by T. W. Brown
***
Vix spun as three more of the undead came through the brush. These looked like they were almost ready to topple over without any help from her. Still, she changed her course just enough to cut them off and cut them down.
Pulling her small hand axe free from the last one, she winced at the pain in her shoulder. She had gotten in quite the nasty little quandary an hour or so ago when more than twenty of those things caught her just as she came out of a dilapidated old house that had a sagging roof.
The only reason that she’d gone in was because of the wisps of smoke that were drifting up from the cursed home. If it had been Gemma that had camped there, she was long gone. The fire was down to the most minute of embers. Of course it would be just like the fool girl to run off and leave a fire going, Vix was thinking as she exited through the back door. The door hinge let loose with a terrible shriek as she opened it.
That was when that small pack had appeared through the budding orchard of trees. Not having any desire to try and face that many on her own, Vix had turned tail and run for the front door…promptly colliding with two of the walking stacks of stink and filth just as she burst out the door and onto the top of the stoop.
She and the zombies had fallen in a tumble. A burst of hot pain came from her shoulder as her arm bent behind her awkwardly. Vix was rolling over and struggling to get her bearings when she realized that she was on top of one of those things! She heard the teeth click just as she flung herself away.
She managed to pull her belt knife as the thing rolled over and started to get to its knees. Driving the blade hilt-deep into the temple, she picked up her hand axe in her off-hand and swung it down into the forehead of the second one.
“You okay?” Harold panted as he came jogging up just in time for nothing.
“Tinged my shoulder a bit,” Vix said with a wince.
“You need to go back?” Harold had asked.
She had given it some serious thought. They were out in the bloody countryside searching for Gemma because she thought Harold had eyes for some or perhaps all of the ladies that occupied the house that Vix had brought them to after London turned out to be a disaster.
Vix still scolded herself for thinking such an idea had any chance of success. Suit of armor or not, there was no way to make a stand against millions of zombies. What so many countries had failed to do over the centuries…the zombie had done in less than a fortnight: conquered London.
“We keep searching,” Vix had insisted.
Of course it was just the two of them—her and Harold. Amanda and her mates had politely declined to go search for the girl who had run off into the night. Vix could hardly blame them; the girl had been a real thorn almost since the moment that they’d arrived.
The two stayed within sight of each other as they searched. If one went inside, the other stayed outside to keep watch. They would have no more surprises like at that first cottage.
Glancing skyward, Vix guessed that they had perhaps three good hours of daylight left. She was sore, tired, and starting to find herself wishing that the fool girl would just come stumbling through the weeds with the other zombies so that she could know for certain and be done with it.
Either way, this was the last day that she would come out and search. Harold could do what he wished, but she was done. As far as she saw it, if there were any debts to settle between them over one saving the other, they were square. She’d already searched much longer than she had originally planned.
Harold emerged from the house at the bottom of the hill and waved his hand in the signal they had decided would indicate that there had been nothing found. He pointed to the next house; this one just up the road a ways and on her side. This house looked like it had seen better days. Vix seriously doubted that the girl would be in there, but the first house they skipped would likely be the one Gemma would be hiding in.
Opening the gate, Vix winced at yet another rusty hinge. Bloody hell, she thought, we don’t need to search, we just need to sit still and wait to hear a hinge creak.
She dismissed any thoughts of being stealthy and simply strolled up to the house. The door was partway open and Vix peeked inside. There were no signs that anybody had been here. The cobwebs were thick and the dust looked undisturbed.
Her eyes lighted on something that sat on the sofa. A cricket bat. The thing looked well used.
She allowed herself a smile as she recalled one of her favorite movies, Shaun of the Dead. It was never good to let a weapon simply go unclaimed. Never knew when you might need it. Still, she did not feel particularly enthusiastic about wading through all of the cobwebs.
“Vix!” Harold called suddenly.
Vix spun to where the young man stood just up the road a little ways. He was waving his arms frantically. Dismissing any further thoughts about the cricket bat, Vix took off to where Harold stood waiting.
Was that a thin curl of smoke just beyond where the young man stood? Vix wondered. “I thought we said no yelling!” Vix hissed as she got close enough to be heard.
“Aye, but give a look down there.” Stepping aside, Harold pointed down into a little valley that cut between the hill they stood on and the next one over.
Vix crested the hill and gasped. An airplane—sort of—was buried deep in the lush, grassy valley. It had broken in to at least three pieces and the wings had been sheared off and were nowhere to be seen. Of course, as tall as the grass had grown, they could be very close by, but it didn’t really matter.
The silver body of the jetliner had made a deep furrow that only hollowed out the little valley more than normal. Most of the windows down the side were covered. However, it was not the jet itself that had gotten Harold’s attention.
Up on top of the rounded fuselage were three people. They had obviously spotted Harold and were waving frantically. Unfortunately, there was no way possible to reach them. Packed in around the broken remnants of the commercial liner were hundreds…perhaps thousands of the undead. They had even wedged in between the broken tail and front section to completely surround the poor souls
“How do you think they got up there?” Harold asked, shielding his eyes and scanning the area as if in search of any way that he could help the poor individuals.
“I have no idea, but they will die up there more than likely,” Vix replied with a sigh.
She had pulled out her binoculars. Zooming in on the poor souls, she gasped and dropped the glasses so that they thudded against her chest.
“What is it?” Harold asked with obvious concern. “Is one of them Gemma?”
“Don’t be daft,” Vix snorted. “Those fools have been up there for a long time. I would guess that those zombies have built up over weeks…maybe even months.”
Harold accepted the binoculars from Vix. What he saw made his stomach churn. There were definite signs that they had been there for a good long while. Several canisters were set out, obviously to catch any and all rain water. They had a fire going, and that is where the horror began. They were obviously using the undead to keep their fire stoked. The most telling were the gutted human bodies that were splayed out as if to dry in the sun.
“That is repulsive,” Harold gasped, handing the binoculars back to Vix.
“And more than a little unsanitary. Those poor fools are not long for this world. Only God knows what has happened to lead them to this point, but that is something I never want to find out.”
Vix turned and headed back down the hill away from the awful scene. How many had they started with? What had possessed them to climb up on top of that derelict aircraft?
She had reached the bottom of the hill when a series of low moans caused her to freeze. A heartbeat later, a very female and oddly familiar scream pierced the air.
***
“You can’t be serious!” Mackenzie raged. She struggled to free herself from Juan’s grip, but he held her firm.
“Put her in the boat,” Keith ordered.
“Juan!” Mackenzie yanked
her head around to try and see his face. She knew that if she could just get him to look her in the eyes, that he would put a stop to this.
Two men hoisted the limp but securely bound form of April Cable up and into the waiting boat where another two men accepted her. Juan realized that it had been the one he rode in when he first arrived on this island. It had been modified considerably as had all the motor boats in their fleet now that the gasoline was useless. That day that he’d arrived seemed like an eternity ago.
The men in the boat turned, and Keith called out after them, “Make sure you put her someplace where she will at least have a chance.”
The large sail was hoisted and some other individuals that Juan could not see more than the tops of their heads of extended the oars. The boat started out for the middle of the Willamette River.
“They will have a nice breeze helping them on the way up, but coming back is gonna suck,” Keith was saying as he approached, but Juan wasn’t listening. His mind had drifted back to the events of just a few days ago…right after he’d woken from the drug-induced stupor he’d been put into by April Cable.
His first recollection had been Mackenzie’s hand holding his. There was a pounding in his head that he dismissed as an after-effect of whatever drugs April had had him on down in the basement.
As soon as he thought of the basement, everything came back in a rush. He turned his head to see Mackenzie stirring from where she’d obviously been napping. A slow smile dawned on her face, reminding Juan of a sunrise.
“Welcome back,” Mackenzie whispered and then yawned.
“April is sick,” Juan managed, his throat incredibly dry.
“Yes, we kinda figured that out,” another voice made Juan twist his head toward the door. Keith was standing there with a stern expression.
“They want to kill her.” Mackenzie’s mood shifted dramatically and her expression darkened, the sun slipping behind storm clouds.
“We want to get her off this island,” Keith clarified. “She is a danger to not just herself…” he motioned at Juan, “…but others as well.”
“She is a human being!” Mackenzie insisted.
“And she is sick beyond our ability to help,” Keith said calmly.
Juan listened to the two and had a feeling that this was not the first time they’d had this discussion. It almost sounded practiced, each line coming so automatically.
“So that is what we do now if somebody gets sick? We just kill them?” Mackenzie challenged.
“If somebody is a danger to those of us here trying to survive, then yes.”
“Juan?” Mackenzie had turned to him, her eyes pleading. “Are you okay with this?”
Juan sighed. It was not that he was okay with what Keith was suggesting, not if it became some sort of regular policy. However, he did think that it would have to be considered on a case-by-case basis. Just like with Frank and Donna? the voice in his head taunted. He shoved that memory away and returned to the situation at hand. He looked from Mackenzie to Keith. Both of them saw the answer in his eyes before he spoke the words.
Mackenzie had jumped up and run from the room, her sobs fading as she left the house. Juan felt something in his gut twist. He wondered if this was what a deal with the devil felt like. You got what you wanted…but not really; and at a price that wiped out any good feelings that you might have been able to salvage.
“It’s the right thing and you know it,” Keith said from the door. Juan’s gaze came up and caught the man’s eyes, causing him to actually take a step back. “Hey…you know why we have to do this.”
“But that doesn’t mean that I have to like it,” Juan said flatly.
“And you think that I do?” Keith shot back.
Juan considered the man for a few seconds. He looked into his eyes—Juan’s mother had always said that eyes were a window to the soul—he searched the man for a few long and silent seconds before answering.
“Yes…I do.”
Keith had left.
April had been kept locked in a basement with two people guarding her at all times. Nobody was allowed in to see her. The community had been shocked when word spread. That was when the people demanded some sort of trial. There had been a meeting of the citizens and it had been voted on.
Juan actually felt a surge of relief. He could step away from this and let the people decide. But still, Mackenzie did not come home. She had gone to stay with some woman that Juan did not recognize. Not that such a thing was any amazing feat. Juan hardly knew the names of any of the people that had come to live on Sauvie Island. That had always been Mackenzie’s role. He was the public face (against his will he would often add) and she was his connection to everybody. She would casually use a person’s name when they would come up to greet him or ask him a question.
The one thing about the trial that he was most thankful for had been the fact that, as the supposed victim, he would not be judge or jury. Unfortunately, he did not escape being questioned as a witness.
When the trial was over, and having been present at a few, Juan had to admit that this one was a lot more fair and less full of legal mumbo-jumbo, the verdict had come back in less than ten minutes. April was found guilty. The suggested sentence was that she be banished from the island. When it was announced, the only audible reaction came from Mackenzie.
Two days later, there they stood. The entire community had come out to see it, and Juan was reminded of something he had either, heard, read, or seen in a movie about the olden times. People had always come out for the executions back in those days. Had they reverted to that sort of thing so fast?
“How could you?” Mackenzie wept. She pulled away from Juan’s grip and started up the beach.
Juan watched until she climbed the stairs that led up and through the bordering trees. When she vanished, he felt something shut down inside of himself. He shot a glance to Keith who had smartly pulled up several feet short of reaching him.
“What do you want?” Juan muttered.
“She’ll get over it,” Keith said. Juan’s head snapped up, but he quickly realized that the man had not said it with any sarcasm or ill intent. “This is about her mom…not about you, and not about that girl.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder towards the boat that was vanishing in the distance.
“What do you want?” Juan asked again, sensing that the man had something on his mind.
“We have been keeping an eye on something, and you should know about it.”
“Why? What is so important that you think I need to know about it? And since you waited for everybody to be gone, I am assuming that it is being kept secret.”
Keith gave an appreciative nod. “Thad said that you were a helluva lot smarter than you like to portray. But here is the deal. We have been watching a plume of smoke for the past few days. It starts up about an hour before dusk and is gone in the morning. That indicates a camp.”
Juan shook his head. He had already decided that he was done going out there. If others wanted to do it, he was not going to stop them, but he was finished when it came to putting himself in danger. A person could only roll the dice so many times before the wrong number came up and took you out of the game. They had a farm system set up; they had chickens, sheep, cows, and horses for crying out loud! If people found them and wanted to join the community, Juan would worry about that and make those decisions as the need arose. But as far as going out there—
“The plume is getting closer,” Keith said, snapping Juan out of his thoughts. “And it is not just getting closer, but it is obviously coming our way. We think they may be here soon…two days at the latest.”
***
“I swear to God that I ain’t seen no baby!” the man spat through a mouthful of blood.
“And I still don’t believe you!” Cynthia said as she kicked the man bound to the water pipe in the basement of the house that they had retreated to after overwhelming and capturing the roaming sentry.
“I would totally start talking i
f I were you,” Glenn said from where he stood behind his wife holding the rifle.
“Look…I told you all that I know,” the man managed through the shortness of breath that came from at least two broken ribs.
“Then I guess we just kill you and go out to see if we can find somebody that will be of more help,” Cynthia snarled as she drew the knife from her belt.
The woman leaned down and grabbed a handful of the man’s hair, yanking it back and exposing his throat. She placed the blade against his skin and started to apply pressure when the man began to plead and beg. Cynthia paused and looked him in the eye, nodding for him to talk.
“If there is a baby, then it is probably being held over at the high school,” the man blurted. “I’m just a nobody. They don’t let most of us near that place.”
“Where is this high school?” Cynthia asked, her voice immediately changing to one of silky kindness.
“Center of town. That is where you will find the biggest concentration of those freaking zombies.” The man gave an honest shiver.
Cynthia glanced over her shoulder at Glenn who gave a shrug. That made no sense. Unless…
“Why would they pick someplace like that?” Cynthia pressed. “Why would they want zombies around?”
“Because a bunch of those folks don’t turn. There is a whole group of ‘em. And they are working to put an end to this…” The man seemed to regain some of his confidence and defiance. “They are going to find a cure, make it so that folks don’t die anymore when they get bit.”
Without warning, Cynthia flipped the large knife in her hand and slammed the pommel into the man’s temple. He slumped, his head lolling to the side. She checked him briefly to ensure that he was still alive and turned to her husband.
“I have a very bad feeling about this,” she whispered.
“Which part?” Glenn said, a hint of nervous laughter in his voice.
“I think some of this stuff is starting to make sense. You say there was a woman with Ann, that she was torn up and that Ann killed her to quote “put her out of her misery” just as you guys swooped in to rescue her?”
