by D. J. Molles
It was still on fire, although it was beginning to smolder. It had obviously been lit on fire several hours ago, as the fire had completely eaten the structure and the upstairs had completely collapsed in on itself. What little remained of the house jutted up out of the ground, burnt and uneven walls, sagging and torn down. Like the rib cage of a recently gutted animal.
For a moment, Lee couldn’t speak. It wasn’t the house that he was attached to. In fact, it wasn’t anything that he was attached to. It was purely a matter of survival that he now felt like a vice grip was being ratcheted down on his stomach. His house was superfluous, but now his bunker was covered in what looked like five feet of burning rubble. Inside were supplies that meant the difference between life and death. Desperately needed food and water were now inaccessible, if they were even still down there. In all likelihood, whatever raiding party had come along and burned his house, and cleaned it out of anything useful prior to lighting the match. The guns and ammo would be gone, without a doubt. Some of the more sensitive equipment they may have left alone—not knowing what it was or how it could help them just meant it was extra weight.
The second immediate concern was the medical supplies. He hadn’t truly concerned himself with the condition that Angela and Abby were in. The truth was, while he’d stabilized their malnutrition and dehydration as best he could with the supplies he’d had in his go-to-hell pack, they were both still in a bad state, and getting worse by the hour. He had been relying on the ability to get them to his bunker and stick them both with IV’s to rehydrate and stuff them with MRE’s for a few days to get their strength back up. Without that possibility, their chances looked bleaker by the minute.
And Lee didn’t have any food or water left in his pack. Without those essential supplies, he had to put a timeline on each of their lives. Lee and Jack were both fairly well fed and hydrated as of yesterday, which meant they could probably go without water for the next two days, given the heat and stress level. He gave Angela and Abby until the following night.
Without a word, Lee dropped his pack and knelt down on one knee. He unzipped one of the front pockets and thrust his hand in, rooting around for a second before withdrawing the GPS device. He knew it was in there, knew it was safe and still in his possession, but in that moment he needed to look at it and touch it. It was hope made tangible.
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
Lee just breathed a sigh of momentary relief and shoved the device back in the pack. “Let’s just say it’s an insurance policy.”
Lee hauled the pack onto his shoulders again. Focus. Compartmentalize. The bunker was no longer an option for shelter, but he had to get Angela, Abby and Sam into some sort of safe place. In order to do anything, he needed to know what, if anything, Jack had seen.
In a tone as calm as he could muster, Lee spoke. “You see anyone?”
“Not a soul.” Jack looked at Lee. “I’m pretty sure they burned the house just to fuck with you. They must’ve gotten your address from your truck.”
“My registration,” Lee nodded. The general, two-man consensus was that this had been done by the rogue Army unit. “I need to check out my neighbor’s house. We’re going to need to get our group in doors. Hopefully they didn’t burn that house down, too.”
Jack just shook his head. “Hoping is a bad habit these days.”
CHAPTER 13: HORDE
The pair moved swiftly across Lee’s property. Lee fought to keep his eyes scanning for threats and not to simply stare at the burning wreckage of his home. He was scared now. His attitude had been somewhat lax, removed from the reality of his situation. He’d felt safe sitting on top of all his readily-available supplies. Now, he had four more people following him, and his supplies were gone. The dire circumstances were becoming real to him. Real in the form of thirst, hunger, and diminishing ammunition.
The issue was time. He had less than 48 hours by his own estimation to get water to Angela and Abby. Food was less urgent, but Lee was still concerned about the amount of calories they were putting out with all this hiking. Even Jack seemed to be suffering, though he didn’t voice it. Lee’s own body was stronger and not as malnourished as the others. Lack of food was not a priority for himself as it was for the others.
Ammunition depended on how much trouble they ran into before he could get the group to a point of relative safety. Best case scenario, they didn’t get into anything before he could find a place for the group to sit tight for a while. Worst case scenario, they were attacked, ran out of ammunition, and were killed.
The smoke in the air cleared a bit as they moved further away from Lee’s burning house. They were moving into the wind blowing steadily from the west, and it seemed to be pushing most of the smoke away. They neared the edge of the woods and stopped, surveilling the Petersons’ house. Nothing appeared out of place. The graves in the back yard were still mounded high with freshly upturned soil. Lee noticed Jack giving them a hard look, but didn’t ask about them, and Lee didn’t really feel like talking about it.
After a few moments of watching, Lee decided to break the wood-line. Jack fell in behind him and they moved at a walking pace towards the back of the house. Everything still appeared as he left it. Jack mentioned quietly that there was a burning pickup truck in the front lawn that looked like it had been blown apart.
Lee nodded. “Yeah. That was from earlier.”
Jack didn’t prod further. Lee’s answer seemed to assuage his concern. They entered through the back door and cleared the house. After it was clear, Jack walked into one of the upstairs bedrooms, Stephanie’s old room. “I’ll hole up here and keep watch while you go get everyone else.”
“Okay...if you get attacked...”
Jack smiled. “You’ll hear me shooting.”
Lee fished into his pack and retrieved the Smith & Wesson pistol he’d taken from Jason Peterson’s body, handing it butt-first to Jack. “It’s got a full mag. It’ll give you a little more time, at least.”
Jack took the pistol and stuck it in the back of his waistband.
Lee flicked him a quick salute. “Be back in a few.”
As Lee exited the house, he checked his corners to make sure there were no surprises, and then began moving with less caution. He covered the terrain at a jog, stopping if anything piqued his curiosity or didn’t sound right, but never for more than a few seconds before he continued on. He crossed the open lot of his house at a run, then fell back to a jog when he was back in the safety of the woods. A few hundred yards east, he found the three rescues crouched down near a large tree. Tango watched his master approach with a wagging tail.
Lee caught Angela’s eyes and jerked his head to the side. She rose from her crouch with the two children, telling them to stay there. Then she walked a few paces away and conferred quietly with Lee.
“What did you find?”
As she spoke, Lee noticed her unsteadiness on her feet and the crusted salt deposits around her eyes, nose and mouth. Her dehydration was worse than Abby’s. Lee figured she’d given her daughter most of the water when they were on the rooftop. He had several diagnostic questions pop into his head to clarify the extent of her dehydration, but he thought it better to wait until they were indoors.
“My house is gone, but my neighbor’s house is still there. We’re gonna hole up in there.”
Angela looked heartbroken. “What about...the medical supplies? What about Abby? How are you gonna help her?”
Lee shook his head. “I don’t have any medical supplies right now.”
Angela’s worn face contorted like she was about to start crying. Or maybe her body simply didn’t have the moisture to spare for tears.
“Look, we have some time...it’s just not much.” Lee put his hand on Angela’s shoulder. It felt frail and bony. “We’re going to get you guys indoors, and we’ll figure it out from there.”
“What if she doesn’t make it?” Angela croaked. “I can’t do it. I can’t lose her...I can’t lose anyone el
se.”
Her voice was low enough that the kids couldn’t understand her, but they understood the tone of her voice and looked up in that way that children do when they know something is wrong.
“Angela, she’s going to make it.” Lee had no way to back up that promise. “We’ll do whatever we have to do. But right now we need to go.”
Lee didn’t wait for an answer. He turned Angela so she was facing the correct direction, then beckoned for the kids to join them. They both shuffled to their feet. Lee led the group through the woods, taking the same way he’d travelled the previous two times. Urgency spurred him on, but he forced himself to keep the pace slow so the kids could keep up.
For the first time he noticed his own body showing the signs of fatigue through hunger and dehydration. Besides the hunger, which he’d learned to ignore long ago, his hands felt shaky, and his mouth was getting dry. Every once in a while, despite the heat of the day, he felt a chill work its way through his body.
They made the walk to the Petersons’ house in about twice the time it had taken Lee to get to the group. He listened the entire time for the telltale sound of Jack’s rifle, but all was silent. They approached the house, and Lee saw Jack peer at them from an upstairs window, then gave the “OK” symbol with his fingers.
Once inside, Abby stared at the splashes of blood across the living room carpet and in the kitchen while Angela tried to act like she didn’t notice anything. Lee guided the girls past the gore marks, through the hallway, and into the dining room at the front of the house. From where they were, Jack could be seen leaning over the top of the stairs to the second floor.
“Everyone okay?” he asked.
“Yeah...” Lee looked up. “I need you to keep watch while I try to get some water for the girls.”
Sam spoke up. “I’m thirsty, too.”
“Buddy,” Lee tried to keep his voice lighthearted, tried to disguise the severity of the situation. “We’re all thirsty, but the girls need the water more than us, alright?”
Sam hung his head.
Lee felt guilty and exasperated at the same time. He was doing his best with this kid, but having no parental experience he didn’t know what was appropriate to say to kids and what was not. Sam would just have to deal with it for now. He hoped that when things calmed down a bit, Jack and Angela could take over being the parents. He wasn’t sure if Jack had ever had any kids, but he was sure that he’d do a better job than Lee.
Lee pulled out a few chairs from around the dining table. “Angela, Abby, go ahead and sit down. I’m going to try to find you guys some water.”
Leaving the girls in the dining room, he went into the kitchen. The bloody mess left behind by Maria’s butchered body had crusted over, but still managed to stick to his boots. The whole house was starting to stink. He rifled through the cupboards and cabinets and came up with a plastic pitcher and a coffee mug. Taking these, he went to the sink and put the coffee mug under the faucet. He hoped there was enough pressure in the pipes to give a little bit of water.
Turning on the faucet yielded a pathetic groan from the pipes and a tiny squirt of water that filled the coffee mug about halfway. Without humor, Lee thought that this was definitely a case of the glass being half empty.
Nevertheless, he deposited the bit he had into the pitcher and headed for the downstairs bathroom, which was near to the front door. The smell from the bathroom was obvious and not a good sign. He went to the toilet and removed the top to the reservoir tank. Again, he was disappointed with a bone-dry tank. It was obvious the toilet was filled with feces and the Petersons had apparently continued attempting to flush until all the water was gone from their pipes. With no water from pipes, it was impossible for the reservoir to refill itself.
Swearing, Lee left the bathroom and ran up the stairs to the upstairs bathroom only to find the same situation in this one. This presented another, less pressing issue. Latrines where feces and urine was collected and not flushed were horrible for accumulating bacteria and disease. If they were forced to stay in the Petersons’ house for any length of time, they would have to set up latrines somewhere else. As it was, he didn’t want anyone going into either of the bathrooms.
His last ditch effort was in the garage. He went down to the first floor and exited into the garage via the door in the kitchen. He was greeted with a positive amongst all the negatives: the Petersons’ Ford F-150 was still sitting in the garage. Lee hoped that he could find the keys, and that the Petersons had left him a little fuel. The roads weren’t the safest route to travel in these circumstances—in fact, they were decidedly deadly—but Lee was trying to count the little things. If they needed emergency transportation, they had it...maybe.
Off to the side of the garage, Lee opened the utility closet and found the hot water heater. Dropping his go-to-hell pack, he extracted his knife from inside and tapped the side of the water heater. The sound was the best sound he had heard all day.
“Thank you, Jesus,” He mumbled.
He’d tapped the tank low to the ground. He estimated that there were at least a few gallons from the point he’d tapped. Just to test, he tapped a little higher. This time he heard a hollow clank. So there wasn’t much water in the tank, but a few gallons was better than nothing.
He crammed the pitcher under the drain spout for the water heater and cranked the ball valve. Clear water flowed out and Lee thought it looked beautiful. With the angle he had to tilt the pitcher, he was only able to fill it about halfway. He brought the pitcher of water back into the house, carrying it like it was liquid gold. He grabbed another cup from the kitchen cabinets and took everything into the dining room.
The look on Angela’s face was one of immense relief.
Lee poured a glass of water for both of them, speaking as he handed them out. “Drink it very slow. You’re both extremely dehydrated and if you drink it too fast you’re going to throw it up. Take a sip, then wait a minute before taking another one. Keep doing it until the pitcher’s gone.” Lee looked at Angela. “There’s another gallon or two in that tank outside, so don’t give it all to Abby. You need it more anyway.”
The girls didn’t answer as they were busy sipping.
“Captain...”
Lee turned and found Jack leaning over the stairs and waving him over. Jack jerked his head upstairs. “Bad news,” he said.
Lee’s fingertips tingled. He left the girls and flew up the stairs, close behind Jack. Jack made for Stephanie’s old room that overlooked the road, but stopped short of the door, with his hand held up to caution Lee. He bent down and walked at a half-crouch over to the bedroom window. He took care not to touch the curtains, but carefully peered around them.
“Middle of the road,” Jack whispered.
Lee mimicked the marine’s caution and stood back from the windows, where he knew the shadowed room would keep him in darkness, invisible to the outside, as it was obvious Jack felt there was someone or something outside that might notice their movement.
Lee heard it before he saw it. The metallic rasp of steel being drawn across concrete. It was a long, eerie note with no beginning and no end, stuttered and interrupted every so often with a soft clank-clank.
Even in the waning sun, the image shimmered from the heat coming off the road. In the back of his mind, he noted that the mirage did not flow in any direction—no wind, and an easy shot at 200 yards—but every other part of him vibrated like a gong and his pulse picked up speed.
A big man, maybe 6’4” 240 lbs, without a stitch of clothing on his body, walking slowly along the road. With his left hand he drug a shovel behind him, the steel head scraping steadily across the road, sometimes striking a loose bit of concrete or a small rock and making the shovel head bounce off the ground, clank-clank.
He was focused intensely on the house, the way a man dying of thirst might stare at the mirage of an oasis in the distance. Lee got the uncomfortable feeling that the man was staring right at him.
“Infected or not
?” Jack said quietly.
“No idea,” Lee admitted. “He looks fucked up, though.”
“You want me to take him out?”
“Not yet.” Lee pictured the crushed and bloody heads of all the people the man had smashed with his shovel. “Let’s see what he does.”
“Roger.”
The two men were huddled between the window and the small bed. The floor was strewn with all things Stephanie: Jeans with flowery pink stitching on the pockets; an iPod; a stuffed panda. For a brief moment he fixated on the panda, imagining it under the arm of Stephanie while she slept.
Jack slowly pushed his back against the side of the bed and brought his knees up to his chest, resting his rifle on them, pointed out towards the road. He squinted into the scope. He craned slightly to see over the top of the window sill.
He made a sucking noise with his teeth. “He’s not the only one.”
Lee sat up a little higher and looked for himself. Coming from further down the road, a few more walkers were meandering out from behind the trees that obscured the southern section of the road. At first there were only one or two, spaced out by several yards. But like a stream swelling from ice-melt in the spring, they seemed to multiply. Every time Lee started counting, the number doubled, the crowd of them got thicker. Some of them walked steadily forward, others ran spastically in circles, but as a group they seemed to be following the leader: the man with the shovel.
“Pack instinct,” Jack said coolly, as though he were watching a nature documentary. “They’re gonna do whatever Shovel Guy does.”
So Shovel Guy was the dominant one, established by whatever primal firing of synapses had occurred inside their brain stems. Finding safety in numbers. Was it the FURY bacterium eating them away to their very base instincts, or were they adapting to overcome? Was this devolution or evolution?
Lee didn’t like it, however it was sliced.
And Shovel Guy was now standing at the end of the driveway, still staring at the house, but not yet approaching it.
