Dead: Snapshot 01: Portland, Oregon

by T. W. Brown

  “No, you’re right,” Jason said with a nod. He reached out in Erin’s direction. “You mind if I borrow your machete? I think bullets would be a waste at this point.”

  “You gonna cut his head off?” Juanita exclaimed.

  “Something like that.” Jason made a “hand it over” gesture with his fingers, but Erin shook her head.

  “I am not ready to just kill the guy.” Erin put a protective hand over the hilt of her machete as if she thought that Jason might try to take it from her. “I say we let him go. He was just following his brother and sister. Hank is harmless.”

  “He didn’t seem harmless when he was holding a knife to that gal’s throat.” Jason pointed at Rose.

  “Or when he killed my niece,” Rose added.

  “Your niece was already dead, Rose,” Erin said with a shake of the head. “I saw in your sister’s room when we took Hank down the hall and put him in Crystal’s room. Did you tie Violet and Jacob down in the bed like that?” Rose nodded. “Then you already know something ain’t right. You know because you saw with your own eyes. If anything, he did you a favor. That is one less member of your family that we will have to deal with.”

  “Jesus, have a heart!” Juanita snapped.

  “We can do all that emotional crap later. Right now we have to do what is necessary to ensure our survival. That will mean plenty of tough choices ahead. I say we just send Hank on his way. He probably makes it home and dies within a few hours, a needle sticking out of his arm if he is lucky.”

  “Are you serious?” Now Juanita was getting angry, and her voice was starting to gain volume with each word. “You think he will be lucky to overdose? What is wrong with you?”

  “I think it would be better for him than to die sick and turn into one of those things. If he overdoses, then at least he is happy on the way out.”

  “I got news for you, anybody doing drugs is far from happy—” Tears were welling in Juanita’s eyes and she had taken a step towards Erin when Ken snapped, cutting her off.

  “Can we debate this crap later? We are either killing that kid or we are letting him go. But what we don’t need right now is a bunch of emotional crap or debates on how little Hank is a poor, misunderstood and tortured soul.” Ken pushed himself away from the couch and Jason hid the smile that threatened when the man’s legs gave a little wobble.

  “Okay,” Erin agreed. “Then I say let him go. We can vote on it. However, if you vote to kill him and that vote wins, then you have to be present for it, and you are one of the individuals that draws a straw to determine who deals the death blow.”

  Jason hid a smile. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he knew exactly what the woman was doing. It was one thing to want a person dead (or at least think that you did), it was another thing entirely to be the person to swing the axe.

  One of his many jobs over the years during his time in and out of jail and prison had been in a slaughterhouse. He had always known what it took to turn an animal from a carcass into a meal; his dad had been a typical Northwest sort of guy and never missed hunting or fishing season. He’d field stripped his first deer when he was seven. Still, working in a slaughterhouse was a different experience all its own. And while he never once considered becoming a vegetarian, he firmly believed that more people would if they had to kill, strip, and butcher their own meat. The bottom line was that few people could actually do the dirty business of taking a life.

  “Show of hands,” Erin said, “Who is for killing Hank?”

  Jason was the only person to raise his hand.

  ***

  Ken made a mental note. In reality, he was all for killing that punk, Hank Reynolds. He believed that letting him go would come back and bite them in the ass. Keeping him here was out of the question, and he was willing to bet he had that woman Rose’s vote if it came down to that.

  Still, he shot a sideways glance at the convict. The guy had to know that the women were not going to vote to execute the Reynolds kid. Yet, he had stuck to his guns. And while that did not mean that they would be enjoying a bro-hug and a six pack of cold ones together any time soon, he had to respect that the convict did not waver in a tough stance.

  “Okay,” Erin clapped her hands together, bringing Ken’s attention back to the conversation. “I have to go to my place and check in with my people, but before I go, are we agreed that it would be best to combine our resources and fortify?”

  “Wait, what?” Rose asked. “What are we combining? And what is this about fortifying?”

  “You are aware of what is happening,” Erin picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder.

  “Yeah…sorta.” Rose gave a weak shrug of her shoulders. Her eyes kept flitting to the hallway.

  Ken thought he recalled something about a sister, niece, and nephew. Oh crap! he thought with just a bit of alarm as he realized where they might be and, more important, what condition they might be in.

  “We might be in for a long haul. The president has left the White House, martial law is being enforced, and people have already started to loot and go off the deep end. Considering we did not start hearing about this until almost a week ago, and yet, it is already global to the point where places like China have suddenly gone dark, but all air travel is just now being suspended, I say the cat is already out of the bag.”

  “And having kittens,” Jason quipped.

  “The books and movies ain’t gonna hold a candle to the reality of what we will face. There will be serious problems once everybody has raided the grocery stores and such. Food is going to become more precious than gold, and without anybody to enforce the law…” Erin let that last statement hang in the air, but she glanced from Juanita to Rose. It was clear that all three women were sharing in some deeper meaning.

  “So what do we do with the prisoner?” Ken asked. “We may not have agreed to execute him, but we sure as hell ain’t gonna feed and care for him.”

  “You are right. So maybe you can help me load him into the truck and give me a ride to my house?” Erin proposed.

  “Sure,” Ken agreed with a shrug. “But I thought that you said you live next door. So why do we need to load that guy into the truck?”

  “I do live next door. And out here, that is a good distance. As for Hank, I figure we could dump him on his doorstep. He lives about two or three miles up the road. His family has never been much for following the rules. Despite all of them having felony records, I am willing to bet we can find a good stash of guns and ammo. We will need everything we can get our hands on in the coming days.”

  “So now we are the ones raiding other people’s houses?” Juanita protested weakly. “Doesn’t that make us just as bad?”

  “Not at all,” Jason piped up. “Like we have pointed out, that kid has a nasty bite. He isn’t long for this world. We are just getting an early start on the salvage operation. Right?” He turned to Ken and Erin for confirmation.

  “Whatever makes you feel better,” Ken huffed. He turned his attention to Rose. “You think your dogs will be okay if I brought them a friend?” He had almost forgotten about that doofy Golden Retriever that had so far ridden out all this insanity by staying down in the cab of the truck in a tight ball behind the driver’s seat.

  “Umm, probably? Is your dog socialized?” Rose replied.

  “I have no idea. The dog belonged to some guy down the street and just kind of tagged along with me.”

  “The poor baby!” Rose exclaimed and dashed outside.

  Ken shrugged, maybe she would take the thing off his hands and he would no longer have to worry about it. It wasn’t that he hated the dog, it seemed well-behaved. He just did not have the time or patience to worry about anything but himself at the moment.

  A few minutes later, Rose returned with the dog. It was tight up against the woman’s legs. Immediately, Ken saw the black and white dog turn and give the newcomer a long look. Apparently it saw no threat and returned its attention down the hall. The red and white was a diffe
rent story. Ken watched as the two dogs met; nose-to-nose at first, before engaging in all the assorted sniffing of butts and such that dogs are prone to do when they meet. Apparently the Golden was acceptable and the pair went to the couch and hopped up on it, each of them taking an end.

  Ken shrugged. It looked like he wouldn’t have to worry about the dog any longer. It could be somebody else’s problem. He felt something inside kind of twist. He refused to accept that it was anything to do with how quickly that Golden Retriever seemed to just dismiss him and move on to the next person. He sighed and headed down the hall with Erin to fetch the boy.

  ***

  Rose suddenly felt very tired. She looked down at Circe and saw that the dog’s large brown eyes were starting to slide shut despite all the activity taking place. Imp was an entirely different story. Where Circe had chosen to curl up at her master’s side on the couch, Imp was standing and his head was drifting from one stranger to another. Yet, it was to the hallway where he would always return his gaze. The fur around his neck still stood up just a bit more than normal, and the dog’s tail was sticking almost straight up. As for the new arrival, she had passed the sniff test and was now curled up at the opposite end of the couch.

  Absently running her fingers through Circe’s fur, she glanced at the television. Somewhere along the line, it had been muted, but the EBS was still running its announcement about what people should do and where they should go. The crawler must have recycled twice by the time Erin and that older man came out carrying Hank Reynolds; Ken she thought was his name, but she was currently too tired to be sure (or care).

  Reaching over, Rose gave Circe a scratch behind the ears. The dog took that as an invitation to climb up into her lap. Rose sighed and allowed the feelings of comfort that came from holding her baby to wash over her soul. Out of reflex, she had almost told the dogs to get down when they had both gone to the couch and climbed up. Violet had a strict policy when it came to pets being on the furniture.

  “Not likely she will be enforcing that rule anymore,” Rose sighed. She leaned down and kissed the red and white Border Collie on the top of her head and hugged her close. Imp cast a look over his shoulder, but instead of joining them, he stretched out on the floor so that he was between her and the hallway where he still watched with his head tilting occasionally from one side to the other. The Golden simply closed…Rose peered closely…her eyes.

  “What kind of dogs are they?” a voice caused Rose’s eyes to pop open. She had almost dozed off, and her obvious start made the man standing just a few feet away take a step back and raise his hands.

  “Sorry,” the man said. “Name is Jason in case you didn’t get it earlier in all the madness. I was just wondering about your dogs is all.”

  “They’re Border Collies,” Rose replied. “The red and white girl here in my lap is Circe and the black and white boy on the floor is Imp. I am pretty sure the new arrival is a Golden Retriever.” After a moment, she gave an embarrassed laugh and added, “And my name is Rose.”

  “Pleased to meet you feels like a strange thing to say, but…”

  “No, I understand,” Rose laughed.

  “Can we turn the television up?” the woman named Juanita asked as she emerged from the bathroom. “It looks like somebody new is talking.”

  Jason shot a questioning glance at Rose who nodded. She would have to make it clear that any thoughts of who was a guest or whatever social protocols from the past that people felt the need to observe were probably best left out the window.

  “The remote is in the basket on top of the entertainment center.” Rose pointed.

  Juanita grabbed it and held it out in front of her. A green bar moved across the screen, allowing the voice of the man behind a news desk to be heard.

  “…have been informed that the president’s plane is reported to have crashed. No further details are being made available at the moment. However, we have been instructed by representatives of the United States Army to issue the following statement that reads as follows…” The man seemed to lean forward at the desk for a moment and squint. He looked past the camera. “Are you serious?”

  A voice could be heard in the background, and the reply was loud enough to be heard clearly. “Read the teleprompter exactly as it is written.”

  “The dead are returning to life. The CDC has confirmed that a living person bitten by one of the undead, or zombies as pop culture would call them, will turn within seventy-two hours, but some have done so in as soon as just a few minutes. There is no way to determine how fast or why the disparity in what are now called “turn” times. However, if a person has been bitten, you are required to either bring them to the nearest military-manned FEMA shelter or dispose of them yourself.

  “There is to be no mistake, these are not your friends or loved ones. They will not recognize you in any manner or for any reason. Dr. Linda Sing had this to say…”

  There was a flash on the screen and a poor quality video showed a doctor’s office that looked like any that a person would walk into. There were shelves of books in the background and several certificates or diplomas adorning the walls. Seated behind a desk was Dr. Linda Sing, the same woman who had gone on camera earlier in this same day to discredit any reports that the dead were returning and attacking the living. She looked tired and her uniform was a blood-stained mess. Also, she was wearing dark sunglasses.

  “Am I on?” the doctor asked whoever was operating the shaky, handheld video device.

  “Yeah.” It was one word, but the voice made it clear that whoever was holding the camera was agitated.

  “Good. To whomever is watching, I am Dr. Linda Sing of the CDC. I am here to reverse my earlier statement that these people that are instigating attacks are not the dead come back. After detailed observation of a specimen that had no vitals and had been declared dead, I was witness to that individual sitting up and attacking another person.

  “There can be no doubt that this person was dead only moments before. However, after the specimen was restrained, numerous things were done that a living person could not endure, much less remain conscious during. Additionally, I can confirm that massive brain trauma seems to be the only method of dispatching these…individuals—”

  “They’re fuckin’ zombies, you stupid bitch!” somebody off-camera yelled.

  Dr. Sing glanced to the left and pursed her lips before continuing. “Simple decapitation is not entirely sufficient. While the body will become inert, the head still seems to function and a bite that transmits the infection can still occur.”

  With that last statement, the doctor removed her glasses and leaned forward. It was not a necessary gesture. The dark traces in her eyes could be seen quite clearly.

  “One of the telltale symptoms is the appearance of the darkening of the capillaries in the eye. If you are infected, I suggest you turn yourself over to the nearest FEMA center or military checkpoint. The only chance we have to contain this rests in your swift response—”

  “That went out the window a long time ago while you fucking scientists sat on this information, you stupid bi—” another voice off camera hollered, but was cut off as the video ended abruptly.

  The man behind the desk appeared on the screen once more. He was still looking past the camera in the studio, a look of what could very well be fear etched on his face.

  “Umm…yes, well.” The man on camera looked past the camera again and seemed to grow even paler. A commotion could be heard in the background that ended with a woman’s shriek and a nasty crash.

  “Read the teleprompter like you were told, or she endures more of the same,” a voice came over the broadcast clearly. The menace dripped from it with open hostility and no attempt to mask the threat.

  “The United States Army has been given permission to…detain any person who shows signs of this infection—”

  Click.

  “That is enough of that,” Jason said. He’d picked up the remote that had fallen from Juanita’s hand
at some point while they all stared at the television in disbelief.

  “But—” Rose began, and Jason cut her off.

  “This is a bad deal. We need to assume that no help is coming in any form. That gal Erin said that this farm and hers would be enough for us to take care of our needs for the foreseeable future.”

  “My sister was in the process of trying to live off the grid or something. I never really got into it or paid any attention,” Rose sighed. Just mentioning her sister brought images of Violet and little Jacob tied down in the bed. And Crystal…

  Tears came in a rush and Rose began to cry. It did not take long for her to lose control. She could not stop no matter how she tried. In fact, the more she tried to pull it back in, the worse it seemed to get.

  The past several hours came in a rush. The first encounter during her run; the escape from Frank and the neighbor; discovering her sister and the note; Jacob; Crystal; and then the Reynolds family. It was too much. Something inside of Rose shut down, and all the dams seemed to burst as she spiraled into an abyss of fear, sorrow, and hopelessness.

  ***

  “Turn down that road,” Erin pointed.

  Ken veered down the dirt road that was too narrow for more than one vehicle at a time. As it was, his truck barely fit and the sounds of branches dragging down the sides made a fingernails-down-a-chalkboard sound that put his teeth on edge. The entry road went for quite a ways, and Ken was about to suggest abandoning this idea and backing out before it became even more of a chore, when they emerged into a large clearing.

  Just ahead was a dilapidated single-wide. A tall fence of metal surrounded the trailer and a very large portion of the clearing. Ken stopped at the gate.