The Ark (Life of the Dead Book 3)

by Tony Urban

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It had been almost two months since they left Grady’s church. Along the way they’d picked up a few new arrivals. Jimmy Hetzer was the first. They were somewhere in East Tennessee raiding a gun shop for arms and ammunition when Aben heard a roaring sound coming from a back room. He motioned for Saw to have his back as he approached the closed door from behind which the noise emanated.

  Aben held the maul in his lone hand and used it to smash apart the doorknob rather than waste time turning it. Then he kicked the door open, ready to bludgeon whatever or whoever lay behind it. Before that could happen, he found a fellow who looked almost as bad off as the homeless men and women Aben had slept beside in alleyways and gutters in the days before the plague.

  Jimmy Hetzer was pushing sixty with male pattern baldness that looked even worse because his remaining hair was long and gray and hung in unwashed clumps to his shoulders. He was a few weeks into growing a sparse beard that made his face look even dirtier than it probably was. His head was tilted back and his mouth hung agape revealing pink gums with no teeth in them. And he snored like a motherfucker.

  A three fourths empty bottle of scotch stood on the desk in front of him and a few empties littered the floor. It wasn’t hard for Aben to understand why the old man hadn’t reacted to the office being broken into.

  Jimmy’s feet were propped up on the desk. Aben returned the maul to his belt and grabbed hold of Jimmy’s foot, an act he immediately regretted because his sock felt so stiff and hard that it could have stood up all by itself. He shook the foot back and forth and after the third shake Jimmy woke up.

  “Holy jumped up Jesus!” He said and he would have tumbled backward out of his chair if Aben wasn’t still holding onto his foot.

  “Calm down, buddy.” Jimmy breathed so hard and fast Aben thought the man might have a coronary. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  Jimmy collected himself, as much as was possible. The first thing he did was take another hit off the bottle. The second was reach for his false teeth that were sitting on the desk and teeming with flies. He swatted them away and shoved the hunks of plastic into his mouth. Aben thought they looked too big for his face and made him look like an old man version of a ventriloquist’s dummy.

  “Who the hell are you?” Jimmy asked.

  Turned out that Jimmy had been living in the store in between trips to the local liquor shop. He’d been on a mostly liquid diet since the plague and, when Saw offered him a can of spaghetti, the man didn’t bother with a fork or spoon and had it all gobbled down in under a minute.

  “Got another one?”

  Aben was surprised when Saw asked him if he wanted to join them. He didn’t see much value in an old drunk, but then again, five months ago the high point of his day was finding a half-eaten eclair in a dumpster so he supposed he had no right to judge.

  Lonnie Draper found them outside of Cambridge, Ohio. They’d stopped at a fuel depot to top off the tanks of Saw’s dump truck and fill two 55-gallon drums he’d added to the back for reserves. Jimmy had been put in charge of starting the siphon and, in the process, ended up spilling almost a gallon onto his faded Metallica t-shirt. Aben worried the man would catch them all on fire unless that was taken care of, so while Jimmy filled the tanks, he went into the shop.

  He found an XXL uniform shirt with a name tag reading ‘Pedro’ hanging in a locker and thought it would do. As he was on his way back outside, he discovered a man aiming a bolt action rifle at his three companions who all stood with their hands in the air.

  “I said I don’t want your food, I want your truck,” the man said in a calm, detached voice.

  Aben thought he looked about thirty and in good shape. He had a crew cut and a sleeve of tribal tattoos on his left arm. He had a heavy bottom lip that sagged down to reveal brown, tobacco stained teeth.

  Although he knew his aim was shit, especially at a distance of twenty or so yards, Aben hoped he could bluff his way through the situation so he pulled out his pistol and aimed it in Lonnie’s general direction.

  “The truck’s the one thing you can’t have, mate. How would you expect us to get where we’re going without it?” Saw said.

  “And where are you going?”

  “Haven’t decided yet. Expect I’ll know when I get there.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t give a shit. I want that truck.”

  Aben could see in Saw’s face that he was close to doing something rash - something stupid. It’s now or never.

  “Hey there, pal,” Aben said. Lonnie’s head snapped in his direction. The rifle barrel wavered as he tried to decide whether to keep it aimed at the three men in front of him or the man with the gun beside him. “How about you put down that rifle and we have a conversation.”

  Aben could tell the man was scared. Four against one were bad odds, even when you had a gun. “You do that and I promise none of us are going to hurt you.”

  Lonnie’s head swiveled back and forth so many times that Aben thought it might break loose and fall off. Instead, he tilted the rifle to the ground.

  Lonnie Draper had been a member of the Ohio national guard and was on emergency call up in Cincinnati when everything went down. He didn’t provide many details, and that was fine. There was only so much talk of death a person could absorb before it became as tedious as listening to the weather during a stretch of sunshine and no chance of rain.

  Saw’s dump truck was getting cramped so Aben and Lonnie scouted the town until they came across a Cherokee with a key above the visor. Aben let Lonnie drive.

  They didn’t find anyone else alive over the course of several weeks and Aben began to wonder how devastating the plague had been, about whether mankind could be on the verge of extinction. It seemed impossible, but then again, almost everything he’d experienced the last few months would have seemed impossible in his life beforehand. He was surprised to realize he hoped his most dire thoughts were untrue. He hadn’t had much need for people for the last twenty or so years, but thinking that he might be one of last the few hundred, or even thousand, people alive was too damned depressing to consider.

  In Western Pennsylvania, as they trekked up and down the mountains, Saw stopped his dump truck in front of a five-foot-high wooden sign reading, ‘Higgins Haven Scout Camp & Recreational Area.’

  “What do you say, boys?” Saw asked them.

  It didn’t seem like anything special to Aben and the other men didn’t tender an opinion, but Saw assured them it would be a good place to hunker down and prepare. He didn’t say what he was preparing for, not then anyway.

  “It’s good and remote so there won’t be many zombies in the immediate vicinity. And I don’t imagine it would have much appeal to any groups or individuals passing through looking for places to raid. Lotsa cabins so we can have as much privacy as we each desire. Seems like a peach of a place to me.”

  And it was settled.

  All they had to do was kill a dozen or so scouts and another four troop leaders that had turned into zombies. After that, Higgins Haven became their new home.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Give it, Prince!”

  The dog dropped the tennis ball and Aben caught it before it hit the snow. Prince jumped up lunging for the ball but Aben pulled it back just in time. When the dog landed, his feet crunched through the icy glaze that covered the recently fallen snow.

  Prince gave an excited bark and Aben lobbed the ball extra hard down the hill where it rolled and ricocheted through a maze of trees. The dog sprinted after it, just the hint of a limp on the leg that had been injured when Aben found it - or when it found him - months earlier.

  He didn’t like to think about those first weeks. About men like Bolivar and Dash who had been lost along the way. Even now, amongst this new group of survivors, of fighters, he missed them.

  Aben thought it seemed to be taking longer than normal for the dog to return and wondered if the ball had gotten lost somewhere down the hill. He couldn’t see
Prince from this vantage point and moved closer to the trees. With every step, his feet fell through eight inches of hard snow. It didn’t take long before he was out of breath.

  “Prince! Come back, boy!”

  He waited, watched. Thirty more seconds passed with no sign of the dog.

  “Damn it.”

  Aben trudged through the snow, taking extra caution as he moved downhill. The dog’s footprints were easy to follow but going was slow and knowing that he’d eventually have to climb back up the hill made the trek even more annoying.

  By the time he reached the bottom, he was breathing heavily and sucking in mouthfuls of the icy air made his lungs feel like they were full of glass. He saw the tracks leading through a copse of pine trees and followed.

  It was a scraping sound that caught his attention. The noise came fast, frantic, frenzied. Instinctively, Aben’s hand dropped to the maul which was holstered in his belt like a gun. He didn’t pull it free, the feel of it was enough to calm him. Somewhat.

  Aben continued forward, along the dog’s trail. The sound grew louder with every step. He realized it wasn’t scraping. It was scratching.

  When he broke free of the trees, Aben saw Prince. He only realized he’d been holding his breath when it came out in a sudden rush. The dog stood atop a frozen pond, clawing and digging at the ice with its front paws. Aben grinned at the sight.

  “I send you after a ball and you come up with a couple fish?”

  Fish sounded pretty damned good. Aben hadn’t eaten fresh meat since a turkey sandwich more than half a year earlier and he missed it. He moved to the edge of the pond and surveyed it but he couldn’t see anything through the thick, opaque ice. As hungry as he was, he had no pole or net and couldn’t see any sense pursuing the matter.

  “How about you come back here and we’ll look for the ball?”

  The dog ignored him as he kept scratching.

  Aben’s curiosity was piqued and he rested one booted foot atop the ice. He stepped down, putting a quarter of his body weight on it, then half, then all of it. It held. Aben moved onto the pond, the ice suspending him above the water below. He scooted across, careful not to slip on the slick surface. Within half a minute he’d reached Prince.

  The dog continued to pay him no heed and when Aben rested his hand on Prince’s back the dog jumped back like it had received an electric shock. Aben couldn’t stifle a laugh and that seemed to snap the dog out of its obsession, at least momentarily. It pushed its muzzle against Aben’s bearded neck and gave him am eager lick.

  “That’s my boy. I was starting to think you didn’t like me anymore.”

  The dog licked him again then turned its face back to the ice. He’d cleared away the snow and its toenails had carved a half inch trench into the glassy surface. Prince stared at it and whined.

  Aben eased down onto his knees and he could feel the cold stabbing through his pants. He leaned forward, onto his elbows and hoped none of the others were watching because he imagined that he looked quite the spectacle.

  He leaned in closer, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see through the ice.

  The dog gave another whine then recommenced its digging. Aben realized his hands were going numb in the cold and wondered if dogs could get frostbite. He suspected they could and decided this had gone on long enough.

  “That’s enough now, Prince. Let’s head back to the camp.”

  He grabbed the dog’s collar and tried to pull it away but Prince gave a low growl and he pulled his hand back. In all these months, it had been rare to hear the dog growl, and never at him.

  “All right then. Have it your way.” He stood up and shuffled away from the dog, a few feet at first, then a few yards. He expected the dog to follow. It did not.

  Aben turned back, his patience thin. “Prince!” The tone in his voice made the dog look in his direction. “Come!”

  Prince turned back to the ice, gave another whine, but finally moved toward Aben.

  About damn time.

  The dog crept in his direction, almost belly crawling on the ice. Aben took a step backwards. Then another. When he went for a third, he heard the groan.

  At first, he wasn’t sure where the sound originated. It sounded human, pained. He began to turn around to see if someone, or something, was watching him after all and when he moved there came another groan. This one was followed by a crack and a pop. Aben barely had time to think, ‘all that’s missing is the snap’ before the ice beneath him gave way.

  The plunge was so fast he didn’t have time to take a breath and the next thing he knew he was falling into a frigid chasm. The freezing water hit him like a truck and he instinctively gasped, sucking a mouthful of fluid that tasted like mud and rotten seafood into his throat and lungs.

  He choked on it, his diaphragm spasming as it tried to expel the water. In the process, his body tried to breathe again but he stopped himself from swallowing in more.

  Within seconds, every part of his body was numb. His scraggly beard floated up, into his face and in front of his eyes. Looking through it was like trying to peer through a patch of seaweed. Aben tried to push it away as he kicked to propel himself upward, but he still couldn’t see and he slammed his skull into the ice.

  His vision went blank for a moment and when it returned he thought the water around him had taken on a deep red color. He reached up and examined his head and could run his fingers underneath a large gash that had opened above his hairline. He knew that would have hurt like a son of a bitch if he had any feeling left.

  Despite being submerged, Aben heard a high pitched, frantic barking from above.

  Sure, bark. You got me into this mess.

  He tried to follow the noise, to move closer to it hoping the dog would lead him to the hole. As he did, his eyes began to adjust to the dim conditions underwater and he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He turned to look, but lost it.

  Just a fish.

  Despite the cold, his lungs were burning. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been under but he knew he needed to get air now, not later.

  Focus on the dog. Listen.

  Prince sounded close, just to the right. Aben swam toward the noise, staring up, hoping to see the hole, to see freedom, but seeing only more ice. More movement stole his attention. It was ahead of him, but lower, camouflaged amongst the weeds and muck that filled the bottom of the pond.

  Forget about it and get the hell out of here.

  He pushed himself upward, against the ceiling of ice and tried to pull himself along with the fingertips of his remaining hand. He didn’t know how he could have moved so far away from where he’d fallen in. He felt his lungs spasm and fought to keep his mouth clamped shut to avoid sucking in more of the foul water.

  Aben knew he had only a few more seconds, but between the blow to his head and the freezing water, his thoughts came slow. He tried to focus on the barking dog but it seemed further away now. Barely audible.

  Where the hell am I?

  Something brushed against his back. Even with little feeling remaining in his body he could tell it was something substantial. Not a fish. But he didn’t dare risk looking away and further disorienting himself.

  He clawed at the ice, kicked and pulled himself forward. And then his hand suddenly wasn’t pressing against the ice, it was reaching through it.

  Aben pushed himself into the hole and his upper body popped through, bobbing like a buoy. Prince yipped, an excited but worried noise, at the edge of the hole. When Aben saw him he never thought he could be so joyful and so pissed off at the same time.

  “You damn dog. See if I follow you again.”

  He tried to grab onto the surface ice but his fingers were clumsy and of little use. He kicked and pushed himself far enough out of the hole that he could get his elbows onto the ice, then took a moment to catch his breath.

  Aben got in four good mouthfuls of air before he felt something under the water grab hold of his belt. He had no time to react befor
e the force of it pulled him off the ice and back into the water below.

  When he looked down, he saw a zombie at his waist. Its skin was wrinkled and white, almost translucent. It looked to be around twelve years old and wore a Scout’s uniform, the red kerchief still tied around its neck.

  Aben was used to the cold now and that helped, a little. He reached down and grabbed the maul from his belt. He was unsure whether he’d be able to get enough force underwater to do much damage but he tried anyway. As he swung, the hammer end of the maul caught the boy in the jaw and it peeled off sideways in a way that reminded Aben of separating chicken wings. The zombie’s jawbone floated away, spiraling into the murky water below until Aben lost sight of it.

  Still, the zombie held fast to his belt. Aben went to swing again when another zombie grabbed his hair and ripped his head backwards. The sudden attack startled him and Aben dropped the maul which quickly plunged into the abyss. He remembered Bolivar telling him to get a haircut. He should have listened.

  Aben was out of breath again and when he tried to propel himself upward the weight of the two zombies was too great to overcome. He could feel himself going down. Sinking.

  Maybe this isn’t so bad.

  He’d seen men die much worse. He’d been party to a few of them himself. As far as ends went, this one seemed pretty easy. Probably better than he deserved.

  Above Prince’s frenzied barks grew further and further away. The sound of the dog was the only thing stopping him from accepting his coming fate. Damn it, he’d miss that dog.

  Aben grabbed onto the hand which clutched his belt. His fingers sunk into the zombie’s hand, puncturing the flesh which quickly gave way and came free like a glove. It reminded him a bit of losing his own hand back in a rural Pennsylvania police station and that wasn’t a memory he cared to relive. With the skin gone, the zombie’s finger bones lost their grip on him and the monster floated away.