The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  Sutton didn’t picture the younger man as one to throw up his arm in solidarity with the white power movement. He likely looked close enough to the part that the other three men invited him to join their faction. Of course, he could also be saying just the right things to lure Sutton into admitting compromising information.

  “Two months ago, I was carrying two cell phones just to keep up with all of my business contacts,” Hawk stated. “One for buyers, one for salesmen. I’m kinda glad the hustle and bustle is behind me.”

  “What kind of business, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I sold guns,” Hawk said with a crooked smile.

  “How the hell are you not holed up somewhere defending your stash?”

  “I had to trade the guns to get a stash to begin with,” Hawk admitted. “Gave most of the food and supplies to my family, and they got overrun within a week by the dead, then the living. I’d gone scouting, and by the time I got back, it was too late. No family, no food, nothing left to call a home.”

  He hung his head momentarily, shaking it.

  “There was a minute there where I thought about putting a gun to my head, but my daddy was a fire and brimstone kinda preacher. I’m not going to take a chance on eternal damnation, and I figure there’s a reason the big man above left me here on this wretched planet.”

  “Did you have kids?” Sutton inquired.

  “No. The wife and I were going to try over the winter, but that plan obviously went to shit. You?”

  “I had two boys,” Sutton decided to confess without providing details. “I don’t know where they are, but they know how to survive, so I just keep looking in every town, around every corner.”

  Sutton put a spin on the truth, leaving out his other traveling companions and Buster, the dog he currently missed dearly. He stared at the fire momentarily, listening to the crackle of the burning logs and sticks, realizing he hadn’t camped in several years preceding the apocalypse.

  He wondered if his friends in South Hill anxiously awaited him or planned to leave without him. After working so hard to stock the box truck, Sutton worried about someone stealing it, which created the issue between him and Keppler. He didn’t imagine Keppler was going to be catching up to him anytime soon, and the officer was incredibly fortunate if he escaped the bus with his life.

  “Did you ever catch up with the people who killed your family?” Sutton inquired.

  “Yes,” Hawk said in a way that indicated he wasn’t going to elaborate.

  He nodded to the shotgun lying at his feet, implying he dealt the murderers swift justice.

  “You should probably get some sleep,” Hawk suggested, pulling out a pouch of leaf tobacco, popping a wad between his gums and cheek with practiced ease, leaving a bulge on the right side of his cheek. “This stuff will be gone in a matter of months. It’s already tough to find when I raid stores and shops.”

  “Maybe we’ll plant tobacco beside the vegetables someday,” Sutton replied.

  “Maybe,” Hawk said with a smile, holding out the pouch.

  Sutton refused politely, having left behind most of his bad habits before the world went crazy. He rested his head against the old pillow the group found inside a closet within the old house. Sutton figured if they planned on killing him in his sleep, there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway. They would have been justified for killing him when he tried to take the truck, so he figured their offer was genuine, but wondered if it came with strings attached.

  Closing his eyes before rolling to one side, he decided to wait and see what the morning brought his way.

  Ten

  Jillian couldn’t determine why, but her overnight sleep felt like the best she’d experienced in weeks. Perhaps the safety blanket of having her father back in her life left her feeling secure, or maybe exhaustion simply caught up with her, forcing her body to sleep through the night without outside cares and worries.

  Introductions between her friends and her father went well, though everyone looked as surprised as she originally felt about her father being alive. He cooked them supper that night, and everyone exchanged stories with him about their journeys and the horrors they saw. Even Samantha, who barely spoke a word around so many adults, appeared brighter and more talkative than usual.

  Varitek put them up in the largest area house to keep the group together. A large, two-story building just short of mansion status, the house appeared virtually immaculate and offered enough rooms for them to sleep individually, or in pairs if they chose. Having a bathroom and a kitchen felt completely foreign to Jillian, and she was surprised at the pleasant aroma of breakfast being cooked when she awoke just after dawn.

  Stepping outside the back door, she found her father using a large cast iron skillet over a firepit he obviously built that morning. The skillet rested atop a sturdy screen, and the choices of corned beef hash and pork and beans awaited anyone ready to eat. Jillian knew the three staple meals went to the wayside when food selections came from cans or prepackaged food boxes, but she noticed a few eggs within a container beside the fire. No longer did survivors differentiate between breakfast, lunch, and dinner, because cooked food was a delicacy they seldom experienced.

  “Where did you find eggs, Dad?” she asked.

  “I managed to rescue a few chickens,” he answered. “They stay a few houses down from here, tucked in a pen.”

  “I would’ve thought some town ordinance would forbid that.”

  “It did, but I found the chickens in the store and built them a home. It’s reasonably safe from the sick ones.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard them called that,” Jillian admitted, seeing a member of the undead lying at the edge of the yard with a blood spot in its skull.

  “He came visiting this morning,” Varitek stated neutrally. “It’s getting to the point where I don’t recognize them anymore. Some of the town’s people left when it started, and the others who stayed didn’t make it. I’ve seen them during my trips to town, and I knew them when I put them down, but the ones who come now are new faces.”

  “They just walk and walk,” Jillian said with a deflated tone. “And they outnumber us so badly, there’s no thinning the herd.”

  “I remember watching the news,” her father said, stirring the food inside the skillet. “Our best minds couldn’t figure it out, so I wondered what chance did we have?”

  “Don’t give up just yet, Dad. It sounds like the government is looking into what happened.”

  Her father didn’t look impressed, or convinced.

  “Even if they find out who did this, there’s no reversing it,” he said. “How can we expect to return to any sense of normalcy when we have millions of these things wandering around? Hell, there probably aren’t enough bullets to deal with all of them.”

  “That’s what knives are for.”

  Her father smiled at the comment.

  “You’ve come so far.”

  “I had a good teacher.”

  Now Varitek turned a bit more serious.

  “Have you given any thought to making a go of it here?”

  “I have,” Jillian admitted. “I’m not sure how long we can last before we need food and supplies, but I’m not leaving you after everything I’ve gone through to get here.”

  “Your friends seem nice,” Varitek noted, openly prodding for his daughter’s thoughts on her travel companions.

  “They’ve been good to me.”

  “You mentioned some losses?”

  “One of our people was bitten, and he died after our plane crashed in Virginia.”

  “I still can’t believe you got a plane.”

  “And to think we lucked into finding a pilot,” Jillian said with a smile, feeling at ease around her father. “We also lost Dan, but only because he found his family at the Navy base.”

  “You
seem fond of him.”

  Varitek possessed a knack for noticing details.

  “He was one of the good guys,” Jillian replied, trying to suppress any outward signs of the kinship she shared with him. “Dan teamed with us to rescue people he barely knew.”

  “Sounds like he’s one of the good guys.”

  Footsteps interrupted their conversation as Luke stepped out the door, followed by Samantha, who gleefully sniffed the air, drawing the pleasant odor of cooked food into her nostrils. Varitek fixed each of them a plate and added some additional cans of food to the already warm pan. A moment later he handed Jillian a plate with a little bit of everything, including scrambled eggs, before taking a smaller portion for himself.

  Everyone ate silently for a few minutes before Luke finished first and addressed his host.

  “Thank you so much for putting us up,” he said.

  “You’re quite welcome,” Varitek replied. “Any friends of Jillian’s are friends of mine.”

  “What do you say?” Luke coaxed Samantha, who continued to eat at a feverish pace.

  “Thank you,” she said almost sheepishly at Varitek.

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he replied with a warm smile. “And you’re all welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  Jillian decided to speak up.

  “We’re waiting a day or two for our last person to make it here.”

  “Why exactly did he stay behind?” Varitek questioned.

  “He angered a military unit, and volunteered to stay behind and deal with them,” Luke said before Jillian could provide a less forward answer.

  “That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing a person walks away from,” Varitek said with a concerned expression.

  A momentary awkward silence overtook the small group.

  “If he’s not here by tomorrow we planned on moving on without him,” Luke said. “He’s been a disruptive force for us the entire time, so maybe it’s for the best.”

  “This true, punkin?” Varitek asked, looking to his daughter.

  “Colby isn’t so bad. He’s good with firearms, and he’s prepared. The man simply wanted to look for his sons.”

  “And make trouble with the National Guard,” Luke added.

  Jillian looked to Samantha, who didn’t need to be present for adult discussions about the people around her. Luke’s comments weren’t unwarranted, but he didn’t need to speak negatively about any group members while the girl was within earshot.

  “A few of the National Guard guys rummaged through his truck, presumably to steal items for themselves, and Colby didn’t let that happen,” Jillian explained for the sake of her father. “He tied them up, but he didn’t hurt them, and it wasn’t long before we noticed a drone following us from above.”

  “That’s when he finally manned up and did the right thing,” Luke said, unable to hide his bitterness.

  “If he hasn’t made it by now, that doesn’t bode well,” Varitek noted. “He might have gotten himself into some trouble.”

  “That man is trouble,” Luke said.

  Jillian didn’t want to imagine anything terrible happening to Sutton, but there weren’t many realistic reasons why he wouldn’t have reached the small town already. Thankful to have her own reunion out of the way, she hoped to see Sutton alive and well soon.

  ***

  When the group stopped in Lawrenceville to pick the small town clean, Sutton questioned whether or not he wanted to attempt a parting with his new companions. His back felt sore from a lack of sleep, combined with a bumpy ride in the back of the pickup truck. After his talk with Hawk, he didn’t sleep particularly well because his mind conjured up strange nightmares about the undead, his current company, and even his sons returning to him only to reveal they’d been bitten by the undead.

  Downtown Lawrenceville appeared to be constructed entirely of brick, like some kind of large LEGO town. More than likely, some bylaw forced businesses and government buildings to keep the aesthetic much the same regarding local architecture. Some of the brick was traditional red, some rustic, and less of it beige or lighter in color. Highways 58 and 1 shared the same road, running through the small town, indicated by signage down the main drag.

  Stopping the truck in the center of town, the leader, whom Sutton came to know as Clean, stepped from the driver’s seat to the intersection in which he’d parked. Sutton could only assume the nickname came from the old Mr. Clean commercials since the man kept his head shaved and didn’t sport any facial hair. Given a nickname of his own, due to his own facial hair, Sutton became known as Goatee to the group, which suited him fine, because he didn’t want to divulge personal information, and the collective didn’t ask.

  A few zombies staggered around the streets, but none of them close enough to pose a threat against the five men. Sutton stood and stretched momentarily before climbing down from the truck bed. All five men gathered their firearms and surveyed the area until Clean spoke.

  “Scruff, take Goatee and check out the buildings that way,” Clean said, pointing in the direction of a few government buildings, followed by several businesses beyond those. “We’re going to check the square for any stores or stashes.”

  Sutton felt as though he’d been assigned a babysitter to ensure he didn’t run, but he didn’t much care. Scruff was the other man with a shaved head, but he kept a five o’clock shadow that appeared too spotty to turn into a presentable beard. In the apocalypse, people weren’t incredibly judgmental about how others appeared.

  Except for several bodies lying in the streets that hadn’t returned to life, and the occasional blood stain atop the sidewalks, the town looked as though it had simply been abandoned. Sutton didn’t say a word, following Scruff to their designated area where they easily gained access to the first building that looked like a courthouse to Sutton. A quick look inside revealed that no one hid any secret cache of food or weapons, so the two men moved to the next structure.

  Each of the government buildings proved worthless for their purposes, so the two men moved down the street, into the business district.

  “You don’t say much, do you?” Scruff asked when they approached a hardware store with two zombies clawing at the large front window.

  “I don’t have much to say.”

  “Or you have something to hide. You’re not some serial killer, are you?”

  “No. I had kids.”

  “Serial killers are often married, leading normal lives, you know.”

  Scruff turned the knob on the front door as both men reached for their knives.

  “I’m aware. You seem highly in tune with how serial killers work.”

  Each of them took down a zombie as the attackers quickly closed on their location once the men stepped inside. Scruff barely wasted a second looking at the two corpses before banging his hand against some tools lining the wall. The variety of clanging noises failed to draw additional undead, so the two men set to looking for perishable goods.

  “I just watched a lot of true crime stuff,” Scruff said. “It was always interesting to see what made those guys tick.”

  “Did you save your violence for ethnic folks?” Sutton asked as he scooped a box of random candy bars into a knapsack he’d brought from the truck.

  Most of the snacks were the ones people originally didn’t want, left behind, but now anyone coveted compared to other food options.

  Scruff shot him a suspicious, mildly angered look.

  “I’m beginning to think you’re not a believer in what we stand for.”

  “Simply making conversation,” Sutton replied evenly, not afraid of the man if it came to an exchange of blows.

  Or gunfire.

  “I’m not opposed to reimplementing slavery,” Scruff said with a hint of fire in his tone. “It’s survival of the fittest and the white man is back on top again.”
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br />   Sutton didn’t immediately respond to the statement. He didn’t want to seem too anxious to jump on the bandwagon, but he didn’t want to risk appearing completely opposed to the notion he actually considered ridiculous.

  “Are you in favor of a class system?” he asked instead.

  “I don’t know about that,” Scruff said, searching through several drawers and cabinets for additional food or ammunition. “Most of my life I felt fucked by the system, stuck behind rich folks who hired Mexicans and screwed Americans. But if I were at the top of that system, I might be inclined to see it return.”

  Sutton didn’t see anyone in his current group being near the top echelon of a class system, but he accomplished his goal of getting Scruff off his back about racism and slavery.

  Or so he thought.

  “You ever punch any niggers or burn some crosses?” Scruff asked in a manner that indicated he considered Sutton a sympathizer rather than a member of the brotherhood.

  “I was more covert,” Sutton lied. “Slashed tires, painted messages on their garage doors, and shit like that. You’re no good to the cause if you get caught and tossed in the clink.”

  Scruff didn’t appear convinced, but his opinion didn’t matter when several gunshots rang through the air, indicating trouble down the road.

  Both men dashed outside, leaving their loot behind for the moment, finding their comrades dealing with just over a dozen undead closing in on their location. They quickly took their sides, shooting the remaining zombies in their skulls because the noise would already attract more assailants to their location.

  “What happened?” Scruff asked once the shooting ended and the corpses of zombies lined the streets.

  “Hawk got a little spooked and started shooting,” Clean replied, drawing a shake of the head from Hawk, who didn’t agree with Clean’s version.

  “I was surrounded, and couldn’t knife them without getting bitten,” he said in his defense.

  Sutton noticed a nearby open door where someone had likely gone inside and drawn too many of the dead to his location. After experiencing a few close calls in close proximity to the undead, Sutton knew all too well blades weren’t always an option. He wasn’t sure if the group picked on Hawk because he was new, or because he was the youngest, but he certainly didn’t deserve a hard time for defending himself.