Dead 09: Spring

by T. W. Brown

  Juan guessed that he was almost a good mile to the south and just slightly east from the central part of the community. He needed to get there and tell everybody to scrap the plan to fight. The only choice here was to run. As sad and horrible as it seemed, there was no way to realistically push back, slow down or defeat whoever these people were that had come so suddenly and without warning.

  More gunfire erupted and Juan broke into a run. He had lost a good bit of his gear somewhere along the way. Patting himself as he ran, he still had one of the two knives on his belt, the rifle, and the longsword on his shoulder.

  It seemed like forever, but at last the houses up ahead began to take on distinct shapes. He rounded the last corner and could see people rushing about. Obviously the word was reaching everybody that this problem was bigger than they could handle. However, it was also now obvious that things were spiraling into mass chaos.

  Juan pulled up and scanned the faces. He cursed himself for not having taken the time to get to know people’s names. With a sigh of resignation, he turned for his and Mackenzie’s house. He was starting to regain his ability to think clearly and a plan was starting to form.

  Rushing inside, Juan made quick work of grabbing a few things. Some of them were foolish and took up space, but he felt that they were important. He had done at least one thing right. Juan had made certain that he and Mackenzie had a place where they could meet up in the event that something catastrophic were to occur. This was about as catastrophic as it could get as far as Juan was concerned.

  Satisfied that he had what he came for, Juan hitched his pack up a little higher on his shoulders and patted his leg for Tigah to join him. Exiting the house, Juan glanced around at the place one final time. He had doubts that he would ever see it again.

  His eyes drifted along the porch and he recalled that first time that he met Mackenzie and Margaret. It had almost ended his story right there. In the end, he’d earned Margaret’s trust and Mackenzie’s love.

  Heading down the path and through the gate, Juan closed and latched it out of habit. All around him, chaos was in full swing. He shook loose from one hysterical woman who kept asking him what she should do. As far as Juan was concerned, he was through giving those sorts of answers.

  He paused when he found himself in front of the house belonging to Miss Schaeffer. The elderly woman was standing on her porch, shotgun cradled in her arms. She looked down at Juan and gave a polite smile and nod.

  “Ma’am…” Juan began, shaking off the urge to just keep walking.

  People had to make their own decisions. The moment that they let others do it for them, they were done for. They may as well be one of those deaders, content to mill about with the pack and go wherever the majority led.

  “Ma’am,” he cleared his throat and started again, “you should probably get moving. The folks coming this way are carrying some serious firepower and there seems to be a lot of them.”

  The lady just stared at him blankly, and Juan had to wonder if maybe she had not heard, or perhaps that he had not actually spoken. At last she gave him a wink and a smile.

  “You run along and go find that gal of yours. I think I am done with running about. A person my age shouldn’t be out there in all this craziness. I probably should have died a long time ago. Certainly shouldn’t be about these days. I’m slow, my bones ache, and perhaps it is time I just said enough was enough. If those ruffians want to come and shoot an old lady, then I guess it is better that I not live in a world like that and let them have their way.”

  Ruffians, Juan thought, these were killers. This had all the look and sound of an organized mob. And having seen what he’d seen with Gary and Travis back in the jail in those early days, he was not sure that this lady realized what sort of nightmare was coming her way.

  “You give ‘em hell, ma’am,” Juan finally said with a nod.

  “And you take good care of that Miss Mackenzie,” the little old lady said with a smile and nod of her own.

  Juan took off again at a jog, Tigah at his side. He would have to get to the beach. Oddly enough, it was from where they had just sent April Cable away.

  As he climbed the stairs and emerged on the other side of the trees, Juan held his breath. He had not even thought about the possibility that these raiders could be hitting them from both sides.

  ***

  Cynthia ran across the roof. There were a dozen or so pyramid-shaped Plexiglas domes jutting from the roof that she figured to be skylights; when she reached the first one, she paused to look inside. This one was above what appeared to be the cafeteria. Now, however, it was rows and rows of cots. Strapped into many of the cots were human shapes. It was not bright enough for her to tell if they were living or not.

  What she did not see was any sign of actual people moving about. Not guards or doctors…or anything. Cynthia hurried to the next closest one and found herself staring down into what looked like the gym. There was no doubt as to what she was seeing. Milling about were what had to be a couple hundred zombies. The dark stains and smears on the floor looked old, but that didn’t mean anything. Blood dried pretty quick and turned almost black within a day or two.

  She went from one of the skylights to the next, peering in each time to try and see something that would give her a reason to go inside. It was the seventh or eighth one that she looked in that she got her first glimpse of what had to be a living person. Actually, it was three of them.

  This particular skylight was above a class room. It took her a few seconds to realize what she was seeing. There were a few stoves and long counters. This must have been the Home Economics lab. She was actually surprised to find that they still existed. It seemed that schools were always cutting programs.

  The three people, one man and two women by the looks of them, were hunched over something. At last, one of them moved enough so that she could see and Cynthia felt her stomach get a bit queasy. On the counter was what looked like a large aquarium; inside it was a head. It was obvious that the head was still animate. The three were putting things in front of the head and then withdrawing them. One of them would take notes in a huge binder after they would converse briefly about whatever it was that they were trying to observe.

  Moving to the next, Cynthia spied what looked like a class room that had been converted into a dorm. There were ten bunk beds, each with a pair of foot lockers. The room was empty, but showed signs of occupancy.

  The next few were a bust and Cynthia was starting to feel the frustration rise. She was beginning to think that this had all been just another terrible mistake. She had sent Glenn on a mission to act as human bait to lure the zombies away. And while it was not too much trouble to stay ahead of and outsmart the undead as long as you did not back yourself into a corner, there was still a very real danger to it.

  Then she saw her.

  Cynthia froze and stared down into what could only be called an overblown version of a mad scientist’s lab. There were beakers and tubes of numerous shapes and sizes. Microscopes and coils of copper tubing that led from one odd-shaped container to another were spread out along black counter tops. The stack of propane tanks told one story, but it was the series of ten exercise bicycles that were connected to some strange device that took up almost a third of the room that drew Cynthia’s attention. On the bicycle were people, each connected to an IV. Behind each bicycle was a zombie that was secured by chains. The individuals on those contraptions were all pedaling at a very steady rate, but there was a look of fear etched on each face that was unmistakable.

  Walking among those people was the woman who had called herself “Ann.” She was brandishing a slender blade, and judging by the razor-thin slices that adorned a few of the riders, it was obvious what the weapon was for. Still, what she did not see was any sign of Baby Xander. It was the most difficult thing in the world for her to pull herself away and continue her search.

  It was five more of those skylight fixtures later when she saw something that made tears flo
od her eyes in happiness. This was a nursery of some sort. However, the children aged from infant to about four years old. The children were surrounded by an abundance of toys and they all seemed no worse for the wear upon initial glance. As her vision cleared, she did notice that many, if not all, of the children had a Band-Aid applied on the upper part of the shoulder or forearm. Many had more than one.

  There was one more thing, and this is what gave her pause. There were two women in the room. One of them looked to be in her early twenties, the other in her mid-to-late thirties with just the slightest hint of gray starting to invade her brown, shoulder-length hair.

  The children seemed perfectly at ease with the women, and on many occasions, they would bound over to one or the other and show some just finished piece from a coloring book, a doll that needed one thing or another adjusted, or perhaps a word in a book sounded out. It was like looking in on the model example of a daycare center.

  Cynthia sat back and let her breath out in a sigh of frustration. Yes, there were certainly indications that something dark and sinister was taking place. The problem was that she could not make out what that might be. To compound her frustration, the children seemed to be very well cared for.

  A swirl of emotions tumbled through her with a physicality of falling rocks. Could she walk away and leave her nephew behind? Was it possible that he might have a better chance at a future if he stayed here in this compound?

  Perhaps she was not seeing something. Of course it was impossible to overlook what this woman “Ann” had done. But she was not Ah-nuld or Sly. She was Cynthia Frey, a veterinarian and wife who had not even fired a gun until this past year. Now she was trying to mastermind some sort of infiltration on a compound with an unknown number of armed individuals inside.

  What could she possibly be thinking? This was something out of a terrible B-grade horror or action movie. If she were watching this unfold on screen, she would either be mocking the absolute incredulousness of it (if it happened to succeed by some string of miracles that faced greater odds than winning the lottery while being struck by lightning as you hit a hole-in-one); or she would be saying that the “stupid woman deserved to die for being so stupid.”

  Yet, how could she walk away from the woman that she saw as responsible for the murder of her brother and his wife? How could she walk away and allow such evil to continue to exist?

  Standing up, she walked to the southern edge of the main school building. She could see the herd of zombies that had taken off after Glenn. They had gone almost halfway around the track that she had told him to lead them on. Her job was to wait until it was clear enough, which is the time she had to try and find the baby, and then force open the doors. The zombies would pour in on their heels and they would use the confusion to make their daring rescue of the baby and then escape.

  She dropped to her knees, completely oblivious to the pain of the tiny bits of gravel that dug into them. Her chin dropped to her chest and she felt a knot come free in it.

  “I am an idiot,” she said to nobody.

  Cynthia climbed to her feet and made her way to the skylight that gave a view into the room with the children. Her eyes scanned until they rested upon Baby Xander. He was sitting with a pile of blocks scattered between his chubby outstretched legs. His fingers clutched a block in each hand and he was waving them at the little girl who sat across from him. She was laughing…and so was he.

  She had almost no time. If she was going to act, it had to be now. Cynthia uttered a curse and felt her right hand clench as it gripped the hilt of her machete.

  ***

  “… and, lo, a Lamb stood on the Mount Sion, and with him a hundred forty and four thousand, having his Father's name written in their foreheads.

  “And I heard a voice from heaven, as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of a great thunder: and I heard the voice of harpers harping with their harps.

  “And they sung as it were a new song before the throne, and before the four beasts, and the elders…and no man could learn that song but the hundred and forty and four thousand, which were redeemed from the earth,” the man cried, standing on a stack of hay bales at least ten feet high.

  “What fresh hell is this?” Dustin muttered.

  “That’s why I came and got you,” Ronni whispered. “He started about five minutes ago. He keeps repeating the same thing. Do you know what it is?”

  “Revelations,” Dustin said with a sigh. “It is one of those verses that the nuts like to grab and run with. I think it is what might have that little cluster all riled up. Somebody had been holding secret meetings. We don’t know who, and the only time we can know for sure that somebody is part of the group is when they either come out like this and start screaming scripture, or when they go and kill themselves.”

  “But I thought suicide was one of those things that sent you to Hell automatically,” Ronni said as she followed Dustin around the huge barn. Looking around, she knew exactly where they were headed.

  “It is, but when people start twisting up scripture, they can make it say anything they want. Every religion did it to some extent back before all this…some maybe more than others. Heck, I was probably guiltier of that than most. The best defense against that sort of thing is to read the book for yourself, but too many people were content with letting others read it and tell them what it said and meant.”

  “So you think these people are taking something from the bible and making it about the people that are immune?” Ronni asked. “But why?”

  “My guess is that this is coming from somebody who is immune just like you, but the reason why could be anything.”

  They stopped in front of one of the long bunkhouses. Dustin knocked on the door and then opened it, sticking his head inside. “Scott Colson, can you come out here?”

  He pulled the door shut and took a spot leaning up against the wall. Ronni could still hear the man shouting out those verses. She thought that she heard something else too, but she couldn’t be sure. She did not have time to consider it, because the door opened and Scott emerged, he was fastening a pair of knives to his belt.

  “What’s up?” Scott asked, and then he cocked his head and his eyes shut. “Another one?”

  He opened his eyes and shot an angry glance past Ronni towards the direction of the man who was hollering out the Revelations verses at the top of his lungs. It sounded like he was getting into a bit of a frenzy. Ronni was now absolutely certain that she was hearing the shouts of “Amen!” and “Hallelujah!” in the background.

  “Yep,” Dustin said with a nod. “It’s Virgil Snead’s boy. Can’t recall his name, but I know his face and I knew his dad. Virgil died pretty early on, but his boy survived. Both of ‘em got bitten on a supply run. The boy drove all the way back here from town with his dad in the truck. He had him seatbelted and had shoved a gag in his mouth. You couldn’t convince the kid that his pa was dead. He had to be sedated and actually locked up for a little while after we put old Virgil down.”

  “So he what…thought that his dad was going to get better or something?” Ronni asked.

  “Well…seeing as how they both got bit and the boy was basically fine…yeah. He refused to believe that his dad was a zombie,” Dustin explained. “He didn’t actually settle down to a point where we could let him out until a handful of folks joined us that had all been immune to the bite.”

  Scott stopped in his tracks and gave Dustin a hard look. Pursing his lips, he glanced at Ronni. She nodded, encouraging him to go ahead. They’d had the talk last night in the room with her dad. Chad had been asleep through it all.

  “I think we are gonna head out of here as soon as Chad is able,” Scott said.

  “But—” Dustin began to protest, Ronni cut him off.

  “I never told anybody that I got bit out there,” she whispered, but as she continued to talk, her voice grew louder. “None of the kids knew…but I have been getting strange looks, and that whole suicide thing…plus, people keep leaving st
uff outside my dad’s door. Crosses and bibles and stuff. The only people that knew he got bit out there was you and Scott when you found him, and then the medical folks who worked on him. Somebody in that very small group is one of that group of weirdoes. I’m just afraid of what they might do next, and I think that my dad is going to feel the same way.”

  “Where will you go?” Dustin asked.

  “Don’t take this personal, but we’d rather not say,” Scott answered after Ronni shot him a questioning look with raised eyebrows.

  “We really appreciate what you did by letting us come here,” Ronni spoke quickly. “And I wanted to be a teacher really bad, but things here are getting scary.” She paused long enough for the voice of Virgil Snead’s son to emphasize her point. “And I think something bad is gonna happen here real soon. I just hope that you come through it okay.”

  “I understand,” Dustin nodded. “And I wish you guys the best. So when do you think Chad will be up to travelling?”

  “That is sorta what I wanted to talk to you about,” Scott said. “I know that they are a valuable thing, but is there anything that I can do to convince you to part with one of your horses? We were thinking that we could fashion a travois. Slipping out at night would be the best way to go…keep the crazies’ chances of spotting us down to a minimum.”

  Dustin sighed. He looked down at Ronni and then at Scott. An expression clouded his face and he glanced around with an odd scowl. Finally he turned back to the pair.

  “What about Brett? He was with you guys when you arrived. Aren’t you going to take him with you?”

  “We hardly ever see him,” Ronni said. “He went missing and that was that.”

  “He didn’t even want to come with me when you called for help to go try and find Chad, remember? It’s like he doesn’t really want to have anything to do with us,” Scott added. “I don’t know what his trip is. And before you ask, I got no idea if he is one of those immune types or not. All I know is that I never see the guy. It is like he has been avoiding us.”