Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End

by Daniel Cotton

  Abe feels that he can’t stay here. Looking for Jennifer Coburn in Rubicon is a good enough excuse to leave. He packs all he can into the store’s paper sacks. He finds his pistol on top of an aisle where he had carelessly left it. He has food, smokes, liquor, guns and ammunition. All the necessities of this new world, he jokes to himself somberly.

  Out in the cold he can see the shopkeeper’s truck, much better suited for this climate than his Caddy. After harvesting all the frozen goods from the improvised freezer he heads to the large dead man and rolls him over. Abe pats the man’s pockets and locates his wallet. He can’t blame this guy for his actions, it was a matter of survival, survival of the fittest. Within the billfold he sees what he feared, pictures of family. People that may be waiting on him, depending on him.

  The man’s ID gives him an address. He plans to swing through, if only to see if he can help whoever may be there, if only by tossing a bag of food to the door so he doesn’t have to look them in the eyes. “This is Abraham ‘the Truth’ Bishop, signing off.”

  5

  “It’s been a while since we’ve seen a zombie, hasn’t it?” Archie points out from behind the wheel.

  On the road for the past three weeks since leaving Breckinridge, Archie and Stephanie along with little Peeta, have made slow progress. The high profile vehicle they ride in may have four-wheel drive but the snow piled up on the roads makes it necessary to crawl. Had they not have stopped the first night, they may have been able to keep ahead of it, but both were exhausted and saw an opportunity in the form of an all hours diner.

  Though the place was open 24 hours a day, not a customer came calling that night. Archie entered first to make certain it was safe, he searched the darkened establishment with only a road flare to light his way and reveal what may be lurking in the thick shadows. It was empty, dishes of food sill sat were folks had stopped for a bite, but all including the workers had left in a hurry. In such a hurry the gas griddle was still burning. The place was theirs.

  The three were warm and had plenty to eat, even Peeta who at one year old could start getting milk rather than formula. The switch was inevitable, something his mother had been putting off since it was difficult on his stomach. Unaccustomed, a child’s body has to work harder to digest the milk than it must with formula. Such a change can make a baby irritable.

  They stayed longer than they had planned, listening for reports on a crank powered emergency radio that the insanity was over, or where they may find help and other survivors. On the third night, it began to snow again. Travel would be treacherous even in Stephanie’s SUV since the roads would not be plowed and never would be again.

  Anxious to get home, Stephanie urged her companion back into the car. Archie would have been content to stay a bit longer, loving his role as provider and protector of the woman and her child. But, she made it clear that she would be heading East without him if he’d rather stay. Declining the ‘out’ he loaded all the supplies he could and they left, traveling at a crawl by day and resting by night. Clear sunny skies reflected off the pure plain of snow they cut through all the way to Tennessee where it began to thin, fading to asphalt.

  “There’s one,” Stephanie spots from the passenger seat, her son slumbering in her arms. As they enter the woman’s hometown of Toulouse, GA, a corpse lumbers their way.

  It has been so long since they have encountered one they simply freeze. Safe within the SUV they watch the thing shamble closer with bated breath. The zombie was once a policeman, still in his uniform, approaching them as if he’s about to ask if they know what they’ve done wrong. The front of his beige shirt is caked with dried blood, one of his sleeves is rolled up revealing a nasty looking wrapping of gauze. They know he was bitten and turned, now he aims to do the same to them.

  “Do you know him?” Archie asks in a whisper.

  “Not really. He was my neighbor,” she answers, the lack of familiarity not dimming the tragedy of seeing someone she once saw and waved to in passing as one of the dead. She reaches over and kills the ignition. “Let’s just sit for a minute.”

  Archie doesn’t ask why, just joins her in her silence. He thinks he knows, she is afraid of finding her family in a similar state as the cop, a fate worse than death. The inbound corpse makes him tense up but he tries not to move, he follows the figure with his eyes not daring to so much as turn his head. The corpse just continues past them without even an examination of the car, the sunlight has created a glare that shrouds the occupants like tinted windows. Once the dead lawman has passed, they watch him in the rearview as he heads the way they had come, toward the cold.

  “How far are we from your house?” Archie whispers.

  “Not far,” she says with a sigh. She kisses her son on the top of his sleepy head. “Ok. I think I’m ready.”

  Obstructions once they enter the town bar their progress, Stephanie must redirect her driver on what alternate routes to take knowing the streets well. Some roadblocks seem out of place, as if put there on purpose after the plague had struck. Now that they are in a warmer climate they see lots of dead people, as if making up for lost time. The zombies wander directly in front of the slow moving vehicle, knowing that food is inside, only to be knocked down. Archie tries not to run them over but can’t help crushing the occasional body part with a sickening crunch.

  The dead are everywhere, but there are no signs of life. They’ve navigated to Stephanie’s street, a nice road of large homes with impressive yards. Many of them have the requisite white picket fence, flower lined walks. Archie spots one with a tire swing in the back and can’t help but think it would be a great place to raise a child, present situation aside. He’s had a lot of time to think about this, unable to help falling for the girl and already considering himself a father figure to Peeta. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

  “This is it,” Stephanie says, straightening in her seat, holding her child just a little tighter as they turn into the driveway and she sees her childhood home for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

  The dead aren’t far behind them, leaving little time to act. With no indication of life inside Archie exits the car and races to the door. He knocks loudly and with insistence, one series of wraps right after the previous. All the while he looks to the windows should a curtain be parted by someone inside and glances over his shoulder to judge how much time he has before the dead make reentering the car impossible.

  The zombies are at the white picket fence, they cover the sidewalk and fill the street. Every corpse in town has taken an interest in the new arrivals like a homecoming. He tries the knob out of desperation and is surprised when it turns freely in his hand, but he doesn’t have enough time to explore the home. The dead are on their way up the driveway and front walk, he panics and returns to the idling SUV leaving the door slightly ajar.

  They sit for a second, Stephanie watches her beloved home. Archie doesn’t know what to say to her, how to comfort her. She gasps with horror when her parents emerge, her father’s mouth is stained with blood, her ravaged mother crawls along the porch mostly bone and gristle. Like the rest of the town they are eager to reach the inhabitants of the car, not the homecoming she was hoping for.

  People often believe that no matter how bad things get in life, how much trouble they are in, or how hopeless things seem, everything will be better if they can just make it home. Stephanie believed that. Archie’s lifelong dream is dashed as well as the dead crowd against the fence and topple it, spilling into the yard of the nice home. He has to get them moving, the woman and child depend on him. He reverses down the drive with a cringe in preparation for the thuds and the thumps of the bodies he intends to crush.

  A trail of tangled corpses writhes in their wake, the path the driver has made fills once again with those that survived the hit and run. The dead still want what’s in the large vehicle. Shaken but determined the driver leaves them behind.

  Stephanie is in shock over seeing her parents as they are. Archie conclu
des their best course of action may be to return to the colder climate since the dead are much slower. They can return to their diner and he can try to make things better for his new family, take care of them.

  His idyllic dream shapes a slight smile on his face despite the horrors they leave behind. They’ll need gas and more baby supplies for the return trip, a list grows in the driver’s mind as he attempts to find his way out of town. He also formulates a to-do list for when they return to the diner that includes precautions to take once the region thaws come spring. After that there are places he recalls on the map they may wish to go to, towns with smaller populations to the north, New Castle and Raleigh spring to mind.

  With his navigator emotionally unable to direct him, and his mind wandering to the future rather than the present, Archie becomes a little lost. Shit, he thinks to himself, cursing his fantasizing. There isn’t a corpse in sight, he figures they must be trying to track them, but since he had taken so many turns and actually travelled deeper into the town it should be a while before they find them. He parks the car in an alley behind a small grocery store. With luck he hopes to get them some supplies while Stephanie regroups herself and can direct him once more. He tells her his plan, she just nods, otherwise unresponsive.

  Archie’s absence escapes Stephanie’s notice, but not Peeta’s. He begins to cry not long after the man exits, a whimper at first but soon he is wailing, red in the face. The mother awakens from her stupor to tend to her son with gentle shushing sounds. The diaper he wears under the pink romper they had claimed from the diner’s lost and found is swollen.

  She almost opens the door but remembers the dangers that lurk outside that may be drawn to her baby’s cries. She cradles him one armed, his saturated diaper leaking through to the crook of her elbow as she makes her way through the gap between the seats to get to the back. Using one of the last few diapers she powders and changes her son who continues to wail. He’s eaten recently but obviously is in distress, the mother makes a small bottle in hopes it will soothe the child. He wants nothing to do with the bottle and only pushes the rubber nipple out with his tongue.

  A knock on the window startles the mother. Expecting to see Archie she is further surprised to come face to face with a woman. A bit older than herself, but pleasant looking, the lady smiles and speaks through the glass, “Can I help you?”

  “I’m waiting for my friend,” she replies.

  “I mean with the baby,” the stranger clarifies, her eyes going to the loud child in pink.

  At a loss herself as to what her son wants or needs she’ll take all the help she can get. “What about the dead?”

  “They’re long gone,” the woman replies. “I saw them heading off into one of the neighborhoods.”

  Stephanie looks toward the street. She looks past the woman to the store her friend has entered. Ultimately she opens the door to the lady. “I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

  “Oh, probably just tired of being cooped up,” the woman says taking Peeta gently from his mother. “I’m Eugenia Andry. She’s darling, what’s her name?”

  “Peeta,” Stephanie replies, not blaming the woman for mistaking her son for a girl since he’s in a pink romper. “He’s a boy, Miss Andry.”

  “Oh,” the woman’s demeanor frosts over, her smile fades as all tenderness escapes her. “That’s too bad.”

  6

  Almost done with his foraging, Archie has filled bags with all they will need for the trip back and enough to last them a while once they get there. He has a shopping cart full of diapers and wipes. Peeta will have to take a developmental step back and drink powdered formula once again since fresh milk is now non-existent. He even thought to take every tiny jar of baby food in the place for the child.

  With all his pilfering weighing him down he has a hard time making his way to the exit. Large canvas bags hang from him by their straps, stuffed full and getting caught on the displays and shelves he passes. No sooner does he get one freed then the other catches onto something as if the merchandise is trying to stay in the store.

  Emerging, the provider heads straight to the back of the SUV and uses a feature that enables him to open the hatch with a kick of his foot, a usefulness that had escaped him before when he saw it in action on commercials, now that his hands are bogged down it is invaluable. He drops the bags in the back as fast as he can then returns to the door to pull a full cart out into the alley with a clammer. It is as he is tossing the items in with the bags that he realizes Stephanie and Peeta are missing. He calls out to them not caring if he’s heard by the zombies. He calls again louder as he looks all around for a trace and finds none. He rushes to the street to see if he can spot them, feeling abandoned and worried. As he passes the corner of the building he feels a sharp crack on his head and all becomes black.

  7

  “I hope you’re not afraid of needles,” a voice says in the dark.

  Groggily, Archie comes too. The world is pitch black, so dark he isn’t sure if he has opened his eyes or not. Wherever this is it smells aseptic and clean, a lingering odor of bleach faintly hangs in the air, conflicting with that is a horrible presence that competes to be sensed, a rancid stench that makes him think the dead are close.

  Hearing movement in the abyss, he strikes perfectly still on the smooth flooring he has found himself on. His head smarts fiercely but he dares not to move even to touch his sore scalp for fear he may hit something in the dark.

  “She’ll be back for you before long,” the disembodied voice continues.

  The urge is overpowering, Archie can’t help but ask, “Who?”

  “Miss Andry, the crazy chick that has us.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Georgia,” the voice says.

  “But, what is this place?”

  “Hospital. I hate hospitals. I should have never left the peach farm,” the depressed voice mumbles. “I met some great folks, but I had to go off and be a hero. That’s what got me in here, being a hero. A helpful fucking hero. I come to this town, see a woman being chased by zombies, and I helped her. I thought I was helping her. Turns out she was luring them on purpose.”

  When he is sure the rambling has stopped, Archie sits up. His ankle is caught, tethered by what feels like a strap connected to a thick rubber restraint around his leg. He follows his handicap to a support post. He has so many questions for the voice he isn’t sure where to start.

  “It’s nice to have someone to talk to again. The last guy…”

  “There was someone else?”

  “A while ago. He was brought in a day or so after me, I don’t think Miss Andry liked his test results.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She came back for him, pissed off. Dragged him outta here. He fought a little but she tazered him. He lost his bracelet in the fight. Here.”

  Lobbed in his general direction, a metallic object hits the floor next to him. “I can’t see it,” Archie points out.

  “There should be a flashlight by your column. I’m trying to save my batteries.”

  Feeling around the solid pillar, the prisoner locates his light just as the voice predicted. He twists the head with painful results, the bulb flares with blinding brightness that makes his head hurt worse than before. He can hear his cellmate react as well, scurrying away from the light like a cockroach.

  Squinting against the reflecting glare of a silver medical alert bracelet, Archie reads that the man that owned it was Diabetic.

  “I probably should have just told you what it said,” the man peeks from around his pillar where he had dashed to escape the light. He’s a scruffy looking character, and as far as Archie can assume, the source of the foul funk in the air. “The name’s Gar.”

  “So, she let him go because he was Diabetic?”

  “I don’t think she let him go very far,” Gar says sadly. “She just didn’t have much use for him in her plan.”

  “What’s her plan?”

  “She wants a baby.”
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  The word baby instantly has Archie thinking about Stephanie and hers, they were missing as he recalls just before he was knocked unconscious. “I came to this place with a woman and her baby. They weren’t where I left them when this Miss Andry got me…” his tone finishes the thought, he’s worried about his companions.

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Boy.”

  A dreadful pause from Gar does nothing to put Archie at ease. Gar prepares himself to deliver the bad news by clearing his throat softly. “She blames men for all the evil deeds ever perpetrated on the planet. She only wants girls. Sorry.”

  “If she only wants girls—what would she do to a boy?”

  “I don’t know, man,” Gar wishes he could alleviate his fellow captive’s troubled thoughts but he doesn’t have all the answers.

  A door opens. The golden aura of a lantern creates an orb of light that slowly comes to them accompanied by hollow footsteps. Gar shies from the light, afraid of the person that carries it. He shuffles behind his pillar.

  “Hey! What did you do with my friends?” Archie challenges the shadowy figure. She sets the lantern down upon a high counter that nurses once manned on this ward, but she does not respond.

  A tray is placed on the floor and slid to the captive. The kidnapper knows to keep her distance. Wordlessly another is set down for Gar and slid to where he is lashed. The ward is larger than Archie thought, a seemingly endless cavern of darkness. He pleads with her for answers but none are issued, the jailer just reclaims her light and exits.

  “She never talks if she doesn’t have to,” Gar explains. “It’s dinner time—Or, breakfast.”

  With his flashlight, Archie locates the tray that has been shoved his way. Plastic cups of cold beans, a bottle of water, and celery sticks filled with peanut butter and sprinkled with raisons. “Is she really serving us ants of a fucking Log?”