“Don’t look so surprised. It's not like we've got a whole lot of protection around here.”
“Well, no, but how can you even be in the mood with everything that's been goin’ on?”
“You tell me. You looked pretty friendly with Chicken George up on that quad.”
“I was trying not to fall off.”
“So was I… when I got pregnant.”
Cori laughed outright.
“Look," Jenny said. She paused. "We can either admit we’re on the way out—a dead species, failed experiment, whatever you want to call it—or we can fight back every way possible.”
“Ain’t you afraid to bring a kid into this?”
“Scared to death." Jenny held her eyes. "But we’ve had contact with other places. There’s a few little pockets of people like us, and a few military bases are organizing. It’s not going to be easy, but we can survive. There’s about twenty of us now who've caught pregnant. Even some of the women in their thirties who've already got kids in junior high school. We just kinda started thinkin' like this.”
Cori considered for a few moments. “I didn’t know about the other places. How’d you find out?”
“My old house out in the timber has a generator and Internet hooked into a satellite. We’ve even been in touch with the CDC up in Chicago. They’re working on a vaccine, and they want us preggers to come in and get inoculated. I just don’t know if I wanna make the trip… or if I believe they've got any sort of a vaccine at this point that really works.”
“True. I guess we wait it out.”
“Yeah. It’s gone pandemic. When this is over, it’s still going to be a mess.”
“So… are you girls waitin' for the stores to open to start shavin' again?”
Jenny laughed. “Dull razors and cold water are not a good combination. You should know.”
“It’s driving me nuts to let my legs get so furry.”
“You get used to it. Now, what should we do with that hair on your head?”
Cori ran a couple fingers through her thick nap. A few inches of curl, then it went straight where the perm ran out from the last time she'd been to the hairdresser. “If I had a set of clippers, I’d just shear it all off.”
“You’re in luck. We’ve got a battery-powered beard trimmer that’s dying to be used.” Jenny led the way into the house. “Danny only uses it about twice a month.”
Leaving an hour later, Cori felt around at the short, natural curls atop her head. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when her hair had been so short.
She walked through town with a lot to digest. We can fight back every way possible. Snareville boasted a little more than three hundred people in town. Seventy-five men, Jenny said, a hundred and thirty women, and the rest kids. Up in the hills lived a hundred more at the Mennonite camp. But now she knew there were others out there, and even some forms of real civilization.
Pausing, Cori looked around. The kids were still in school for the morning, but she saw a few people out in their gardens. They leaned on rakes or hoes as they chitchatted back and forth, speaking of life.
Everything looked so normal.
When she got back to the Jaques’ place, Cori headed out back to help with the garden. It needed weeding, and, with little else to do, she thought it a good task at which to contemplate.
Hours later, the kids came home from school. Before long, Cori spotted Tony loading up the wagon with his bucket.
“Hey, there,” Cori called to him. “You mind if I go with?”
“You wanna go fishin’?”
Cori crossed the yard as the kids giggled behind her. “I grew up along the Mississippi. My Daddy took us girls fishin’ damn near every weekend.”
“Load up, then.”
Tony swung aboard the machine and fired it up. Cori hopped on behind.
"I'll be back in the morning," she told the kids. "Make sure you get your homework done."
With that, Tony revved up and pointed the quad away from town.
They stopped at a tiny house built within a few feet of the south canal levee. People from Chicago once used the place for a weekend retreat and hunting cabin. Tony opened the door to go in and fetch the rest of his supplies. Inside, Cori saw clusters of jugs, hooks tied underneath. Nets occupied another corner of the cramped main room. Along one wall stood three rows of milk jugs, filled with a light brown substance.
“My bombs,” Tony said simply, then added, “Help me grab the jugs."
Cori looked at him, brow cocked.
“The milk jugs… the ones I fish with,” Tony sputtered. “With the fish hooks tied to them.”
Cori smiled as she helped gather what they needed. She held the jugs in front of her chest.
“You mean these?” she asked innocently.
Tony grinned and snatched them away. “Yes, these.”
Together, the two loaded a johnboat and headed out. The sun hung behind the west wall of the valley now. Tony pulled the boat into the fast-moving water behind one of the locks. He flipped open the bait bucket, and Cori reached in to pull out a long night crawler. With a few deft moves, she had the worm threaded on the hook, held in her left hand while she hefted a jug in the right.
“Where you want it?” she asked.
“You have done this before,” Tony noted. “Toss it up near the tie-off post. We’ll get them in and drift down from there.”
Ten jugs went into the water. They bobbed around before the current caught them and pulled them downstream. Tony hit the switch on the trolling motor, and they got out of the way. It wasn’t long before one jug started to roll away from the others, moving upstream along the bank. Tony hit the motor as he chased after it.
As they drew alongside, Cori reached out, snagged the handle with one hand, and pulled jug, fish, and all into the boat. She grabbed the shank of the hook, twisted it out of the big channel cat’s mouth, and dropped the fish into the basket tied to the side of the boat. Tony watched quietly as Cori re-baited the hook and tossed it back in the water.
“I think you just earned a nickname,” he said.
“And what would that be?”
“Catfish Cori.”
“You sayin’ I smell like a fish?” Cori asked, grinning.
“No. I’m sayin’ not too many girls can do what you just did.”
“Oh.” She considered, then smiled. “Not the prettiest name in the world, but it’ll do.”
They fished for two more hours. When full dark came on, a black-velvet sky spread out overhead, shot through with stars. More fish went into the baskets. A light breeze pushed the boat across the water as the two talked about nothing. Just a couple of folks getting to know one another. The world lay at peace. Nothing felt wrong. They could almost dock the boat and walk back into town as if everything were normal.
The feeling stayed with Cori until midnight. Then she heard footsteps on the north towpath opposite Snareville.
“Who’s down here this time of night?” she wondered aloud.
“Probably just Fred,” Tony replied.
“Fred?”
“Yeah. Fred. Hang on.”
He dug around in the bottom of the boat until he found his spotlight. With a flip of the switch, he lit the night. On the towpath stood a zombie. Half his scalp was missing, along with his left arm from the shoulder down. His white, buttoned shirt was stained with the moisture of decay. His tie hung loose around his neck. His slacks hung in tatters from the crotch down.
“Lord!” Cori gasped.
“Looks like ol’ Fred's lost an eye now. Wonder how that happened?”
“You see him a lot?”
“Yeah. Ol’ Fred the Zed. He comes along here pretty regular. I see him two or three times a week.”
“Why don’t you shoot him?”
“Why? He can’t get me out here in the water. He wanders along the towpath, then he wanders off somewhere else. Probably lived in one of them houses up in the timber. He’s dressed like it.”
Fr
ed reached out for them, letting out a moan. Tony waved back.
“See ya, Fred. Go take a walk.”
The zombie turned and shuffled down the path.
“You always talk to him?”
“Only if he talks to me first.”
Cori shook her head. Tony had undergone some damage. But hadn’t they all?
In a matter of hours, the two had filled all the fish orders for the day, so they retrieved their jugs and drifted with the current. They spoke of family and friends they hadn’t seen and didn’t know what happened to. Tony talked a bit about his wife. She'd shambled along the canal one night with Fred. She was torn up and rotting. Tony put a bullet through her head. It was the last time he’d shot a deader. That was three weeks ago.
As dawn crept over the eastern valley wall, the two beached the boat. They dumped their fish in the wagon and stashed their supplied back in the little house. They threw wet sheets over the fish and set off to make the morning delivery run.
Hours later, they pulled into Tony’s yard. He shut down the quad before he rinsed out the wagon. Cori stumbled, fell into the long grass, and stretched out on her back in a fit of giggling.
Tony watched her, smiling.
“Why don’t you come to bed at my place?” he asked. “When the kids come home, they’ll just wake you up.”
He held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. She stumbled into his arms.
“You tryin’ to get me outta my clothes?” she inquired, still giggling.
“Yep,” he said.
“At least you’re honest about it. C’mon. I need to get some sleep.”
She turned, pulled her shirt off over her head, and walked into Tony's house. He followed.
Three days later, without anything being said, Cori moved the few things she had into Tony’s place. She was still next door to the kids, and he had the space for her. She'd taken up fishing with him every night. She made sure she was awake when the kids got home from school, but she shared her bed with Tony. They didn’t always fish all night. The small house along the canal included a bed, and at times, they came off the water early. She wasn't sure how long it took from sleeping in the same bed together to making love like horny teenagers, but it was a welcome bit of normalcy.
It was a Friday afternoon and their second week together. Cori rolled over on top of Tony. Sweat cooled the small of her back and slicked his chest. She did miss air conditioning.
With a final thrust and grind, they collapsed together. She lay half-straddling him, trying to catch her breath. Tony played with the tight curls on her head.
“You tryin’ to get pregnant, Catfish, or what?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Cori gasped into the chest hair she was playing with. She slid her hips off him. He cradled her in one arm.
“Why?”
“I’m a statistical freak. I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m an educated black woman who has an upper-middle income that doesn’t involve dribbling a ball or shaking my ass in a rap video. I placed silver in the last Olympic trials on my horse, and I was the third person on the American Equestrian Team. You know what that means?”
“What?”
“Exactly dick. All of that is gone. Everything it ever meant is gone. What was important to me three months ago has been blown away. What’s important to me now is making sure that someday, it’s important again.”
“Glad I could accommodate.” He ran his fingers down her spine. Her thick, kinky bush ground against his hip. He looked into her brown eyes. “I’m forty-three, Cat. Never had any kids. Never wanted any. Until I met you.”
She smiled up at him and gave him a soft kiss. “We should get up.”
“I’ve already been up twice. Don’t think I could do it again.”
She poked him in the ribs as she rolled out of bed. He faked injury and rolled out the other side. They started to dress, and a pounding came at the door. Voices called Cori's name. Kids' voices. Her kids.
She jumped into a pair of shorts, then pulled a shirt over her head as she trotted down the hall to unbar the door. The kids tumbled inside as Tony hurried from the bedroom. Rachel was in tears, the crotch of her pants stained dark.
“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”
"Muh… Muh… Mister Mueller ruined my panties,” Rachel choked out, her breath coming in short gulps.
“What?” Cori cried, sitting the girl down.
“He raped her, Aunt Cori,” Sherrie blurted. “He kept her after class, an’ he raped her.”
“Oh, God damn…" Breathless, Corri wrapped Rachel up in her arms. "It’ll be okay, honey. It’ll be okay.”
She pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and met Tony's eyes. Tony reached into the deep drawer of the desk. He looped the chain of a badge over his head and tucked a pair of handcuffs into his back pocket. He buckled his gun belt into place and slid a nightstick into its ring.“Some things do still matter, Cat. Thanks for reminding me.” He turned to the kids. “Joe, go find Mister Kenny. Tell him I’m brining someone to his office. Pony, go find your folks. They’re EMTs, right?”
Pony nodded.
“Good. Bring them here. They can help. Sherrie, you stay here with your aunt and Rachel. Whatever you do, don’t tell Danny.”
“Why?” Cori asked.
“’Cause Rick Mueller is Jenny’s husband.”
“Shit,” Cori whispered.
“Exactly.”
The arrest went easy. Mueller sat at his desk while he went over some papers. He didn’t deny what he'd done. He tried to justify it, just like every other rapist Tony ever dealt with in his ten years as a deputy.
The girl wanted it, Mueller claimed. She deserved it.
Tony backhanded the nightstick across the bridge of the man’s nose. It crunched like an egg.
Mueller sat there, stunned, as the blood poured from his nostrils. Tony yanked the professor's arms around and cuffed him. Then he lifted Mueller from his seat by the hair and dragged him out to the quad runner. Mueller stammered protests the whole time Tony was dumping him into the fish wagon.
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll turn you over to Danny and his crew.”
Mueller didn’t say another word.
The trial went swift. Two days after his arrest, the professor sat in a small car at the first checkpoint headed out of town. In the passenger seat rested an SKS rifle and a bandolier of ammunition. In the rear seat lay a backpack full of food. Behind the wheel, Mueller sat gingerly on a pillow.
“Normally, you could make Chicago in a couple hours. Don’t know what it takes these days. The CDC up there said they’d take you.”
Kenny leaned against the roof of the car. Mueller stared straight ahead.
“Taylorville, Indiana is a few hours farther along. You’ve got the directions. They said they’d take you, too. Those're your choices.”
“Great. Another hick town like this one, or pushing a broom at the CDC. Who’s going to take care of Daffy?”
“Your girl will be fine,” Tony said from the other side of the car. His deputy badge still hung around his neck. “She’s got friends she can move in with. They’ll have room for when the baby gets here.”
Mueller's eyes shifted. “You’re all going to die out here. Peoria isn’t that far south, you know, and Princeton is still full of walking dead.”
“Maybe,” Kenny said. “But at least we won’t have you around.”
They turned to the sound of hoof beats coming up behind them. Cori thundered up on her Thoroughbred. She was decked out in riding togs with a whip tucked into the top of her right boot. She swung off her horse and walked over to the driver's side of the car.
“Rachel wanted you to have these,” she said.
She handed a jelly jar through the open window. Inside the clear liquid floated two pale, pink orbs.
“She says this way, you’ll always know where your balls are.”
Gagging, Mueller took the jar. “You’re all a bunch of ignorant savages.�
�
“Yep,” Tony replied, grinning. “And we’re okay with that. You better get goin'. And, you come back here, you’ll be shot on sight.”
“Fuck you.” Mueller looked at Corri. “And the horse you rode in on.”
The others stepped away from the car as the professor put it in gear and drove off.
Chapter Four
An explosion got my attention. It wasn’t a gunshot—no report to it. More of a deep boom than a sharp crack.
I keyed the two-way radio and put my team on full alert. It was mid-September, almost five months since the outbreak. A lot of the Zeds in Princeton had moved on. We pretty much owned the north end of town. That was why the explosion surprised me.
We were on another supply run to Wally World. We always left the back doors to the tire-and-lube center unlocked, so we could get in and out in a hurry. We'd barricaded and chained the front doors of the main building long ago. Now it sounded like someone wanted to open those doors the hard way. No telling what we might run into out there.
Rounding the corner, we saw them. There stood a group of scavengers. A group of bad scavengers, from the looks of them. I saw an open-top Jeep, an old pickup with hog panel wiring welded over the windows, and an old Cavalier. Ten people argued in front of the doors, decked out in the best of the post-apocalyptic look: leather vests, chains, shaved heads, heavy makeup, lots of tattoos. A bunch of Mad Max wannabes.
They were too involved in the argument over the failure of their little joke of a bomb to pay us any attention, so I had my five armored pickups roll into position behind them. None of the group even looked our way. They probably didn’t hear us. Explosions tend to make one a bit deaf for a little while, and my trucks still had the stock exhaust on them. I don’t like to draw any extra attention to my crew when we pull a raid.
Finally, though, I had Bill blow the horn. That got their attention. They turned to find themselves looking down the barrel of my AR-15.
“You folks realize that little blast just alerted every Zed on this side of town?” I asked. “Now we’ve all got about ten minutes before they find their way into the lot.”
Snareville Page 6
