by TW Brown
I heard somebody behind me start to cry as I stood and drew my knife from my belt. I realized in that moment that I hadn’t even asked him how he’d been bitten. Did it matter? Were we reaching a point where death was now just the way of things?
I didn’t have any answers. All I knew was that we’d just lost two people in our group. The problem I was facing now was keeping a promise. Rickey had made it clear that he didn’t want to come back as one of those things. I’d asked him if he wanted me to be sure first, and he’d told me in no uncertain terms that he did not want to spend a single second as one of “those unnatural monsters.” And I realized again that, at no point in our conversation, had he used the term zombie.
I didn’t wait for his eyes to open. I eased the bottle from his hand, pulled the pillow from under his head, put it over his face, and then drove a knife into it. The person behind me that had been crying made a gasp to punctuate my strike.
I jerked the blade free and wiped it on the bedding, then grabbed the comforter and threw it over the pillow so that I wouldn’t have to look at the dark stain blooming around the puncture hole.
After a watch rotation was set, I went into the living room and stretched out on the couch. Surprisingly, I felt my eyes sliding shut within moments.
6
Yet Another Move
Nobody was more surprised than I was at the fact that we were able to stay put for five days with almost no problems. On occasion, one of us would have to slip out and take down a pesky zombie that decided to paw at our door for some unknown reason.
The best thing about this place was that one of the upstairs bedrooms had a window that gave a great view of a large portion of the parking lot. It also let us see that, while there were zombies wandering the area, it was surprisingly thin.
The cupboards gave us plenty of food to glean, and there were five cases of bottled water in the pantry. It looked as if maybe things went bad for this family just after they stocked up to hunker down. We each even had the luxury of having our own brand-new toothbrush still in the package.
The only down side was that we had to use cold water from the tank on the backs of the upstairs and downstairs toilets since obviously the water service plants were all off-line. But that still allowed each of us to dunk a large washcloth into a bowl and clean up.
Also, I had to venture out to a few of the nearby residences to try and find dog food for Chewie. That had some other unfortunate consequences. She’d grown up on a pretty strict and regular diet. Sometimes, our grocery bill for her was as much as mine and Steph’s. Now, she was forced to make do like the rest of us. That wreaked havoc on her stomach. Also, it wasn’t like I could just take her outside to do her business anytime I wanted.
What I ended up doing was breaking in to the condo next door. At first, Chewie was not having any of it, but I had to get her to use the bathroom indoors. I was forced to use a trick that I’d learned in a book about potty training. It involves inserting something in a delicate place which forces her to expel it, hopefully along with going to the bathroom at the same time. The look on her face was pathetic, and I could almost hear her trying to ask me “What madness is this?”
I made it a habit to take her before and after each watch shift. The only time I made an exception was if she started sniffing around the door. That had always been her tell in normal times. Usually, she would sleep at my feet during my shifts.
Twice during my own watch, I spotted a living person move through the area. Once, it was just a single person—it was almost impossible to tell with all the gear they were wearing if it was male of female—and they didn’t venture into any of the buildings. Judging by the backpack, I’d say the individual was pretty well stocked up for just one person. I had to wonder how long it would be before that burden either became too heavy, or was depleted to the point where scavenging would be necessary.
It was the second time that was more interesting, and told me what we would be facing out there when we eventually moved on. It was a group of five guys. None of them were shy about whooping it up as they strutted through the complex like it was just a normal day. I was only forced to wait for a short period of time before I discovered they were doing this on purpose.
The first zombie that wandered out to them had been a young woman. I doubt that it made a difference to them in regard to the gender. To these individuals, the zombies were now sport. It was easy picturing this same group before the dead got up and put us on the menu as they hung out on some downtown street corner. These were the ones who thought your walking was in the way of their skateboarding. These were the ones taking video of each other going over jumps, grinding on metal railings, and wiping out in spectacular fashion. And those wipeouts were always greeted by jeers and laughter. Very seldom did you see somebody rush in to see if the injured rider was okay.
Apparently the zombie apocalypse had simply offered them a new venue for their general jackassery.
I watched in fascination, unable to look away. One of the five peeled off, making quite a show of being the first to do so as he swaggered up to the first zombie to arrive…the woman. I found myself holding my breath as he caught her by the wrist as she swiped at him. In one fluid motion, he swept her legs out from under her and plopped down to straddle her chest, effectively pinning her arms to her sides.
For whatever reason, he thought it was a good idea to dangle his fingers over her snapping teeth. Twice, I was almost certain it got him the way he jerked back and screamed, only to turn and wave to his gathered audience.
By now, a few more of the undead had wandered into the area. They all started toward the lone individual who had grown bored with his first game and now got to his feet. As the zombie stood, he went into some sort of elaborate faux-martial arts demonstration as he taunted the creature with harmless slaps and sloppy spin kicks. Twice he lost his balance and ended up on his butt. Both times, he jumped up and assaulted the zombie like it had caused his fall.
By now, the rest of his group had spread out into a circle around their comrade. If the zombie wandered towards one of them, they would punch it or kick it and shove it back towards the middle of the improvised ring. They seemed unconcerned about the newly arriving zombies until the creatures were almost upon them.
Apparently the first one reaching their little game was the signal that the fun was over. In a sudden explosion of violence, these young men unleashed the real ferocity as they drew a variety of bladed weapons and set upon the undead. They didn’t go for the quick kill, but instead contented themselves with hacking off limbs, gutting, and even beheading.
For whatever reason, they saved the first zombie, the woman, for last. She was systematically dismembered, disemboweled, and decapitated. Once they cut off her head, they broke into a sadistic game of soccer as they booted the head around the lot until it finally broke open after being punted into a curb one too many times.
The twisted soccer match finished, they set about smashing windshields and headlights on several of the abandoned vehicles littering the parking areas. One of them produced a can of spray paint and set about tagging the area with profanity and a series of images which I guess were supposed to represent the stages of a penis from flaccid to fully erect.
They all swaggered off like drunk pirates, elbowing each other and carrying on at full volume, no doubt relating some highlight of their recent exploits in case it had been missed. I very briefly wondered how long that particular group would survive.
It must’ve been that racket that brought the herd that arrived about an hour later. The group was large enough that we heard them first. I slipped outside with Marshawn and we made our way to the entrance to see that the road was clogged with zombies all trudging this direction.
We could’ve hidden and hoped that they continued on their way, but I wasn’t in the mood to risk it. Tracy suggested that we maybe try to lure them past our location using noise, but the truth was, I knew this would never be a place where we could stay perma
nently.
That was another thing that always made me crazy about the old zombie stories. Nobody ever stayed put. I blame George Romero. Ever since he let that bunch of Savini-led bikers raid the mall, no group had ever found someplace that they managed to keep and hold. I was determined to find us a location that we could secure and fortify. It would need to be big enough that we could add to our numbers, but considering how bad things were, I doubted we needed to be concerned with more than a hundred or so people if we got lucky.
That had been my focus while we hunkered down in the condo. I wanted to find us someplace to retreat to that would give us an environment suitable for growing fresh fruits and veggies; plus, we needed a relatively clean water supply. For some reason, my mind kept returning to Milo McIver State Park.
When I’d been younger, that was the place me and a bunch of friends used to go and camp. Mostly because it was close enough that we could pop into town and replenish the beer supply. It was one of those places that ended up packed during the summer with families. It was what my friend Marley called “glamping”. That was his word for fake or “glamour” camping. He refused to accept anyplace with power outlets and showers as actual camping.
It had the Clackamas River running through it. While I am sure there is some degree of pollution in pretty much every river in the world, this one always seemed to feel cleaner. Chewie loved it, and she could swim all day and not come away with an ear infection like when we went to the Willamette, which runs through the Portland industrial district.
Also, I seemed to recall this small island in the middle of the river. It wasn’t anything special, and it was pretty minute, but I was willing to bet we could set up on the banks of the river and have that island set up to be a fallback location. The main reason for not just hunkering down on the island was that I had no idea what the flooding situation might be like. And there wouldn’t be any National Weather Service announcement to warn us.
I shared my thoughts and got a mix of reactions ranging from complaints about the distance to how we would be able to come back and look for our missing friends. Interestingly, that last response came from Michael…in a way.
“Are we gonna let the bad man have Selina and Carl and the others?” he asked innocently.
I knelt in front of the boy. His gaze continued to be fixed on the ground, but I’d come to learn that he listened despite not making any eye contact. “I am going to do everything I can to get them back. But before we can do anything…we need someplace safe.”
“We’re gonna live in a park?” he asked in a whisper.
“Sort of.” I did my best to sound cheerful. “Sort of like camping.”
“Can we have s’mores?” His voice was tinged with that hopeful, child-like anticipation and excitement that kids used when talking about something they saw as enjoyable.
I scratched my head. While his request wasn’t crazy, it was simply the matter of being able to break in to someplace and grabbing what we needed. The thing is, I couldn’t deny him, but it wasn’t something that I could guarantee either.
“I will do my best to make that happened,” I finally promised.
That seemed to be good enough for him. I wish the adults could be half as agreeable. Tracy was almost vehemently against it and Darya was nearly as resistant to the idea. I was not making any headway when Marshawn stepped in.
“How about you ladies just figure out what you want to do and go on your way. I’ll go with Evan, the dog, and the kid. All this arguing is gonna end up getting one or all of us killed. Honestly, I’m tired of listening to it.”
With that, he grabbed his pack and then knelt to help Michael with the small tote that he’d rigged with straps so the little guy could be like one of the group and have his own backpack. I clipped Chewie’s leash and then shouldered my bag which was loaded a bit on the heavy side with a huge, sealed container holding a few days’ worth of dog food.
We went upstairs to check the layout one more time and ensure that we weren’t walking out into the leading edge of a group of undead. Once we were certain we had a window of time to slip away, we hurried downstairs.
Through all of this, Alex remained silent. I had no idea which way she might lean. Hell, she might’ve decided by now that it was preferable to return to being on her own.
I was only mildly surprised when Tracy and Darya followed on our heels. After moving the furniture out of the way, we took one more look out the sliding glass door before opening it. The smell of undeath had become so prevalent that I barely noticed it on the gentle breeze.
It was there, but not overwhelming. The smell of actual death and decay was far more pervasive. There was also a deep hum. It took me a moment to realize that it was coming from the clouds of bugs swirling around the corpses sprawled out all over the warming pavement. The shimmer of heat waves rose off the all-black surface, a visible indicator of how hot it was as the sun sat almost directly overhead.
It struck me as we stepped outside that we hadn’t heard another peep from Don Evans and his people since that time several days ago. Part of me began to build this story where he and his lackeys were overpowered by a mob of the walking dead. We would come around a corner and find the school bus sitting there. A zombie version of Don would be pawing at the door, his mohawk stiffened with dried blood, and a huge bite out of his butt where his assless chaps left him vulnerable to such an attack.
“What’s so funny?” Marshawn gave me an elbow to the ribs as we all stood huddled on the back porch of the condo that had been our home these past few days.
I opened my mouth and shut it just as fast. That last bit was probably best only spoken by my ‘inside’ voice.
“Nothing, just nerves,” I lied.
We ventured out and saw a little movement in pretty much every direction. There would not be a way we could go and not have to deal with a few zombies. The thing now was to find a vehicle and the keys to start it. I didn’t want to risk trying for the one we’d abandoned on the interstate during our diversion ploy. Also, I thought it would be best if we stuck to back roads and side streets as much as possible.
Despite the fact that neighborhoods were probably death traps if any of my past experiences were any indication, they would likely be our safest route of travel. As we slipped along the side of the building, I heard the occasional moan or slap of a dead hand on a wall or door.
When we reached the end of the building, I moved ahead of the group and to a look around the corner. What I saw gave me just the smallest surge of hope.
It was like my vision became telescopic for just a moment. Sitting on the pavement behind a nice-looking Suburban was a huge keyring. It had a length of chain still attached to a hunk of a leather belt. If those keys went to that vehicle and it actually started, we might have a really good chance of making it to the Milo McIver site.
Of course, nothing in the zombie apocalypse is ever going to be easy. Sitting beside the keys was a man who might’ve been in his late twenties. It was odd to see a zombie just sitting there. He wasn’t really doing anything. That didn’t make it any less creepy that he was snacking on an arm. Looking around, I tried to see if maybe there were any people in the area. This was a fresh kill. I could see the legs of the victim jutting from a nearby shrub.
There were a few zombies staggering off, and I had to wonder how we’d missed the scream. A death-by-zombie event always came with the scream. To me, that made this whole scene appear even more ominous. There was something wrong here.
“So, which of us is gonna make the dash?” Marshawn whispered into my ear.
“Dash?” I was momentarily confused as I continued to try and process what I was seeing and figure out what I was missing.
“Yeah, one of us should run for those keys. The other should get everybody ready to jump into the rig once the runner gets in and starts it.”
Marshawn was also looking around. That told me that he was probably thinking some of the same things that I was.
“Okay,” I turned to face him, “how do we decide?”
“Duh!” he snorted. “Rock, paper, scissors.”
I thought he was kidding until he extended one hand palm up and made a fist with the other. He looked at me expectantly until I sheathed my blade and did the same thing. Honestly, if, at any time in my life, somebody would’ve told me that I would be playing “rock, paper, scissors” in the middle of the zombie apocalypse…well, I just don’t know what I would’ve thought or said.
“Ready?” he asked, glancing up at the rest of the group that were now way too fascinated by what was happening. “A three count and choose.”
I nodded. He did the countdown and stayed with rock…which crushed my scissors. For emphasis, he actually pounded my fingers with his fist.
“I win.” Marshawn got up to his feet and drew a machete from the collection of assorted bladed weapons dangling from his belt.
“I have your back,” I insisted. “You just focus on the keys and getting to that Suburban. I will have everybody ready to make a dash.”
“Why don’t we all go?” Darya asked.
“If that baby doesn’t start, then we are all exposed…and there is something off about the situation,” Marshawn said, basically voicing my own concerns.
“Let’s just hope those are the keys to that vehicle,” I whispered. “It seems a bit too convenient.”
“Can you not jinx this worse than it already is?” Marshawn quipped before turning, taking a deep breath, and then sprinting across the open expanse of parking lot. He was halfway there when a muffled report of a gunshot shattered the relative silence.
I saw Marshawn fly forward and my heart lurched at the thought of him having been shot. He rolled over twice and came to a stop against the rear wheel of the Suburban. I breathed a sigh of relief when he scrambled around so that he was sitting up with his body shielded by the vehicle.
