Dead: Snapshot 01: Portland, Oregon

by T. W. Brown

  “Well?” He turned to Erin, but she was already opening the door and getting out of the truck.

  With a sigh, Ken followed. Erin was at the rear of the truck, and had opened the door of the camper shell and was dropping the tailgate. Leaning in, she pulled the body towards her. Ken sighed and moved in to help. The twinge in his back was pretty sharp, but he pushed it down.

  Together they hauled Hank Reynolds to the gate and laid him down. No surprise, a large chain and padlock secured the entrance. Without a word, Ken went back to his truck and climbed into the rear bed where the large toolbox was mounted just behind the cab. A few moments later he emerged with giant bolt cutters.

  After making short work of the chain, Ken set the cutters down and they carried Hank to the trailer. They had just set the young man down at the bottom of the cinder block steps that led up to the door when a low moan carried on the quiet night air.

  “Crap, that is inside the trailer,” Erin whispered.

  “So?” Ken didn’t see why it mattered. They could just leave the guy outside. He was not their concern. Hell, he was lucky they had taken him this far. Ken would have been just fine leaving him in the ditch beside the road.

  Erin moved up the stairs slowly, her machete coming free from its sheath as she reached the door and gave the knob a twist. No surprise, it was locked.

  Ken watched, although he could not say that he was in any way surprised when she produced something from a pouch on her belt and went to work on the lock.

  “What are you doing?” Ken stepped over Hank and joined Erin on the small, warped wooden porch.

  Already he could smell the acrid stench that could be mistaken for a cat box. He knew the odor of a backwoods meth lab when he smelled it. He also knew the toxicity of the fumes. He was not going in that trailer no matter what might be inside.

  “Ta-da!” Erin whispered. With a flourish, she opened the door and took a step back.

  A zombie emerged from the doorway. It was a woman; that much was clear mostly due to her complete nudity. Erin gave the shambling corpse a gentle shove back.

  “Oh, Sara,” Erin sighed. “I told you not to get mixed up with these guys.”

  In the silver glow of the moon and the weak blue lights of the fluorescent bulbs flickering on the porch like something out of a bad movie, the zombie stepped back outside for Ken to get a better look at this time. She was a younger girl, close to Erin’s age which he guessed to be early twenties. She had that emaciated look like so many meth users. If he bothered to, Ken was certain he could count each rib. Her left forearm was wrapped in a filthy bandage that was held in place by what had to be several yards of duct tape.

  With a swift upwards thrust, Erin drove the point of her machete up and into the chin of the zombie. Ken swore he heard the tip of the blade ting against the top of the skull. It did not go through, but that was more due to Erin jerking down and back to free her weapon.

  “Don’t go in there,” Ken warned.

  “Why, because of the toxic fumes?” Erin asked over her shoulder. She reached in and hit a light switch. “Come up here and tell me if holding our breath for a few trips might be worth it.”

  Erin stepped away from the door and made an ushering motion with her arm to invite Ken to join her and look inside. With an exasperated groan, he came up the stairs.

  “You think we can risk it?” Erin stepped back and let Ken take a better look.

  “How does this happen?” he gasped.

  The first thing a person could see when looking inside the Reynolds’ trailer was the heavy plastic that covered everything. To the right, you had a clear view to the kitchen where they obviously did their cooking, just probably not much in the way of food. Various fast food wrappers littering the floor as well as any horizontal surface acted as a visible testament supporting that theory. The counter was a mess of beakers, tubes, copper coils and gas burners. The table was littered with baggies, many containing shards of crystal meth.

  However, that was not the standout feature; at least as far as Ken (and obviously Erin) was concerned. To the left were the living room and a hallway that led to at least two bedrooms and most likely a bathroom. The hall was stacked with metal boxes, the few that were open revealing what had to be several thousand rounds of varying calibers if all the boxes were actually full. Leaning against the wall were a variety of rifles; he saw a trio of .30-06s, five .22 caliber rifles and…

  “A fucking M4?” Ken said with honest astonishment.

  “Two.” Erin pointed to another weapon atop the canisters of ammo. “And how many freaking shotguns do you need?”

  Leaning against one wall were fifteen shotguns of various makes and designs including three more street sweeper types with their huge cylinders.

  “No handguns?” Ken turned to Erin with an arched eyebrow.

  “In Missy’s room,” a voice croaked from the bottom of the stairs causing the pair to jump.

  “Hank is it?” Ken walked down the stairs to the young man and nudged him with toe of his boot for emphasis.

  “Yes, sir,” the young man croaked.

  “Okay. So here is my question. Where are the masks?”

  “M-m-masks?”

  “Don’t play stupid, boy. I will drag your ass back up to the highway and leave you for one of those things.”

  “Already been bit,” Hank said with a weak sneer. His efforts at bravado were pathetic at best and made all the worse when he cried out after Ken grabbed a handful of hair and jerked his head off the ground.

  “You might be injured, but you ain’t dead yet. You want to see what it feels like to be torn apart and eaten alive? I am willing to bet it is a helluva lot worse than that little bite you are sporting.”

  Ken could see in the young man’s eyes that a nerve had been struck. There was a moment where he thought Hank might be checking to see if perhaps there was a bluff being played. Ken sucked at poker, and the main reason was that he just did not have that ability to bluff. While he would never be credited with being overtly emotional, he still could not fake it. That had served him well during his years on the force. When confronted with a criminal, he was all business. Funny thing about criminals, they can usually tell. He had always credited it to a life based on lies and deception.

  “There is a footlocker strapped to a support under the trailer,” Hank admitted.

  “You are going to go under and fetch it.” Erin came down the stairs and knelt beside Hank, her knife whipping in a deft motion that cut the bonds holding his wrists. “You try anything, and I swear to God, I will kill you on the spot.”

  Ken turned and walked back to the truck while Erin laid out her ultimatum. He rummaged around in his tool box until he found what he was searching for.

  “Why’d you just walk off?” Erin asked.

  “Might be handy to be able to see this dumbass.” Ken held up a large spotlight-style flashlight. He hit a button and a beam of light hit Hank square in the face causing him to cry out and throw his hands over his eyes.

  “Holy crap, man!” Hank wailed.

  “Just making a point.”

  “What point is that?” Erin asked with a loud stage-whisper.

  “The point is that if I can cause him this much discomfort with nothing more than a beam of light, imagine what I could do if wanted to seriously hurt his ass.” Ken waved the flashlight and indicated for Hank to get moving.

  “You gonna untie my feet?” Ken looked down and then back up, his gaze shifting back and forth between Erin and Ken.

  “Nope,” Ken said, jerking the young man to his feet.

  Hank hopped over to a piece of wood and pulled it back. Ducking down, he made a show of how much pain his shoulder was causing him. He was almost all the way in when he stopped suddenly and looked back over his shoulder.

  “If I have a seizure or something and die while I am under here, promise me that you will shoot me. Don’t let me become one of…them.”

  “Absolutely,” Erin said with a grim
nod.

  A few moments later, Hank was scooting backwards with the trunk. It was a vinyl covered footlocker. Ken shoved Hank aside and flipped up the lid. Sure enough, there were several masks and boxes of filters.

  After finding one that did not absolutely reek, Ken strapped it on. Erin had just grabbed the first one and was already waiting for Ken at the doorway.

  “What about me?” Hank called as the pair disappeared into the front door.

  “Wait out here,” was Ken and Erin’s reply almost in unison.

  “And hope no zombies come,” Ken added.

  The two stood in the living room that was now the equivalent of a post-apocalyptic gold mine. Ken headed towards the hallway.

  “Grab the ammo first, maybe sling a weapon over your shoulder on each trip.” Ken grunted as he grabbed a stack of ammo canisters.

  ***

  Jason stood on the porch. It had been a few hours since Ken and Erin had rolled out. He was seeing just the faintest hint of dawn starting to paint the horizon. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the women stretched out on couches, both were fast asleep. The red Border Collie was nestled in a crook behind Rose’s knees. The male was in the middle of the floor, his head pointed straight down the hallway where the two zombies were secured in that bedroom. The Golden had gone to the floor and was curled up, its side rising and falling in the pattern of deep sleep.

  Shortly after Ken had left, Jason had gone out to the gate, yanked it back into as close to its original shape as possible and pulled it shut. He had taken a flashlight because, once you got clear of the massive front yard and turnaround driveway, it was pitch black. There were no streetlights out here. Night meant a whole new kind of darkness compared to what you found in the city.

  He’d heard a few moans in the dark, and sweeping the flashlight, he spotted a handful of zombies. One was stuck in the ditch. Apparently the mud at the bottom was pretty viscous. When he’d walked back to the house, he’d been surprised by a lone zombie.

  After shutting the gate, he had relaxed just a bit. He was just passing the Reynolds’ truck that was nose down in the ditch that ran alongside the driveway. It was there that a young girl no more than fifteen or so had stepped out and caught him completely by surprise.

  After the expletive that he’d shouted, Jason reached for the big butcher’s cleaver that he had swiped from the kitchen counter on his way out. He felt his heart skip a beat when the handle of the cleaver fumbled in his grasp and then slipped away to clatter on the pavement. He’d claimed the street sweeper, but he had not felt that the need for so much firepower was necessary and left it just inside the door to the house.

  What he had not counted on was being surprised by a zombie that seemed to almost pop up right in front of him. Giving the girl a hard shove, Jason swept the ground with the flashlight. Somehow, the cleaver had simply vanished. The girl was coming for him again, her arms extended.

  Despite his years as a criminal and the fact that he was very aware that this was a zombie, he hesitated for just a moment. This girl had been clueless that her life would be cut so short. She probably had no idea when she woke this morning judging by the relative freshness of the injuries, that she was going to be set upon by a zombie and have most of her throat torn out as well as a few nasty chunks from her arms. He wondered if the girl had known her attacker before he or she had become a zombie. The dark stain in the crotch of her jeans told him that she had let go of her bodily functions either during or just after the attack; not that such things were abnormal.

  And with that thought, he brought the flashlight down on the girl’s head with all the force he could muster. The metal bludgeon bent from the force and the lens shattered, casting him into darkness. It was in that instant that he saw the flaw in his plan. The absolute darkness of this rural area prevented him from seeing anything.

  He took a step back and his foot felt something that sent his hopes soaring. Reaching down, Jason found the handle of the cleaver. Just as he stood up, cold, dead hands caught his arm. Thankfully, it was not the one holding the cleaver. With one swift stroke, he drove the blade deep into the forehead of the girl. In an instant, she collapsed to the ground.

  Jason had returned to the house more than just a little shaken. He’d been thankful that the women had already started to doze off. The only look he got upon his entry through the front door was Imp giving him a disinterested glance over his shoulder before he rested his head back down on the floor and let his eyes begin to droop as he watched down the hallway where that terrible smell emanated.

  After walking around the house and making sure that every window and door was shut and locked, he had opened the door where Rose’s sister and nephew were tied down. The smell was present before he reached the door, and when he’d opened it, he’d almost gotten physically ill. A voice in his head screamed to end them, but it was not his place. A nudge at his side announced the arrival of Imp. The dog let loose with a low growl in its throat.

  “I feel ya, buddy,” Jason said, giving the dog a scratch behind one ear.

  And with that, he’d shut the door and returned to the living room. He’d stepped out onto the porch and allowed his ears to take in the sounds of the night. He had no idea how long he’d stood there when he’d heard a distant scream. It was horrific. He could not begin to imagine the fear or agony that caused a person to scream in that manner. Even worse, it was such a horrific scream that it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman.

  The occasional sound of gunfire came, and then he heard something in the distance that caused him to step down off the porch. Moving out into the yard, Jason scanned the skies. It took him a moment, but eventually, he spotted the lights of the helicopter coming from the direction of the soon-to-be rising sun. He could tell right away that there was something wrong by the way it coughed and sputtered.

  He watched as the flashing lights on the aircraft came closer, but he could also see the helo losing altitude. It was not at an alarming rate, but it was going to be close as to whether or not whoever was piloting was going to clear the trees.

  He continued to watch as the lights started to dip below the tree line. There was a crashing sound and then silence. He was not certain of the distance, and in the dark, it would be impossible to tell. He was still debating what he should do when the headlights of what he hoped was Ken’s truck came into view.

  ***

  They pulled out of the Reynolds’ place and then Ken followed Erin’s directions to her house. When they arrived, Ken was greeted by two men and one woman.

  “Where you been?” the woman asked with an edge to her voice. Ken noticed the suspicious looks cast his direction and decided to stay in the truck.

  Erin climbed out and, after what Ken considered a few too many hugs, the group huddled in conference. Occasionally, he saw a head crane back his direction. He made it a point not to acknowledge the glances. In truth, he could care less what they thought. And if worse came to worse, all the guns and ammo were in the back of his pickup, thank you very much.

  He would feel no guilt or shame in backing out and leaving this place in his rearview mirror. When it came down to it, he was responsible for the survival and safety of one person: Ken “mother-fucking” Simpson.

  At last the little gathering broke up and Erin came back to the truck. He had expected her to tell him to drive in and that they would be unloading here. He already had the retort on the tip of his tongue; that was why he just stared at her a tad bit dumbfounded when she announced, “Let’s go back to Rose and the others.”

  “What about your people?” Ken finally asked.

  “They are going to start working on the plans on how we can join the two farms. It will mean a lot more work to secure the perimeter, but the end result will be worth it.”

  “You really think this is going to be that big of a deal?”

  Erin relayed what her friends had told her in regards to the most recent EBS broadcast. They drove the rest of the way in silence.
At last, the entry gate to Rose’s house came into view.

  Ken slowed, he heard something like a tremendous crash over the engine despite having the windows rolled up. That meant that whatever he’d heard must be pretty big. They were just pulling up to the gate to where the others were waiting and his headlights revealed the convict standing in the driveway all alone.

  “That didn’t sound good,” Erin said from the passenger’s seat.

  They came to a stop and Jason had already jogged the rest of the way up the driveway and opened the gate to let them in. As the truck rolled up and Ken hit the button to lower the window, Jason asked, “You guys see that helicopter go down?”

  “You sure it was a helo?” Ken asked. He didn’t know why he felt the need to challenge Jason on everything the man said, but he couldn’t help it. The truth was that he simply did not like or trust the guy. Perhaps his years in law enforcement had left him jaded, but then again, as far as he was concerned, he’d seen enough over the years to warrant this attitude.

  “I heard it first, and by the time I spotted the lights, it was going down.” If Jason was annoyed by Ken’s question, he did not let it show. “Maybe we should go take a look,” he suggested.

  “Why?” Erin’s response caught both men off guard.

  “What do you mean, why?” Jason finally asked.

  “I mean, whoever was in that chopper is probably dead. Going after them is an unnecessary risk. And if you haven’t been paying attention, shit is getting real nasty.” Erin said all of this like she might have been describing the weather. “Already some of the creeps are crawling out from under their rocks. Who knows what will happen in the next day or so as it becomes obvious that the cops ain’t comin’ if you call. Hell, there were enough creeps in the news when we did have the police. What do you think is gonna happen when that thin shield between the creeps and society evaporates?”