by T. W. Brown
At last, they reached the end of the hallway and were faced with a pale brown door. They could hear an incredible ruckus on the other side. For a moment, Jason was certain that they had been discovered and that the group that was supposed to wait for their signal to rush in from the back had come early and been revealed. Then a heavy thud sounded as if something had physically struck the door he was now facing.
“Man! You suck!” somebody bellowed from the other side of the door. “That was right in your hands!”
They were playing a game, and that sound had obviously been a ball or something that hit the door. Jason turned to the others and gave the nod after confirming that this door was also unlocked. Almost in unison, everybody sheathed their blades and brought up a variety of rifles. Erin held up her hand and counted off.
One…two…three.
The door flew open and Jason charged in with his group on his heels. Unlike the sentries, all of the people with Jason had rifles at their shoulders as they scanned and located the next target. It was over so fast that it almost felt anti-climactic. Bodies were strewn about the concrete floor of the long warehouse. Some were still moving, and each of them was quickly dispatched with a blade.
The other team of six had come through the back door, cutting off retreat and taking down the few who actually had enough reflex to try and attempt an escape. Large hatches on the roof opened, and the four up top climbed down and did a walkthrough using the catwalk some fifty feet above. Once the “All Clear” signal was given, Jason set everybody to task.
Just as had been promised, a pair of large UPS trucks were parked just inside the rear bay. They were brought forward and the loading began. Standing beside Erin, Jason sighed and said, “Well, looks like we are the bad guys now.”
“You don’t get it.” Erin spun to face the man, her face an emotionless mask. “There is no black or white when it comes to survival…only varying shades of gray.”
***
Jason pulled up to the gate and waited for the person swaddled in winter gear to open it up, lower the handmade drawbridge that crossed the massive trench, and then wave them in. He pulled up as the person signaled him to stop before he was all the way over.
A handful of people emerged from some of the assorted cover that was in place around this main entrance; also, he looked up to see a rifle from the tower pointed directly at him.
“Hey, Jason,” Cherry said as she pulled back her hood and smiled.
“Glad to see that the new security protocols are being put in place.” Jason gave a wave to the person up in the tower. The person gave a curt salute, but the rifle never came down.
“Did everything go well?” Cherry asked as three armed individuals came forward with guns at the ready.
Jason watched them slide past the cab of the big, brown truck and make for the rear door. There was a pause as they set up in defensive positions at the rear doors to the cargo area, and then one person stepped forward and threw the doors wide, making certain to jump clear of the large opening. There was another pause before they moved in slowly and started to pull back some of the cargo. Once it was determined that the load was clear, the exact same procedure was repeated for the second van.
By nightfall, the vans had been completely emptied and all the goods were being inventoried. Jason stopped by Ken’s cubicle long enough to produce a pint of some generic brand of whiskey that he’d never heard of, but Ken accepted it like it was fine Kentucky bourbon. The next day, the man was found, dead in his bed with an empty container of pills still clutched in his fist. Jason noted that it was perhaps one of the first times (besides being the last) that he had seen Ken with an honest-to-goodness smile on his face.
Even more peculiar was the fact that the Golden Retriever was curled up on the floor beside the bed, tail thumping slowly when Juanita entered that morning to make the discovery. The dog stayed in the room until Jason and a few others came, wrapped the man up in a blanket, and took him out to one of the bonfires that sat in the clearing between the fence line and the trees.
This had actually been one of the first rules brought to the small community. It was suggested after a group of five that were barely able to walk when they arrived all died within an hour of being admitted. Since burying people was considered to be a waste of time and energy, everybody was asked to agree that his or her body could be taken to the bonfires in the event of death. It had seemed like such an odd thing, but most people saw the sense.
People had complained at first about some of the measures that had been decided upon by a handful of individuals, but as word continued to slip in about some of the conditions that people were being found out in The Wastelands, mouths shut and grumbling ceased; at least in any sort of public manner. Jason knew that people would always bitch and moan when they felt they had some sense of privacy.
As winter continued and the weather alternated between dreary and rainy, to clear as a bell and so cold it hurt your face, and then with a few more snow events mixed in just for good measure, the number of survivors that straggled in dropped dramatically. With them came tales of madness, inhumanity, and even a few examples of dramatic heroism. Many brought in stories of starvation and cannibalism.
While such things seemed like an impossibility to most of the folks living in this compound, they were certainly not ignored or dismissed by a small group, mainly Jason and a few of the others with knowledge of their own inventory and how precarious it had become until that warehouse run.
Even with that massive influx of supplies, things remained very tight as winter dragged on. The levels of depression rose with the degree of confinement, and more than once, either Jason or Erin, the de facto leaders of this little community, were called to deal with a body of somebody who had taken the steps to end their own life. One time in particular, that had almost ended in disaster as a person chose to slit their wrists.
The woman in question had been a bite victim that, like Gabriel, had not taken ill and turned. However, at some point after her suicide, she rose and wandered out of her little cubby/stall that made up her semi-private living quarters. Fortunately, she staggered out and bumped into one of the off going roving sentries who promptly stuck his blade into her temple and then went and woke Jason.
After that, there was a mandatory check-up of all residents. The biggest surprise was that they discovered three more individuals who had been bitten and were immune. They were noted in a security manual and it became part of the rovers’ routine to stroll by their little stalls. Perhaps that was why it was also no big surprise when one of the immune let loose with a scream one night that brought almost everybody in the compound running.
Star Walker was a pretty young lady who was one of the immune. At some point, as people allowed themselves to start to return to some sort of sense of normality, she became enamored with a young man named Arris Blom.
Known as “Arry” by everybody, Arris was blond with blue eyes and a square chin that looked like it might be carved from granite. He was a hard worker and his body was a testament to his physical endeavors both before, and now during the apocalypse. When he fell ill, Star kept him in her quarters and made excuses that managed to keep possible intruders at bay.
Unfortunately, when Arry breathed his last, Star had finally nodded off and woke to discover him standing over her with his eyes filmed over and riddled with the same tracers that she had tried to ignore. After his quick second death, the details came out and a long debate was held. The final verdict was that Star was to be exiled.
Her exile was not due to Arris Blom’s death, but rather her subsequent cover up when he began to show signs of the infection. She was never seen again, and most believed it was unlikely that she survived beyond a day or two out there on her own. Those that knew her best within the compound said that she was famous for doing a half-assed job and then sweet talking others into covering her poor performance. Arris was just the first unfortunate victim to have ended up sharing her bed. That was when it w
as decided that this infection could be spread by the immune to others just as any communicable disease might be transmitted.
After that, a committee was created and the slow process of building a government as well as establishing laws, rules, and penalties began. Like a cartoon snowball, it started small, but quickly began to balloon out of control.
By spring, things were ironed out as much as possible. It was a demonstrated truth that it was impossible to please everybody, and a few of the compound’s residents even left under protest when they disagreed with the “unfavorable and tyrannical direction” things were going by their accord during one of the many town hall meetings. More interesting was the fact that all but three of the seventeen dissenters who left returned within five days, saying first that perhaps they had been hasty in their decision, then finally admitting that The Wastelands were now full of unspeakable nightmares and that they would be thankful if allowed to stay.
During that first spring, a set of small apartment-like units were constructed under Jason’s watchful eye. But it was the sign that got the most attention. Above the entry gate was a carved wooden plaque. It read: Rose City.
18
“And so it goes…”
A crowd had gathered in the clearing. If somebody took the time to count, it is unlikely that anybody would be surprised to discover that six hundred and sixty-four people were present of the most recent census count of eight hundred and five. Of those not in attendance, some were on perimeter patrol, a job that had become more important as the zombies began to coalesce into herds—some rumored to number in the hundreds of thousands, if not the millions—and others were part of bare bones staffing in many of the jobs that could not simply be shut down for the day. Of course, there were always a few who simply wanted no part in such things.
As the morning fog lifted and a single shaft of sunlight broke through, there was a small murmur, and even a smattering of applause from a few more sentimental types. The rain of the past several days had done wonders for the crops that had been planted over the past couple of weeks. However, if asked, it is likely that most would agree that a bit of sun was preferable for today’s proceedings.
A young man in his late teens stepped up onto the small platform that had been hastily assembled once it had been agreed that this would likely be an event that most residents of Rose City would wish to attend. The young man brushed back a lock of brown hair from his eyes and shuffled through a few pages of notes hastily written on the hemp paper that nobody seemed to be able to get enough of these days. It had actually reached a point where limits were placed on how much a person could “buy” at a time to ensure that as many residents as possible were allowed some of the precious material.
To say that the young man looked uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. He was much more comfortable when he was out on a hunting party to bring back meat for the community. In those times, he could range out alone where he lived with his thoughts. To him, that was simply the environment of choice. He loved the woods of the Pacific Northwest; heck, he even enjoyed wandering The Wastelands from time to time.
Here, at this moment, he was as out of his element as an individual might ever be, yet, he had insisted on doing this. When suggestions were made to the contrary, he simply shook his head and maintained, “This is mine.”
A sea of expectant faces looked up at the young man and a hush fell over the crowd. These were never easy, and this one was especially difficult for some of the old timers. They all remembered the days when something like this, something so tragic, could easily be avoided.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the young man began. Those words silenced the last remnants of whispered conversations that might still be taking place in the crowd. “We are gathered here to say our farewells to a man you all knew, and that many of you loved. Jason Edwards is dead at the age of forty-six. He died, as many of you know, from complications due to an infection he received from a cut suffered while on a run in The Wastelands.
“And so it goes…once more we are reminded of our own fragility in a world that lacks conveniences that many once took for granted. In the eleven years since the establishment of Rose City, we have lost too many brothers and sisters of this community to things that were not even given the briefest of considerations.
“Let Jason’s death be mourned, but let it also be a reminder that we must always be alert for dangers where we least expect them. As he has said so often, we are not—”
“Out of the woods yet,” a chorus of voices spoke in unison, almost drowning out the voice of the speaker.
This spontaneous outburst sent a ripple of laughter through the otherwise somber crowd. It also seemed to allow the young man the chance to loosen up a bit and complete his eulogy. When he finished, a few others came forward with words for the crowd.
At last, the time came and a ceremonial torch was passed forward. The pyre was lit, and a thin tendril of smoke rose skyward. Over the next half hour, some individuals came forward and tossed a branch or twisted braid of dried vine onto the fire as had become the custom over the years.
At last, there remained only the young man and a woman who was just starting to show streaks of silver in her jet black hair. They stood huddled close with an arm around each other as the fire continued to burn.
“That was a very good speech, Gabriel,” Juanita said, giving the young man a squeeze.
“He would have hated it,” Gabriel chuckled. “Too many words.”
Again they let silence wash over them. They were standing that way then the alarm bells began to sound. From the pattern, it was the south wall, past the small shops that stood where a barn had once been. The entire community became a hive of activity as people rushed to their posts. An excursion team was already massing in the village square. Gabriel’s team was up today. He would have to hurry to the quartermaster’s shop and grab his gear.
Zombies were approaching.
“We ain’t out of the woods yet…indeed,” Gabriel sighed.
Turn the Page
For a Sneak Peek of
That Ghoul Ava and The Queen of The Zombies
1
Same Ol’ Situation
“Do you have to play this crap so loud?” Lisa said with that petulance that only teen girls can truly master. It’s so sad. When we get older it just comes off as whiny or bitchy.
I pretended not to hear her. Not one thing that she could say or do was going to ruin my mood tonight. I was behind the wheel of my very first brand new car. No little tushies had planted themselves in this seat but mine. I had been assured that I was the very first person to test drive this little baby: A candy-apple red 2013 Corvette.
Now I’m not one of those girls who knows a lot about cars, so most of what the very cute salesman said just didn’t stick. I think he even had a fancy name for the color red that my car was painted. Don’t care.
I flew down the on-ramp that deposited me onto I-5 and went through the gears like I imagine those racecar drivers did when they zoomed around in circles. By the time I actually hit the freeway, I was on the high side of ninety miles per hour.
“Got your seatbelt on?” I asked. I wasn’t planning on getting into a wreck…but who did? Safety first!
“Try to remember that only one of us is guaranteed not to die if you wreck this thing,” Lisa yelled over the strains of the luscious Brett Michaels who was currently begging me to talk dirty to him. Trust me when I tell you, that would be the least of his worries.
She was referring to the fact that I am a ghoul. Now let me assure you, being a ghoul is absolutely nothing like being a zombie. As if. Zombies are nasty creatures that eat the living. I only eat the dead. See? Big difference.
Lisa Jenkins was a teenage runaway. However, I doubted that her parents would come looking for her any time soon. In the six months that she had lived with me, I learned enough to know that it was unlikely that they were even aware that she had left home. Her father was long gone, and her single moth
er was busy sleeping with every bus boy, waiter, and bartender at this dirty little all-night place in Southeast Portland.
I’d popped in once and the woman was letting some slob put his hands up her skirt every time she came to the table. When she brought the actual meal to the table and cleared away the five empty beer bottles to make room, I almost lost my proverbial lunch. It was fried chicken, and I know for a fact that he didn’t wash his hands before picking up that drumstick. And considering where that hand had just been…
But back to my dear friend and boon companion. (I don’t actually know what a ‘boon companion’ is, but I heard that term used on some show on the local Public Broadcasting channel where everybody spoke with English accents. It sounded smart, so I claimed it.) I met Lisa one night shortly after my transformation. She had been in a seedy hotel after just giving birth. Her “boyfriend”—a pervy forty-something that actually convinced her to dump the child in the garbage right after giving birth—made the mistake of answering the door when I knocked. Long story short, baby was rescued and eventually given a home, perv was killed and then eaten, and Lisa became my roommate.
It was around the time that I met Lisa when I was introduced to a whole part of society that most folks don’t realize exists under their noses. Call it supernatural or whatever you like, but things like ghouls, and ghosts, and vampires—like that snarky little bitch Belinda Yates—exist.
Some have gone on to sustain themselves through books like the one you are reading right now. You see, the best way to hide is in plain sight. You’d be surprised if I told you which of the other books in your collection are real; or at least based on real events in the lives of some of my fellow monsters. Yeah, most of them don’t like the “M” word, but I like to consider myself a bit more progressive.
