Dead Calm

by Jon Schafer

  Giving one last, longing look at his ex-wife's trailer before focusing elsewhere, Derrick's heart suddenly leapt with joy when he saw a figure wearing a yellow dress enter the doorway. Remembering with rising excitement that Mary loved this color, he zoomed in on the familiar shape as it exited the trailer and moved into the light.

  She’s alive, he thought gleefully.

  Looking intently as he adjusted the focus on his scope, Derrick's hopes were shattered when he saw that, while he was correct in that it was Mary, she wasn't alive.

  With fluttering hands, the thing that Derrick had once shared a bed with felt its way to the rail next to the stairs and descended to the walkway. He noticed with sadness that it was the walkway he had cleared of snow on his last visit. Blind, fish white eyes set in a shattered half eaten face stared blindly out at the world as the thing turned its head back and forth as if looking for something it would never see. Dried blood spotted the yellow of the dress and disheveled blonde hair that he instantly recognized as Mary's.

  Lowering the rifle, Derrick wept openly at his loss. In his grief, his mind alternately raced with thoughts and then stopped dead and went blank. After fifteen minutes of this, his sorrow lessened enough that he could think clearly again.

  He knew what he had to do.

  Raising his rifle, he sighted in on the side of the blonde head as his finger moved to the trigger. Hesitating as he thought back on all the good times they had shared, he steeled his resolve by rationalizing that he wasn't killing someone he loved. He was shooting a blind, wounded animal that needed to be put down.

  As Derrick took up the slack on the trigger, the zombie turned as if it sensed his presence. It seemed to stare directly through the scope at him with sightless eyes.

  The rifle jumped in Derrick's hands.

  A second later, a quarter mile away, the blonde head exploded in a spray of black pus.

  The emotional pain gripped Derrick again so he set the rifle down across his thighs and lowered his head. Tears streamed from his eyes to freeze on his face in the below zero temperature. After allowing himself to grieve a few minutes, he once again raised his rifle to check out the town again. The more information he could gather, the better they could prepare for what he hoped would be a slaughter of the dead.

  Shouldering his rifle and looking through the scope, the first thing he saw sent fear shooting through his body. His shot had alerted the dead and they had zeroed in on his location. Hundreds of them were staggering and sliding across the ice in his direction.

  Not that I'm too hard to miss, he thought sardonically. I'm on a black snowmobile, wearing a bright red snowsuit, sitting on a field of white.

  Putting the rifle back in its case, Derrick thumbed the throttle on the snowmobile and turned it in a narrow arc before gunning the engine. As he started the trip back to Woman's Lake, he realized that he was moving into a strong wind.

  That's why we didn't hear any shots or noise when Hanson got overrun, he thought sadly. The whole town had been wiped out and no one knew it was happening because the wind was blowing in the wrong direction.

  Returning to Woman's Lake shortly before sunset, Derrick went immediately to the Constable's office and reported what he had seen to the deputy on duty. The Deputy used the shortwave radio to call Carl Hibbing and inform him of this new development. Carl ordered him to send Derrick over to his place immediately and to call or send messages to the rest of the town council that they were to meet at the lodge in one hour. He also told the deputy not to let anyone know about this recent development. He didn't want to start a panic.

  Secrets are hard to keep in a small town.

  With so many people showing up, an hour after sunset, Carl decided it would be too crowded to hold the meeting in the main room of the lodge and suggested they move it outside. Besides the ten men and women on the town council, over sixty others had shown up when they heard of the disaster that had befallen Hanson. More wood was added to what was already set in the fire pit and soon a good-sized blaze was going.

  Once everyone was settled, Carl had Derrick stand in front of the fire and relate what he had seen. Embarrassed at being the center of attention, Derrick lowered his head and, leaving out the part about his ex-wife since that was no one's business but his own, related how it appeared that the town had been overrun by what looked like a thousand dead. There didn't seem to be many survivors. Finishing his story with how he went three miles out of his way so that the dead couldn't follow him back to Woman's Lake, he expected to be overwhelmed with questions when he was done. Instead, he was surprised to hear only the crackling of the fire behind him. Looking up in curiosity as to why everyone was so quiet, all he could see were shocked faces staring back at him. The crowd was speechless. At first he didn't understand, but then it dawned on him. The people of Woman's Lake had been insulated for so long that it was hard for them to comprehend that the HWNW virus and the walking dead were only a few miles away and would be soon heading in their direction.

  Finally a woman spoke up, breaking the silence as she said, “My sister lives in Hanson and a lot of you have friends and relatives there. We have to organize a rescue party. Even if there's only one person left alive, we have to try and save them. People might be dying as we sit here.”

  This statement was met by others agreeing that this was what they needed to do. Immediate action was called for. When the initial clamor died down, Carl Hibbing stood and raised his hand for silence. He reminded those gathered, that Derrick had seen thousands of the dead in Hanson and that it would be foolish to go off half-cocked in the dark with only a small number of men and women. He suggested they get better organized and set out at first light when there would be more volunteers and the rescue party could see better. It would also cut down on the risk of them shooting each other or any of the survivors by accident.

  While many calls of, “Strike while the iron’s hot,” and “People might not make it until the morning,” rang out, the wisdom of Carl's suggestion prevailed. Soon, those gathered around the fire settled back into their chairs. Small groups formed and broke up to reform as plans were laid for the morning. A few bottles were passed around to lubricate the thought process.

  The moon rose, reflecting its light against the snow and ice on the lake and causing it to glow a bluish-magenta that created a surreal landscape. Covering hundreds of square miles, Woman's Lake was one of the bigger bodies of water in the area and it was easy to get lost on it in the winter or the summer unless you had a landmark to navigate by. Before Dead Day, finding your way had been fairly easy, since the lights of the resorts and small towns dotting its shores each had their own characteristics. Now, with the power out, the dark mass of the trees surrounding the water made finding any single point of reference difficult, if not impossible.

  This being the case, the hundreds of dead who tried to follow Derrick Olson across the ice might have wandered around all night until they were spotted the following day when the rescue party came across them on their way to Hanson. With the dead scattered all over, it would have been like shooting fish in a barrel.

  Except for three things.

  The first was the bonfire in front of the Hibbing Lodge. Seen for miles across the ice, it acted like a beacon in the night for the dead to follow.

  The second was the wind. Even though some smells are frozen out in cold weather, the overwhelming stench of the dead would have given those at the Hibbing Lodge some sign of their imminent appearance. Since the wind was still blowing from the shore out over the frozen lake, the musky rancid odor of the zombies was picked up and blown in the wrong direction.

  And third was the lack of warning. Since the first snowfall and freeze, the populace of Woman's Lake had received no visitors, except a few people from neighboring towns that stopped by to barter. Thinking they were safe, the citizens voted to temporarily discontinue the roadblocks and halted the patrols along the lake's shore until the snow melted and the ice broke up. With no sentries to raise
the warning, and being deep in discussion about the rescue mission to Hanson the next morning, no one around the bonfire saw the dead until they were among them.

  Pandemonium broke out as dark loping shapes appeared in the flickering light to grab at the people around the bonfire and drag them screaming to the ground. A few men and women managed to raise their weapons and fire off a quick shot or two before being pulled down by six, seven, or even eight of the zombies that flooded off the frozen lake. But even if more people had managed to open fire it would have been useless, the dead were too many and too close.

  In minutes the killing was over, leaving only the feeding. The dead tore at the clothes of their victims to get to the still warm meat underneath. They had been roaming the frozen north for months now in search of food and had learned that if they didn't eat quickly, the meat would freeze.

  The dead who hadn't been quick enough to grab food passed by their bloody brethren and followed the very visible trail used by snowmobiles to get back and forth between the town and the Hibbing Lodge. Within an hour, they had spread out and started smashing their way into homes, pulling the residents down in flurry of screams, teeth and fingernails.

  By the time the sun rose, the town of Woman's Lake, Minnesota had been almost wiped out. A few human holdouts living in sturdy dwellings, or those who barricaded their homes against a possible invasion of the dead, looked out through peepholes at the devastation wrought on their community. Although some of dead remained to try to get into these few remaining outposts of humanity, a majority of the zombies had moved on once the food that could be easily accessed was depleted. One of the few learned behaviors in the dead was that it was futile to try and bust into these strongholds. Instead, they found that if they went in search of food, they might come across something easier to get.

  Thus, the majority moved on.

  Many small groups, banding together over the past months, had formed the horde of living dead that assaulted Woman's Lake. Coming from as far away as Duluth to the north and Des Moines to the south, their number fluctuated between seven and twelve hundred. Although some of the dead didn't stay with the mob and stopped to outwait their food when it was barricaded inside a structure, the main mass found and absorbed into its group many new smaller packs of zombies. This kept their numbers high.

  All throughout the country this scene was repeated as the dead used up their food sources in the cities and towns and went in search of more. In California, one group numbered over thirty thousand walking dead, moving like an army of ants as they devoured any living flesh they came across. Where in the beginning the zombies preferred to eat human flesh, now nothing was safe, dogs, cats, birds and live stock were fair game. If it weren’t for a biological barrier that prevented the disease from jumping to animals, the infected beasts would have soon overrun the Earth.

  Early on in the war against the dead, when a large group of zombies had been spotted and their location pinpointed by the military, helicopter gunships were sent in to deal with them. As parts and fuel became scarcer, the number of air missions against the zombies dropped dramatically until they were almost non-existent. Now it was left to the ground troops in the immediate area to deal with the problem.

  Search and destroy missions quickly declined and soon became of second importance as the local unit's numbers were depleted when men were taken from them and assigned to units tasked with driving out the dead in the cities. With multiple buildings and miles of underground sewers and drainage tunnels to hide in, this became a deadly game of cat and mouse. The kill ratio stood at one dead soldier for every two destroyed zombies. In most rural areas, the troops garrisoned there were doing their best to just hold onto the ground they had taken in the initial push ordered weeks earlier by the Joint Chiefs.

  Although they didn't know about these events, the dead now moving through the snowdrifts piled on the road leading out of town could sense it.

  They had an almost uncontested free reign of the countryside.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Dead Calm:

  Having recovered from his fight with the zombie, Brain slowly got to his feet and started checking himself to make sure he hadn't been bitten. Stripping off his shirt, he turned his back toward Tick-Tock so his friend could make sure the dead thing’s fingernails hadn’t scratched him.

  “You got a gouge on your side but it doesn't look like it came from the Z, Tick-Tock observed. Looking closer he said, “It's a pretty good scrape but it's stopped bleeding. You must've landed on your pistol after you dropped it.” Straightening up, he added with derision, “And by the way, the next time a Z comes at you, just shoot the son-of-a-bitch. Don't try and wrestle his ass.”

  Brain looked apologetic as he put his shirt back on. “I forgot I had the gun in my hand. That thing was so close that all I could think of was trying to keep its hands and teeth away from me.” After a moment's thought, he asked, “Why didn't you shoot it when it was on top of me?”'

  Tick-Tock pointed to Steve, “I was going to but he stopped me.”

  “You would have gotten sprayed by that black shit those things have for blood,” Steve explained. “It would have gone in your mouth and eyes and up your nose. Then we would have had to shoot you.”

  Brain shivered as he remembered lying helpless beneath the zombie, knowing what would happen to him if he got infected and wondering if he would feel it when the bullet fired into it cleaved his head. Instead, Steve had saved his life by not firing. His mouth dry, Brain croaked out a thank you. Swallowing hard, he asked Tick-Took, “How did you know it wasn't a cat behind that door?”

  “Without food or water it would have died months ago. Anytime you hear anything moving around in a room on this ship and you can't figure out what it is, it's bound to be something moving around dead,”

  Brain lowered his head at his near fatal mistake and said, “I wasn't thinking.”

  “Oh, you were thinking all right,” Steve said harshly.

  When Brain gave him a questioning look, he added, “You were thinking about Connie.” He then gave Brain a none too gentle cuff on the back of his head. “What did I tell you about that shit?”

  “You need to keep your head and your ass wired together if we're gonna do this,” Tick-Tock warned Brain.

  “Or I'll send your ass back downstairs and Tick-Tock and I will finish up,” Steve tacked on.

  This threat got Brain's undivided attention. In fact, it frightened him more than if he had to face a legion of the dead armed with only a feather duster. All his life, he’d been an outcast. Even though he knew that much of it was brought on by the condescending way that he treated people, he didn't feel like it was his fault. People were just idiots. They had started it. Since attending elementary school, he wanted to fit in but just didn't know how or wasn't allowed to since he was overweight and not very athletic. After being excluded for so many years, he found it was easier to treat others with contempt and be a loner. He claimed he didn't need others in his life, but it was a lonely world he'd created.

  When the dead started coming to life and Steve told him he could lock down inside the bank building with him and some other people - actually after Brain begged to be let in to escape the coming onslaught of the living dead - the main condition was that he quit being such a pompous ass and get along with everyone. Despite his initial reaction that it wasn't his fault and that it was other people constantly trying to put him down that caused him to look at them with contempt, he agreed. This capitulation was brought about by the fact that the thought of being killed and eaten by the dead appealed to him less then getting along with people.

  Barely.

  Despite his promise, at first he was hesitant since he didn't want to have to kiss up to a bunch of people he knew were going to treat him like shit on their shoe. The alternative was certain death, so he went along despite his reservations. It wasn't easy, since most of the people seeking shelter in the radio station knew him and didn't believe he was actually going to
change, but he stuck with his end of the deal. He worked hard at his social skills, cleaned himself up and in just a short time was amazed that he was accepted for who he was. For the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged. He even felt like he had become friends with Tick-Tock, a man who he actually despised when they had worked together at the radio station before Dead Day. After this, Brain decided he never wanted to go back to being the person he had been. It was too lonely.

  With the threat of being sent below hanging over him and fearing that this would be the first step back into exile, Brain almost pleaded when he said, “No, no, I promise I'll pay attention. I won't think of Connie and I'll do exactly what you say.” Seeing Steve hesitate, he added, “Please. I promise.”

  With a doubtful expression, Steve seemed to think about it for a few seconds before reluctantly saying, “Okay, start checking doors.”

  Not believing he was being given a second chance so easily and sure that he was going to be sent back downstairs, Brain could only stare dumbly at him. Not trusting what he thought he heard, he shook his head and said, “What?”

  “The - doors - Brain - start - checking - them,” Steve enunciated each word.

  Snapping out of his trance, Brain pulled his pistol out of its holster and picked up the ring of keys from where he had dropped them on the floor. Cautious of his newly returned status, he asked tentatively, “You guys ready?” Receiving a curt nod in return, he turned and started off.

  He came across another unlocked door a short distance down the hall. Exaggerating his movements to show that he was paying attention to what he was doing, he secured it. Finished, he turned to his two solemn faced friends with a raised eyebrow. Steve motioned with his rifle to move on and Tick-Tock nodded. Relieved he had received at least that much recognition, he turned and continued down the passageway.