by TW Brown
Jamie waited for a moment to be sure that he was finished. He pursed his lips and made a kissing gesture in her direction.
“The ladies and gentlemen of Liberty, South Carolina find Joe Spencer, Mark Trees, Bob Capka, and Kevin Staley guilty of murder and sentence you to hang by the neck until dead.” Jamie turned her back on the crowd and faced the four condemned men. “May God have mercy on your souls.”
Bo gripped the lever. Just before Jamie nodded, all four men reacted. The man with the tattoos bowed his heads as if in prayer. The muscular fella screamed one final curse into his gag, and the man who had given the speech stood tall and started to laugh. All of those reactions were what Bo considered to be pretty normal considering the circumstances.
It was the reaction of the man who had not spoken a word, the man named Bob Capka, that was the response he would ponder and sometimes wake from a nightmare when it replayed in his sleep. Bo was almost certain that he was the only one who heard the man as he broke his silence. The words were spoken so softly, that sometimes he tried to convince himself that he had not heard anything, but Bo Summers knew that was a lie. Those final words would haunt Bo for the rest of his life and actually give him chills whenever he heard another person speak them.
Just as he pulled the lever, he heard Bob Capka whisper, “Thank you.”
13
As Time Goes By
Sophie sat in the small office. Her son had volunteered to help unload the food trucks. That left her alone with the little girl that he had saved. As had been her norm since that day, the girl sat silently on a chair. The dolls, coloring books, and stuffed animals all remained untouched. The girl stared at the floor and still hadn’t spoken a word.
The problem was that Sophie could not remember her name. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was close enough to be considered lunch time. She pushed away from the desk and went to the small cupboard. Three boxes of crackers and some peanut butter were all that she had. She’d only kept that just in case her blood sugar got a little off kilter; which it did whenever she spent twenty-four hours straight in her office.
“Want to walk over to the school for lunch?” Sophie said in her sweetest voice which took considerable effort considering how tired she was at the moment. “I think they are serving up spaghetti today.”
It was no surprise when the girl just continued to sit in total silence and stare at the floor. Grabbing her belt with the required self-defense weapon—she carried a nondescript machete with a worn wooden handle—she strapped it on and then reached down for the girl’s hand.
“I hate ba-sketti,” the girl mumbled.
Sophie took a step back and regarded the girl like she might if the words had come from the chair that the girl was now vacating. She’d asked Lawrence every single day if the girl had spoken to him and he had assured her that she hadn’t.
“Trust me, Mom, if she speaks, you’ll be the first person I tell,” he usually answered. The last few times he had simply rolled his eyes and left the room.
“Honey, can you tell me your name?”
The little girl looked up at her and slowly shook her head. “Mama says I’m not a-supposed to talk to strangers.”
Sophie rubbed her eyes with her index finger and thumb as she suppressed her frustration. An idea popped into her head and she knelt down. “I bet you are allowed to talk to doctors and policemen, aren’t you?” The girl seemed to think it over for a moment before nodding tentatively. “Well I am Dr. Sophie.” While not exactly true, she was the closest thing the town had to a doctor at the moment, so her little white lie came out easily enough.
“Megan,” the girl whispered after a slight hesitation. “My name is Megan Jones.”
“Well, Megan Jones, since you don’t like spaghetti, what would you like for lunch?”
Again the girl was silent. Sophie started to think that perhaps she had shut down again when, at last, the girl looked up at her with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “I like peanut butter.”
“Well then you happen to be in luck.”
Sophie unbuckled her belt and hung it on the hook beside her desk as she went back to her small cupboard and produced a box of Saltines and a jar of creamy peanut butter. She cleared away a space on her desk and set down the food. Opening her bottom drawer, she produced two foil pouches of orange drink. For the next twenty minutes, Sophie listened as Megan decided to make up for several days of not speaking.
***
Bo scrubbed his face and stared in the tiny mirror beside his wash basin. He could still taste the sourness of having been sick at some point last night. His eyes shot a wistful glance at the bottle of Johnny Walker Red that sat on the floor beside his bed. It was now minus just over three-quarters of its contents. Last night, it had been full and still in the box.
He noticed that somebody had done him the favor of placing a bucket beside his bed. He had no idea who, but he thanked the anonymous person as he grabbed the sloshing red pail and headed for the closest exit so that he could dump it someplace outside. His mind began to play disjointed bits and pieces of the evening as he made his way through the fairly crowded gymnasium-turned-dorm.
The nightmare had come again even through his drunken haze. This was one of those times where that man had turned right to him and spoken those two words.
All his life, Bo had been seen as one of the ‘good old boys’ of the town. He was usually one of the first to step forward when somebody needed a little help around their property. On weekends, he had volunteered at the Senior Center, and for the past several years, he had been one of the most successful youth football coaches in the county. That had led to him being asked to assist at the high school.
Nobody ever asked why Bo Summers had not married. Nor had anybody ever questioned his fairly regular trips to Greenville. Bo was not somebody that most folks cared to question. It wasn’t that he was mean; far from it. He was better known for his huge heart. He just had a terrific knack for deflecting questions anytime folks got personal.
Nobody was more surprised than Bo to discover that he was gay. He’d chalked it up in his early years as simply being shy around the ladies. He had stifled that voice in his head that tried to clarify his attraction towards men.
Then he’d met Oliver Tandy, a physical therapist at Pickens Memorial Hospital. Oliver had been the one to awaken parts of him that he had tried for years to keep shut away. The problem was, a man like Bo just did not broadcast his orientation in a small town like Liberty. Sure, some folks would be able to see past the label; but too many would not.
The zombie problem in Liberty had caused Bo to be able to forget everything for the first several days, but now that things were starting to level out—at least as much as he figured they would in a zombie apocalypse—thoughts of Oliver had seeped into Bo’s mind.
Oliver had long, curly hair much like that Bob Capka fella. Perhaps that was why he occasionally saw Oliver’s face on that body just before it dropped through the trap door.
He had missed the sign-up for Jamie Burns’ expedition heading up to Pickens Memorial Hospital. Now he was actually considering something very stupid. Despite his ability to take care of himself, Bo Summers was not so foolish as to believe that was sufficient to keep him alive out in the hellscape that was their new reality. If the walking dead didn’t get you, then there were raiders and just plain old accidents.
The days of antibiotics being readily available were about to go away. They were set to enter a period where a simple cut could become infected and kill a person.
When he gave it serious thought, he did not actually expect to find Oliver alive. He’d heard the stories of what had happened at the hospital from a few of the survivors who had made it down to Liberty. The place was a nightmare and said to be crawling with zombies. If Oliver was in the hospital when the military presence failed, he was as good as dead.
The thing was, he needed to at least check. If he didn’t and the day arrived when Oliver came walking up to one o
f the roving patrols, he would never forgive himself…and it was likely that Oliver wouldn’t either. If he could get up to Pickens and check Oliver’s apartment, which was literally within eyesight of the hospital, then he could at least find something close to peace of mind.
Of course, if he found Oliver and the man happened to be alive, then he would have an entirely new situation to deal with. That would be small potatoes compared to everything else going on and probably make coming out easier than it would have ever been before the zombies showed up.
Bo laughed at the thought and jumped when a voice called his name from across the parking lot. Looking around, he spied Sarah Gilstrap headed his direction. She had just moved into the dorms yesterday allowing a third family to move into the house that she and the chief had called home for so long.
Obviously she’d gotten an early start to whatever she had going on today since she was not only already up and about, but dressed in full protective gear. He briefly wondered what sector she would be patrolling as he waited for her to cross over to him. Just before she arrived, he quickly set the pail on the ground and scooted it away with one booted foot.
“Did you hear?” Sarah asked as she picked up her pace to meet Bo.
“I doubt it,” he said, wincing at the sound of his own voice.
“They need two new volunteers for Jamie’s trip to Pickens.” The woman gave a knowing smile to Bo, her eyebrows raised slightly.
“Since when?”
“Since they have decided that you can catch this zombie crap by getting blood in an open cut.”
Bo thought it over for a moment and then an idea struck him. “Okay, so why are you so excited…and why are you telling me?”
“Wow…you really were drunk last night,” Sarah said with far too much cheer in her voice for Bo’s liking.
A cold feeling started in his stomach and began to spread through his body as he assumed her reason. What had he said? And who had been present?
“Sweetie, relax. Nobody cares. There are slightly more pressing issues right now. Besides, there has been a lot of speculation for the past several years. I can’t believe that you felt you needed to keep that a secret.” Sarah stepped up and gave the big man a hug. She quickly drew back. “Oh…but you need to clean up a bit. You smell awful.”
“I will right after I go make sure that I am on the list. I missed it and was actually starting to consider making the trip alone.”
“We know,” another voice said from behind Bo, causing the big man to jump.
Ivan Potter walked up and gave Bo a friendly punch in the shoulder. It was the same way he’d greeted Bo for years. Bo was having trouble hiding his amazement.
“And no need to worry,” Sarah spoke up. “I already signed you and me on to the team. You need to hurry up. We’re leaving in a little bit.”
Bo stood there watching as Sarah and Ivan headed across the parking lot. After being rid of his bucket he stopped at one of the outdoor clean-up stations. This was a new development just being put in place. A large basin was kept full of water. That basin was hung over a fire that was kept stoked by some of the grade and high school kids. (Everybody had to pull their weight these days…even the youngsters.) You scooped out a bucket of warm water and hung it in a curtained off area where you took a very economical shower.
Just as he finished, he thought he heard a low rumble approaching from the west. That must be the team sent to get the train to help secure the northern part of their safe zone. Today was shaping up to be a nice one. He was already feeling the weight of a decades-long secret sliding from his shoulders.
“Who said a zombie apocalypse was a bad thing,” Bo mused as he started putting on his gear for the trip north.
***
Jamie climbed up onto the top of the massive earth-moving vehicle. Her eyes could not help but drift back to the stain on the road as she’d made the climb. This was where Chief Gilstrap had lost his life. She prayed that a rain would come soon and perhaps wash some of it away.
“Here it comes,” Ivan Potter was standing beside her and pointing to the west.
Shielding her eyes from the glare of the afternoon, she could see the shimmer of something moving their direction. It was not long before the low rumble could be heard as well.
The day after the hanging, a team of ten had been sent west. A train had been discovered by one of the foraging teams and it was decided that now was as good a time as any to go fetch it. This train would be halted on the tracks to help create their northern “wall” between South Norman and Peachtree Streets. Once the train was stopped, they would disable it and then tear up the tracks for a good distance in both directions.
They had lucked upon one train that would easily span the entire length. An added benefit was that there did not seem to be any tanker cars that might eventually spill their toxic payloads. Most of the cars were empty except for a few that were loaded with automobiles that would be unloaded and added to the barricade that was starting to slow down in its creation. The teams bringing in vehicles had to range farther out and only a handful of people were volunteering for those missions.
This particular team had been gone for eleven days. There were those that had started to wonder if perhaps they’d fallen prey to zombies or a band of raiders like Kevin and his group. Last night, a red flare and then a blue flare had been spotted to the west. That was the signal that meant the team was approaching and would arrive the next day.
A low moan caused Jamie to look away from the train. A single zombie was wading through the tall grass. Two people broke away from where the growing crowd was waiting at the railroad crossing and made short work of it.
Jamie had been thankful that, at least up until this point in things, they had only encountered a handful of zombies here and there. Some of the teams going out lately were reporting seeing groups numbering in the hundreds and even the thousands. That had her nervous about her own upcoming mission towards Pickens.
She and twenty others were going to be taking the three eighteen-wheelers that had brought the shipment from Ingles Market along with two more that had been brought in from the highway. They would be driving to Pickens. The hope was that things had cleared out enough so that they might be able to salvage medical supplies from the hospital as well as hopefully some more food.
At last, the train rolled past and eventually came to a stop. Jamie and several people from town came up to the lead engine where a woman emerged from the car, her left arm bandaged and her eyes showing the obvious signs of infection. She was dripping with sweat and her skin was already looking waxy.
“So…many…” the woman heaved before collapsing to her knees. She looked up at Jamie and a grimace of pain creased her face. “Not sure if we could make it back.”
Jamie rushed to the woman, but Ivan caught her around the waist. He held her back as two other people that were in Sophie’s newest group of students slapped on Latex gloves and approached the downed woman cautiously.
As they did, one of the cargo doors opened with a loud clang. Everybody holding a weapon spun almost in perfect unison with weapons leveled. Two men emerged, hands up and calling out for everybody not to shoot.
After a quick debrief, Jamie had a lot to consider before embarking on her own mission. Of the ten people sent out on this run to fetch the train, only three had returned, and only two survived. Those two shared a horrific tale about the degree of destruction and ruin that had befallen almost every single place they passed through.
They shared stories of entire residential neighborhoods burned to the ground. The cities in every direction were overrun by thousands of the walking dead. Some of the herds were said to number in the tens of thousands and left a trail of destruction in their wake that rivaled any tornado, hurricane, or even tsunami.
“They just have so much mass behind them that they push cars aside. Fences fold down like paper and even some small buildings have eventually broken under the pressure,” one of the men recounted as he a
llowed the medical person doing the inspection of his body to check everywhere for any sign of a bite or scratch.
But it was what the other man shared that clicked home for so many of those who heard. It forced Jamie to require her team to change the equipment they had to carry.
“Larry Mane didn’t get bit. The best we could figure as we checked him out was that he must’ve gotten some of the zombie blood in a nasty cut on his right hand that he had suffered breaking a window the day before. He had zombie blood all over that arm and hand. He didn’t get a single scratch. That is one thing everybody agrees on. Only, within two hours of the fight, his eyes had changed and he started acting sick. Just before sunrise, he let out a long exhale and was gone. We all had a good guess as to what was going to happen next, but nobody wanted to spike Larry unless he actually sat up.”
Ivan had listened to the rest of the report regarding what happened to the others, but Jamie needed to make sure that she and her team were as prepared as possible. After meeting with Sophie and being astounded that the little girl that Lawrence had saved was not only doing better, but now had turned into quite the chatter box, she decided that they needed to take contamination precautions.
Her team all picked out goggles or face shields. Some also chose to wear respirators or masks that protected their mouths. Two members with open sores were eliminated from the team as a precaution.
As she finished packing her own backpack, a knock came at the opening to her cubicle. She turned to see Bo Summers and Sarah Gilstrap standing there with packs in their hands.
