the usual condiments and some containers with moldy leftovers. Fearing his parents met an agonizing end, he opened the pantry, finding a good number of canned goods lining the shelves. Unless they were forced from the house in a hurry and dared not return, his folks would have taken what food and supplies they could have carried.
In a cupboard he found the one item he absolutely needed to find if he couldn’t locate his parents, in the form of a satellite phone. His father insisted upon buying the expensive phone just in case their oldest son couldn’t communicate with them through conventional means. Although Metzger’s father wasn’t a prepper, he often took precautions to make certain his family could communicate even if power and utilities crashed.
At this point absolutely everything had failed, or soon would, making his father appear wiser than ever.
Working on low-Earth orbiting satellites, or sometimes the geosynchronous types, the phones lacked the clarity and transmission speed of cell phones, and sometimes required the user to be outdoors or poised beneath a satellite at the right point in its orbit. Metzger looked at the phone as an insurance policy, simply another way for his brother to reach him if all else failed.
He scooped up the phone and the charger, feeling fortunate the phone already possessed a full charge. His brother knew cell phones were due to become little more than paperweights once their towers lost power, so he informed Metzger about the sat phone, figuring it was the one sure way for them to stay in touch.
Knowing that lingering in one spot might leave him vulnerable, Metzger checked the enclosed back porch, finding both entrance doors locked and secured. Returning inside, he checked the master bedroom on the ground level. His parents had chosen this space to avoid climbing stairs any more than necessary. He found it eerie how orderly everything appeared, as though they had packed and left for vacation rather than experienced the end of the world. The green and white comforter was made and tucked atop the bed, and the pillows looked freshly fluffed.
He checked under the bed, inside both closets, and the attached bathroom, finding nothing living or dead. Both of the closets appeared fully stocked with clothes, as though his parents hadn’t packed a thing for travel, which left him thinking they didn’t leave voluntarily, or left hurriedly. Part of him considered grabbing a few of his father’s clean clothes for the road, but doing so felt insensitive. His parents would heed such an act no mind, but Metzger felt as though claiming their belongings meant he’d given up hope of finding them. He wasn’t ready to throw in the towel quite yet, though he felt reasonably certain they weren’t in the house, or even nearby.
With the ground floor inspected he ascended the stairway, seeing nothing in the common area upstairs. Immediately he noticed all three bedrooms and the shared bathroom had their doors closed, which disturbed him. Closed doors were always a mystery, sometimes with gnashing teeth and decaying flesh on the other side.
Atop the stairway a bedroom awaited him on the right, so he rapped on the door with his knuckles, waiting a few seconds for any noise from the other side. Nothing audible reached his ears, so he slowly cracked the door open, looking inside before he dared enter. Much like the downstairs, the room appeared very neat and tidy, as though his parents had decided to give it a thorough cleaning before fleeing for their lives. He checked every nook and cranny, finding no undead and no clues about what might have happened to his parents.
He checked the other two bedrooms next, finding them equally tidy and free of hazards. Growing frustrated, Metzger simply wanted some answers because he expected to hear from his brother in the near future. As upside-down as the world was turned, he planned on finding something inside the house. He’d mentally prepared himself to see bodies torn apart, or blood stains on every wall, but it looked more like his parents carefully packed their belongings and crossed the border into Canada.
He knew better, because what few news reports he saw before network television crashed revealed that no country provided s
afe haven.
Without much regard for his own safety he opened the bathroom door before knocking, finding only a spotless bathtub and vanity inside. The small window on the other side of the room provided some natural light, and for a moment the restroom looked like heaven within a dream it was so white. His father had won that battle, giving the guest bathroom a sterile look after his mother splashed the master bedroom and bathroom with color schemes.
Metzger checked behind the shower curtain, finding nothing mobile waiting for him. He whisked the curtain back to its original position, sighing to himself at the thought of only one area within the house left to check. Instinctively he checked that all of his usual weapons remained holstered and sheathed along his belt before descending the main staircase. His footsteps echoed through the empty house that used to be full of life as he skipped down the first few steps like he did in his younger days in their previous residence. Quickly feeling guilty for reminiscing in such dark times, he slowed his pace to a somber walk the remainder of the way down.
When he reached the bottom he looked to the front door, finding it closed the way he left it with no flesh-munching undead clawing at it from the other side. He couldn’t get over how quiet the neighborhood remained, as though inviting him to drop everything and simply make a go of it in familiar territory. Too many unresolved issues stood in his way, so he couldn’t fathom making a decision about where to call home quite yet. Nowhere felt safe, and too many questions remained about his parents, his extended family, and whether anything other than head trauma could stop the undead, particularly in mass quantities.
The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again Page 5
