by Steve Wands
Eddie spoke up. "We got a few already, Sheriff."
"A few more won't hurt, will it?" Davis said.
"No, sir, it won't."
"Angus, Frankie, Chung, and Jon, get your shit together and meet me outside in five minutes. We got a lot of work to do. The rest of you, rest up and take it easy on the booze. Either mysel or someone else will be by in a few hours to start some of you off on guard duty or something." He began to mumble toward the end. "Maybe fixing up some breakfast for yourselves wouldn't be a bad idea, either. It's gonna be a long day."
Five minutes came and went. Jon-Jon and the group piled up in his van and followed Davis into town and toward the police station. Once inside, Davis offered them coffee, stale donuts, and cookies. None of them turned any of it down. They sat quietly among themselves while Davis gathered everyone at the station into one of the large meeting rooms. Davis rummaged through a supplies closet for the county map and a box of thumbtacks. He whistled and gestured toward the group as they shoveled crunchy cookies into their maws. As if they were caught doing something wrong they looked up and hurried over to him.
He briskly led them to the meeting room, where a handful of weary officers and tired trusted friends sat or stood around waiting. Davis tacked the map to a table and emptied the rest of the tacks on top of it. He instructed the newcomers to tack whatever places on the map they had come across that might be of interest. Red tacks were designated danger zones, green was designated for possible supplies, yellow were impassable roads, blue, which remained unused, was for other stationed survivors, and clear wasn't designated for anything but if they came up with another point of interest they'd have a color, or non-color as it were.
By the time they were done there were almost two dozen tacks on the map. Davis instructed everyone to update the map when any new info was available. Davis cracked his knuckles and decided it was time to let everyone in on his little plan.
"Since almost everyone is here I got an idea that can help to keep us all safe. It won't be easy, and we might end up hearing something from FEMA by then. But I ain't holding my breath. I want to wall off the town."
"And just how the fuck are we supposed to do that?" Keith asked with one eye opened wide and the other nearly pinched shut.
"Not really sure to be honest. I got a few ideas, but it'll take us a long time, and like I said, FEMA could make everything all right next week. But if they don't I want to be ready. First thing I want to do is get the power back up, after that maybe a town hall gathering with everybody in town to see what we can do about protecting ourselves," Davis replied, "which is probably something we should've done much sooner."
"Shit, man," Keith said. "Power sounds good, but we're already running on fumes. I know I'm exhausted--"
"Keith, that's why I want to wall off the town. We're all tired as shit. But if we put up some fences, get the power on and put up some security monitors then it'll be easier to get some shut eye. All I know is that if we keep doing what we're doing we won't make it on our own."
Jones spoke up. "Guys, let's just take this one step at a time, okay? Let's get the power back on. I'm getting real sick of pissing in the dark and hoping I don't make a mess. We can fight about the other shit after that."
They all agreed to take things one step at a time. Davis asked Jones and Keith to join him and the newcomers in heading over to the power and electric building in the hopes of returning power to the town. They obliged, and everyone headed out immediately. Jon-Jon grabbed another cup of coffee on the way out the door.
CHAPTER 16: Power to the people
On the outskirts of town on a large barren plot of land sits the Power and Electric company building. Davis pulls up to the entrance gate of the fence which he quickly finds to be locked. Their presence draws the attention of a dead thing that had wandered either to, or from, town. Its clothes were the color of sand, was torn and frayed, and was barely clinging to the wiry frame of the withered young man. His body looked like it had been run over several times: his head was crushed, its contents being contained by the leathery flesh which was stretched and ripped from head to toe. What remained of his hair stood up in frantic clumps. His arm was barely clinging to its shoulder, splinters of bone jutted from his forearms and mud like blood clung in gooey chunks around the wounds of his body. He was missing an eye, and it was uncertain if his other was there or if it was merely a wad of puss. He stumbled forward on swollen legs, and on shins as mangled as the branches of diseased trees.
Davis's stomach soured at its ghastly sight. He returned to his truck to retrieve his gun and a pair of bolt cutters. With the cutters slung across his shoulder he took aim at the shambling creature and fired. The creature slumped to the ground, reduced to a pile of twisted flesh. Davis walked over to it. Wincing from the stench he turned his head to the side and fired a second shot to the dead man's head. He returned to the fence, cut the lock and kicked the entrance gate open.
They drove in past the fence, pulling up toward the front of the building. The parking lot had a number of vehicles: employee vehicles, company vans, and repair trucks. Davis took note of this and headed toward the front doors with caution.
The rest of the group followed as Jones and Keith held the rear, both carrying shotguns. They found that the doors were locked. Their dark tint made seeing beyond them difficult. Not wanting to break the doors just yet, Davis led them around to the side looking for another way in. They came across another locked door then continued past it around the building in search of another. They came across a small loading dock and finally next to the dock, an unlocked door.
Davis slowly turned the knob and opened the door. A red light shone from inside the building as they entered. Standing in that dim red corridor they remained motionless, their breath slow and controlled, listening intently to the sounds of the building. Machines hummed and clicked. The place seemed empty.
Not knowing where to go, the group picked a direction and cautiously continued ahead. Davis led the charge as they passed a number of doors which turned out to be closets and offices, all of which were equally empty and seemingly void of any use. When the corridor turned, they headed up the side of the building and going toward the front.
At the opposite end of the hall, stumbling from around the corner was a man in dark blue work clothes. His tan boots were covered in blood and with each step he left some of it on the floor. Around his waist was a utility belt full of tools and blood. The creature cocked its head, and began moving its jaw. He looked as if he were trying to say something, but being that his throat was torn to shreds, he failed. Several more of the creatures came from behind the same corner. Their melancholy moans more than made up for the lack of vocalization from the first creature. They sounded hungry.
"I guess their shift just ended," Jon-Jon joked but didn't laugh.
"Let's go back the other way," Davis suggested.
The group went back in the direction of the dock only to be halted again. Coming from the far end of the corridor was another group of equally disgruntled and vocal employees. With few options they turned around again, heading to the first group of undead attackers. They tried the doors within the gap between them and the dead: a set of restrooms, followed by a locker room, and a closet after that. They were now mere feet from the first set of attackers when the others rounded the corner behind them.
Frankie and Jones readied their weapons. Angus looked ready to have a heart attack and make a trade to the opposing team. Keith pulled a flask from his back pocket and tipped his head back, letting the warm wet whiskey burn his belly. Davis tried the last door, it opened and he rushed inside. The others followed. Jon-Jon took aim at the first dead man they had come across and fired. The bullet grazed the thing's face and ricocheted off the wall at the end of the corridor. He kept his handgun pointed at the fearless foe. He stared at him, wondering what the fuck the point of it all was. Wondering if he too would walk around like that, if he'd even know, or care, deciding that none of it
mattered he fired again. The dead man died again, dropping to the ground. The maggots in his throat held steady, oblivious to the fall of man.
Frankie pulled Jon-Jon by the arm and Davis flung the door shut behind them, giving Jon-Jon a look that would've shaken him a few weeks ago. But not today and probably never again.
The room they stood in was a small cafeteria. If they had an appetite then they would've had plenty to eat. But being that they wanted to get away from the things clawing at the other side of the door they decided to head to the other door in the room.
That door led to a small kitchen with vending machines which emptied into the building's central corridor. They frantically moved into the corridor. Davis looked straight ahead while the others spun around nervously. The front doors were at their backs. One door led to another, and somehow they ended up in front of a door with big bold letters stating CONTROL ROOM. Davis turned the handle of the door, pushing forward. It opened only a few inches before it was stopped by something on the inside. Davis pushed harder, and then rammed his shoulder into the door, but it didn't budge. The sounds and smells of the dead traveled through the air. They were coming. Davis attempted to ram the door again when they heard a voice from behind the door.
"You dumb zombies keep trying to get in here when you know it ain't gonna happen," screamed a man from behind the door as he violently stabbed a thin pipe through the space between the door and its jamb.
"We're not zombies!" Davis screamed back. "Let us the fuck in!"
There was a brief moment of silence and some shuffling from behind the door. It opened further and a scruffy, squinty-eyed fellow peeked past the door. His eyes grew as wide as a pair of full moons at midnight and his brow furrowed when he realized that they in fact weren't zombies. He stumbled backward and pulled the door with him as Davis and the others charged in. The man scratched at his wild beard with grimy fingers, clearly speechless.
He eventually found a few. "You sure ain't zombies," he muttered. His eyes grew wide once again. "Are you cannibals?"
Frankie was flabbergasted. "Are you fucking crazy, man, seriously? You think we want to eat you?"
"Never know. That's what they always end up doing in the movies." He trailed off as he stared into the sea of faces that stared back at him.
"This ain't the movies, and this isn't some voodoo bullshit!" Frankie barked. "Those dead things are gonna be trying to get in here any minute...is there another way out of here?"
"Slow down, Frank," Davis said. "We're not leaving till we can turn the power back on." He turned toward the odd bird whose nest they had disturbed. "You must work here. Can you put the town's power back on...uh, what's your name?"
The old man laughed. "Oh! Sure! Let me push my magic button then we can all trot on out of here on the yellow brick road too, while we're at it."
"You don't have to be an asshole," hollered Angus.
"Easy Grandpa," the man yelled back. "I've been in here a long time with nothing but the company of the dead and a stomach full of vending machine garbage. I've also been sleeping against the door for the however the fuck long I've been in here. And now you clowns think I can just wave a magic wand and make all the lights in town work?"
"Okay, can we all just calm down for a minute," Jon-Jon chimed in. "Sir, my name is Jon, most people call me Jon-Jon. What's yours?"
"Topher," the man said after a long pause.
"It's good to meet you, Topher. Now, would you be willing to help us get the power up and get the hell out of here?" Jon-Jon asked.
Topher had a sour look on his face but nodded. "Sure thing. But before I can be of any help I need to know why the power is out. Something had to cause it and we need to find out what."
The others looked at each other as if this was the first time they considered that something specific (more specific than dead people getting up and attacking the living) had to cause the power outage.
"Like what?" Davis asked.
"Could be anything. Maybe a downed line, or a squirrel could've gotten into a transformer and shorted it out. A car accident, fire, you get the idea."
"Any suggestions on how we can find that out?" Angus stepped in.
"I got a few."
"Guess that means we need to get the hell out of here," Jon-Jon said.
"Guess so," Topher replied.
"Unless those things find something else to chase after, we're going to have to fight our way out," Davis said.
"Not necessarily." Topher paused once he realized he had everyone's attention. "So long as we're as quiet as can be, sometimes the noises the machines make get their attention."
"Then what, they just leave us alone?" Angus asked.
"Yep. For a little bit. They always come back, though---it's like they know I'm in here." Topher said.
They sat quietly for a good long time. Longer than any one of them could bare. Jon-Jon was ready to open the door and take his chances fighting them off, as was Davis and Frankie. Angus was as calm as a cucumber. Topher looked like he wanted to talk, but obviously couldn't. Keith looked around the room, hoping to find some sort of alcohol, but knew there wouldn't be any. And Jones began to tap his fingers, perhaps the most restless of them all, though in no hurry to lead the charge out of the room.
More time had passed, and the restlessness reached a boil. The dead things just outside the door did not relent for a moment. The noises inside the building were not enough to throw them off. Topher admitted that that it had never happened before. And he assumed it had something to do with how many people were in the room now, as opposed to just himself.
There was no other way out. No vent to crawl out or a window to squeeze through. There was only the door they had come in through---one way in, one way out. Keith, Jones, and Frankie stood ready with their shotguns. Davis directed them to stand to the side of the door, keeping as much distance from each other as possible. He had Frankie stand behind the others, as a back-up shooter, and Keith knelt down on one knee---he'd hit them low, while Jones hit them high.
Jon-Jon stood near Frankie, shaking with adrenaline and fear. His palms were sweaty and he moved his handgun from one hand to the other. Davis had lent Angus a service weapon and he clutched it clumsily while aiming it at the floor. His hands were shaking badly from the arthritis, and beads of sweat rolled down the side of his face.
Topher gripped his pipe and shuffled around in a semicircle. Davis held onto the doorknob with his left hand, his handgun in his right. He pulled the door open and backed away in one fluid motion, bringing the handgun into the firing position immediately.
The dead things practically fell into the room, having been pressed against the door. And the ones in front were pushed forward by the numbers behind them. Keith fired when Davis was out of the way and nearly cut the first few in half. The noise exploded in the room, putting cotton in everyone's ears. Jones took off one of the creatures heads, sending gray matter spattering along the door jamb and walls.
As the first few dead things fell to the ground, others staggered forward. They were clumsy and stumbling over the bodies of their fallen brethren but were still faster than they had any right to be. Keith pumped his weapon and fired away, blowing out the leg of the next deader, obliterating its knee entirely. Davis took a kneeling position as well, and began to take well-aimed shots at the creatures heads. One more deader dropped, then another, forming a small pile at the foot of the door. The others stood behind the three men on the frontlines in amazement. They were ready for action, but glad that the others were making headway.
There were still a good number of deaders just outside the door: too close to move outside, but too far to make anymore surefire shots. Davis readjusted his position to the other side of the door, nervously footing around the dead limbs strewn about the doorway. He stepped on a dead hand, crunching the fingers, and immediately jumped off. It was the only time anyone had seen him even remotely nervous.
The dead things outside lurched closer to the door. Davis raised
his weapon and fired several shots, emptying his weapon. He stepped back, ejecting the cartridge from his handgun and pulling another from his belt. Keith stumbled up off of his knee and stepped toward the pile of bodies. He stepped uneasily on top of them, making his way out of the room. His foot slipped in the gore and he fumbled forward loosing his grip on his weapon; they both fell forward out the doorway.
The others in the room gasped and raced forward. Jones in the lead ran over top of the bodies, nearly stumbling himself. He raised his weapon toward the nearest fiend and fired, taking off most of its shoulder and bits of its neck. The creature continued to move forward, unmoved by the force of the shot. Davis was right behind him, and took aim at the dead thing's head. He fired twice and the creature slumped to the ground like a heavy sack of laundry. Keith stumbled to his feet, half covered in gore and looking frantically for his weapon. Jones took aim at another dead thing as the others tiptoed out of the room over the bodies of the fallen dead.
Angus tripped over a dead man's hand and Topher tried to grab him but was of no help. Angus fell backward toward one of the dead creatures. Jon-Jon fired at the creature and it went down but kept moving. Angus fought hard to get up but he was old and couldn't move very quickly. The dead thing grabbed Angus' arm as he tried to push himself upward. He pulled but the dead man's grip was firm. Due to the angle, no one could get a clear shot at the creature. Angus raised his own weapon and fired at the creature's head, but the gun didn't fire. "Shit!" Angus thought. The dead thing pulled itself close enough to bite and took a chunk out of Angus' arm. He screamed a high-pitched shriek as the dead things crooked, yellowed teeth tore a chunk of his skin out. Davis rushed over to him, shooting the creature in the face repeatedly, the dead man's face splattered all over Angus's face and the floor.
