by T. W. Brown
“I’m cool with it. Just because we ain’t friends doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t treat you like a human being.”
Ken rose to his feet and started for the barn. Jason fell in just behind the man. Within a short time, they had a pyre built and laid Mary Simpson’s body on it. Jason had agreed that Mary would be dealt with separately, but once she was, for all intents and purposes, gone, then they would start tossing the rest of the corpses on the fire.
14
Door-to-Door Shopping
“And what would make you think that the boy would be any different than my mother?” Ken hissed.
The three adults stood around a large barrel that had become their version of a heater. It was in the center of the large open space on the floor of the barn. Gabriel, the boy in question, was up in the loft fast asleep. It had been four days since Jason and Juanita had returned with him; four days since Ken’s mother had shown the signs that she was infected.
Ken still had nightmares about that day. He often thought it strange that, in a world where the undead were overwhelming society and an actual zombie apocalypse was happening, a world where he had already seen things happen that were the stuff of horror movies as people were torn apart and fed upon by the undead, Ken was haunted by how he had put his mother to rest.
It had started off as something so simple. He had helped her get comfortable and drift off to sleep. As soon as he was certain that she was out, he’d drawn his Glock. That was when it became difficult…became real. It is one thing to say that you can end a person’s suffering by killing them; it is quite another to actually do it. Had she been a stranger, Ken doubted that he would have thought twice. The fact that he was becoming numb to the idea of death was something that he would try to examine later, if the time ever presented itself. However, when faced with killing his mother, Ken had faltered. At last, he had simply covered her with a blue plastic tarp and put the barrel of the gun to what he guessed to be her forehead.
He could still not recall having pulled the trigger. Yet, it was obvious that he had done so. There was a hole where the bullet had gone through, and his mother had never sat up or cried out. Mary Simpson had simply ceased to be.
As he sat there crying, he began to understand how this apocalypse had managed to spiral out of control. It was all well and good to see something on television or read it in a book, but when faced with the task of killing a loved one, he doubted that many people had what it took. That thing coming for you might not be living, it might want to rip you apart and devour you, but that did not make the face any different to the loved one staring at his or her approaching death. People saw what they wanted. Period.
“We have no idea how long before we found him that the boy was bitten,” Jason’s voice snapped Ken back to the conversation. “Do we want to keep watching him around the clock?”
“I’ll do it myself if it is such a bother,” Juanita retorted, arms folded across her chest and chin actually jutting forward just a bit to emphasize her defiance.
Ken looked up as if he could see through the planks that made up the floor of the loft. He knew that the boy was up there, sleeping. Could he or Jason actually go through with the act of killing the boy in his sleep? Ken did not want to admit it out loud for fear that it might be seen as a weakness, but he was almost certain that his conscience did not have the room.
“Fine,” Jason agreed. “He is your responsibility. That means that he stays with you every moment when he is awake. But I want him restrained when he is sleeping.”
“You mean tie him up?” Juanita gasped. “You want to treat him like he is some sort of animal.”
“That is not what he was saying.” Ken stepped in. He had to admit, the convict had a point. And it would be no big deal to just restrain the boy when he slept. An idea struck him. “We can make a game out of it.”
“Excuse me?” Juanita turned her defiant gaze at Ken, but the he simply ignored her.
“From what I’ve seen, the zombies aren’t all that clever or agile. They certainly could not untie a knot. Am I right?” Jason nodded, and after a moment, Juanita did so as well. Ken smiled and continued. “So we tell him that we want to play a game. Every night when he goes to sleep, we will tie up one ankle. When he wakes up, he will need to figure out how to untie it.”
Both Jason and Juanita considered Ken’s plan. Jason shrugged and nodded a second or two later, but Juanita seemed to really examine the idea. At last, she agreed as well.
“How long do we play this game?” Juanita asked.
Ken opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut. He had no idea. After all, his mother had gone past the seventy-two hour window before she started showing the signs; how long could they watch this boy before feeling confident that he was not going to turn?
“Three weeks,” Jason said. When Ken and Juanita both looked at him, he expanded on his answer. “We can probably keep him interested in this so-called game for a while. But let’s face it, after a month, if he hasn’t turned, then I don’t believe that he ever will.”
Ken agreed and the plan was put into motion immediately as Juanita went up to join Gabriel and get a night’s sleep. Ken wanted to join in on that activity. Unfortunately, he had the first watch. While they had been making good progress on the fence, it still was not a hundred percent complete along that front stretch. Also, they’d already had three spots breached where they had put up the reinforced section of fence.
“We need to dig a trench,” Jason had said earlier this afternoon as they had repaired the damage after taking down the dozen undead that had all chosen that one spot to try and breakthrough for whatever reason drives a zombie.
Ken agreed, and it was decided that they would go into Sandy and hit a tool rental place that Jason said he recalled seeing. The place had looked largely untouched; and why should it be hit…most looters were grabbing stupid things like big screen televisions and video game systems while those that were trying to survive were focused solely on food, guns, ammo, and the variety of blades and bludgeons.
The problem was that it was obviously a two person job. Both men agreed that it was a poor idea to bring the child; Juanita needed to keep her vigil as they waited for the infection to show up and claim yet another victim. However, neither liked the idea of leaving her alone for however long the trip might take.
In the end, Jason had said that he would go it alone. He said that he wanted to see about increasing their food stores. They had almost gone through what he and Juanita had managed to come back with last time.
“You do know that the supply trucks have stopped coming,” Ken pointed out. Jason had merely nodded.
“I have a plan, and I actually think it is best that you not be along for it,” Jason admitted.
Ken waited until Juanita had been up in the loft for a while before approaching Jason who was sitting by the fire barrel and sharpening a black handled machete with a whetstone. “You ready?”
Jason nodded and rose to his feet. “I will try to be back by sunrise.”
***
Jason rolled to a stop. He had the window down on the driver’s side in order to be able to hear better. The sounds of gunfire had all but ceased in the past few days. He did not know exactly how to feel about that little fact. On the plus side, perhaps things were beginning to settle down; on the negative, it might mean that there were just fewer people left alive.
A soft moan carried on the breeze and, moments later, was answered by that terrible baby cry. It was pitch black, and he could not even make out any silhouettes in the near complete blackness of a moonless night. This was one of the areas that lacked any sort of streetlights. Given the fact that most people had either made a run for it, evacuated to a FEMA shelter, or fallen victim to the undead, as well as none of the few homes scattered about this location having lights on, Jason figured that this was about as dark as the world could get. He better understood why ancient civilizations had such a fear of the night. He liked to think that he was a pre
tty confident guy, but sitting at this three-way intersection and hearing the sounds of even distant zombies, Jason felt his gut tighten with at least a bit of fear.
Just beyond this intersection was the turn into the housing development that he’d spied on his return trip with Juanita and Gabriel. He turned in past the sign that promised “Several Homes for as low as $280,000” in what big letters announced as the first phase of Strawberry Heights.
A row of two-story homes with massive garages and lawns little larger than what would take a handful of passes with a mower stretched out on either side. Over a third still had their “For Sale” signs up, but there were the others…the ones with open garage doors or perhaps the second car or even RV parked in front that he had his sights set upon.
He killed the engine as he came to a stop in front of the first house. He took a sniff and felt confident that there were no zombies, at least none in the immediate proximity. As he walked up the driveway, he caught a hint of something foul. Drawing his machete, he stepped up onto the porch and tried the doorknob.
Locked.
Moving along the front of the house, he tried to peer in the windows, but, between the utter darkness and the gauzy curtains, he couldn’t see a damn thing. He passed a smaller window that he figured to be a bedroom and got a stronger whiff of that unpleasant smell that he now associated with zombies. It was much more pungent than just a simple dead body. It was hard to describe exactly how, but in just this short time, he had learned.
Moving down the side of the house, he walked into the open back yard. A small collection of children’s playthings were scattered about. There was a propane barbecue grill on the porch and Jason quickly checked to see if it had a canister of propane still attached. He was delighted to discover that, not only did it have a large white tank of propane, this was one of the upper end barbecue grills. It had the tank hung on a weighted hook that indicated that the tank was at least around three-quarters of the way full.
After he had removed the tank and then hauled both it and the grill out to the truck, Jason returned to the sliding glass door on the back porch. He gave it a tug and was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was unlocked.
The wave of stench hit him with gut-roiling intensity and a mewling moan came from nearby. Jason slid the door open all the way and stepped back just as a little girl took unsteady steps out and onto the porch. It turned its head in short, jerky movements and its mouth opened again as it moaned. What it did not do was move towards him. Jason had his weapon in his hand, but he was momentarily taken aback by this reaction. There was absolutely something about the child-zombie that made them different. However, that difference was only minor and seemingly temporary as it actually appeared to spot the machete and then revert into the standard behavior of the undead by reaching for him and staggering forward with its mouth opening and closing in anticipation of tearing into his flesh.
With one quick stroke, Jason brought the heavy blade down on the crown of the girl’s head, splitting her almost to the nose. With a booted shove, he pushed the body away and freed up his weapon just as another zombie shambled out. This was likely the mother. And Jason put an end to her in much the same manner, actually easing the corpse down beside the child after he chopped deeply into its skull.
Reaching just inside the doorway, his hand found the light switch and he flipped both toggles upwards. The back porch light as well as an overhead in the dining room came on and chased away the darkness. Glancing down, Jason confirmed his suspicion about this being mother and daughter. Besides the obvious of them being in the house together, they looked strikingly similar even in their state of undeath.
Stepping inside, his eyes spied a large family portrait on the wall just above an enormous fireplace in the living room. He could make out mother and daughter, both with wavy blonde hair and big smiles that flashed bright whites for the mother and an open gap waiting for the permanent teeth on the daughter. There was also a man with skin the color of mocha with a bit of extra cream. His black hair was short and cut with perfect symmetry.
A moment later, he stepped around the corner of the living room. For just an instant, he seemed to pause as his eyes sought Jason. The moment that those filmed over, tracer-ridden orbs locked on him, the mouth opened and a chilling baby cry issued forth. Jason lunged forward and brought his machete down hard and fast. If nothing else, he just wanted to end that sound.
For the next several minutes, he hurried through the kitchen cupboards and the walk-in pantry beside a large double-doored refrigerator. He had discovered a box of heavy-duty plastic garbage bags and went about tossing in everything that he could think of that would not cause a rip in the bag. He was stunned when he filled two such bags and hurried them out to the truck.
Apparently his activity had somehow drawn attention as three zombies were clustered around the pickup and another two were staggering across the front lawn. Setting the bag down, he took care of them and then finished loading the first haul. After five trips in and out of the house, he had emptied out the kitchen for the most part, as well as the bathroom, a hall closet full of blankets, towels, and liquid laundry detergent.
This had worked out much better than he imagined. That was a double-edged sword. He would no doubt have to return to pick these homes clean. His only real concern was the possibility of encountering other individuals that had the same idea. He was already of the opinion that the undead were the least of his worries. With zombies, you knew ahead of time what you would be getting. It was the living that proved to be a mixed bag; most of it seeming to lean towards unpleasant.
Back on the road, Jason was grateful for the fact that it seemed that the clouds were being blown away. This was providing just enough ambient light that he could see the road. While not the most optimum way to drive, he did not want to give himself away too readily. He had managed to escape his last encounter with a small gang that were apparently claiming the whole of what was downtown Sandy as their turf.
Almost on cue, a set of headlights came into view on a road that ran perpendicular to his. If he continued on, they would come close to meeting at the intersection. Jason stopped the truck and watched with patience as the mysterious vehicle continued to prowl along. Eventually, it turned down another road and vanished into the trees. It might not have been the individuals from before, but he had no real desire to find out.
At last, he arrived at the tool and equipment rental outlet. Just as before, the place seemed completely intact. Not even the windows had been broken by passing vandals. There was a large, fenced-in lot with all sorts of machinery. He spied one thing in particular that made him smile: a flatbed trailer.
Pulling in, he once again gave a precursory sniff and was pleased to find nothing more than fresh air. Hopping out, he rushed to the gate with the lock cutters that he had found on the tool wall in the barn. In a flash he was in, making a showing of pulling the gate shut behind him and parking the truck on the back row between a trio of small cement mixers and a backhoe.
He hurried to the back entrance of the shop and discovered that the metal door was locked. He wanted to avoid busting a window if possible and after finding out that he lacked the skill to pick the lock, his eyes scanned the building until he found a frosted over set of windows. They were small and, being in the rear of the building, would not draw any attention if he broke them.
Once he was inside, it was a simple matter of grabbing a few more things that they would need to make their trench. An hour later, Jason had a flatbed trailer “loaded to the gills” as his dad used to say. Hooking up the trailer to the truck was an easy task, and Jason was back on the road with plenty of time left to allow him to make it back to Ken and Juanita well before sunrise.
***
The next evening was highlighted by an uneventful late-night trip to the Fred Meyer grocery store after another trip to the rental store where they grabbed the six barrels in the lot. For this run, they had brought Juanita and Gabriel, telling them bo
th ahead of time that they would remain in the truck during this trip.
Jason had insisted that they fill the barrels right away since it was unlikely that the power grid would last much longer. He had switched on the pumps and started pumping as Ken stood at the ready with an arsenal that included Glocks on each hip, a sawed off twelve-gauge shotgun, and a .30-30 Winchester with a scope.
It almost seemed like prophecy when, as they were filling the fifth barrel, everything simply shut down. Using the forklift dolly to load the barrels, they winced at every sound. The absolute silence was almost more unnerving than the early days of sporadic gunfire and screaming…almost.
They were returning to the farm when Jason told Ken to stop the truck. Jason hopped out of the truck and Ken followed, hand on the grip of one of his pistols.
“Easy, Ken,” Jason whispered.
“What is it? Why did you have me stop?” Ken stepped up beside the other man, his neck on a swivel as he searched for the threat.
“Portland.”
That one word hung in the air. It took Ken a moment, but then the realization hit. Both had been out enough to know that, even though it was what Jason called “country dark” out on the outskirts of Sandy where they were making their fortified home, you could still look to the west and see a glow on the horizon. Also, there were the transmitter towers with their red lights.
It was all gone. Sure, there were still pockets of light, but those were just the last of the fires burning out. They did not hold a candle to what had once been the dome of light pollution created by the city as a whole.
