by Steve Wands
"Sheriff, we got ourselves a little situation," Sal said.
Sal stood waiting for a reply as he stared past the gate looking for his parents and praying he wouldn't find them, praying that they were at peace and didn't want to rise up against the living. Sal wasn't much for praying, usually only when something bad had the possibility of happening. Faith has a way of showing up when people need it, and it has a way of disappearing when they don't.
"Kinda busy...what's up," Davis responded.
"Dead people at the cemetery," Sal mumbled.
"That's where they should be."
"Yeah, well, they're coming up from the fucking ground."
"Fuck."
"Yep."
***
Davis handed Angus the needle. His belt was wrapped tight around his wrinkled old arm, the tail of it pulled taught from his mouth. His arthritic hand quenched in a fist while the other shakily took the needle from Davis. They sat on the tail of Davis' truck under a streetlight near the edge of town. Angus pushed the needle into his vein and pressed its contents into his blood. He opened his mouth and the belt around his arm loosened. His head tilted back and he moaned a sigh of pleasure. Davis moved away as Angus began to spasm. His breathing became labored and he went into shock. He fell off the truck and spasmed on the ground. Davis drew his handgun and fired into the man's head. He waited, and moments later as Angus began moving again Davis fired again, and again, and again.
CHAPTER 19: Moths to the flame
When Davis showed up at Mourningside Cemetery Sal had managed to contain the long dead within the cemetery yards. With the help of the two stoners he went around the outside of the grounds and found a few holes in the fence. The concrete walls, though, looked fine. He kept rope in the trunk of his cruiser, and used it to tie together the severed ends of the fence as best he could. It would help for a little while, but the dead things would eventually tear through it---he'd deal with that when the time came.
Through their trek around the grounds they came across the dead thing that had startled the two stoners earlier. This time the deader was accompanied by two companions who looked no better for wear. Sal had emptied a full clip into their heads, but they continued to stumble forward with chunks of head and face missing. He reloaded and attempted to shoot them some more.
"It's not working, man," Brian began to shout.
Sal snapped back at him. "No shit, kid."
"Fuck, oh, fuck, what're we gonna do now," Teets added.
"Shut the fuck up," Sal yelled, emptying the rest of his clip into the dead trio's heads.
"We got to burn 'em up," Sal said, almost to himself.
Davis came with the only two flame-throwers he had in the armory. They had rarely been used, not in the time since Davis had been a part of the department. They were old, but functioning, and functioning well enough to burn up the dead. He handed one to Sal and then strapped the large bulky unit to his own back. Sal began to fasten his on as well. Davis stepped toward the cemetery gates igniting his flame-thrower. He throttled the trigger, and the flame went from small enough to burn a finger to large enough to burn off your face.
At the gates, Davis throttled the flame all the way to burn-off-your-face levels and ran it from left to right setting fire to the dead things that reached through the gate. They did not flinch, or pull back from the fire. They didn't even moan in protest. They moved forward, reaching through the gates to grasp at them. There arms becoming black and smoldering like trees after a forest fire. There was little left to burn but weathered skin wrapped around bone.
The recently deceased creatures were much easier to burn. Their flesh took almost as quickly as their clothes did, but not these. These almost refused to burn. Davis didn't sweat it though, he kept at it, and eventually they fell to the ground smoldering. Given enough time, just about anything will burn.
By the time Sal had joined him near the front of the gate the two stoners had taken off. They began jogging away toward home, their highs long gone. Sal stood a few feet from Davis and followed his lead. The two of them knew that the flame-throwers wouldn't be enough for all the dead things inside the cemetery, so they stood at the gate and let them come to the fire. Like big dumb bugs buzzing into a zapper they silently staggered toward the fire.
Maybe the fire was their salvation, Sal wondered, a way for them to move on? Why else would they walk right into it without the slightest hesitation? Were they just that dumb? Or, did they know it could kill them? Sal shook his head, trying to shake himself from his thoughts and focus on the task at hand. He was tired and his mind needed sleep to work out his thoughts. He wondered if he'd ever sleep again.
Before too long, the tanks to the flame-throwers ran dry. The gates were swarmed with the well-dressed, long dead. Those that burned had melted to the iron gates and then slumped into the dirt and gravel, unmoving. Whatever it was inside of them that made them tick was burned to a crisp. The others would have to wait their turn.
Davis wondered why the dead and buried---the long dead---wouldn't go down with a bullet to the head. It worked for the fresher ones, why not for them as well? He couldn't shake the overbearing feeling of dread that began to blanket him as his thoughts wandered. Few things ever got under Davis' skin, and nothing had gotten under it like this. In Davis' world you lived and then you died, then you rotted away in the ground. There was no heaven and no hell, and there certainly was no resurrection.
The flame-throwers had overheated. The tanks themselves were cool but the nozzles were steaming hot and Davis nearly burned his hand trying to take the bulky unit off his back. He eventually managed to, but only after singeing the hair off his arm with the nozzle. Sal squirmed out of his just fine, and the two of them placed their overheated packs on the back of Davis' truck.
"I'm getting sick of smelling burnt skin, man," Sal said.
"Me too. Can't get it out of my nose, but what's the alternative?"
"None, I guess." Sal scratched at his neck.
Davis pointed at the cemetery. "What'ya think we should do about this?"
"Shit, only thing we can do is to keep burning them. But those flame-throwers aren't gonna cut it. They're good, don't get me wrong, but maybe we should just douse the place in kerosene---toss a few buckets over the walls."
"Yeah, these things are neat and all, but my back's already killing me from it---fuckers way a ton. I just can't believe this shit...no more surprises, please."
Sal patted him on the shoulder. "You said it brother. Wanna drop these off and get the kerosene?"
"No, no I don't, but what choice do we have?" Davis walked to the driver's side.
The truck drove off leaving the long dead to cool off. More limbs ripped through the earth to pull up their bodies. There was only a few more deaders still underground, soon all whom were buried there would be above ground. Except for one small rotted baby too tiny to sift through the earth.
CHAPTER 20: Standing still
With the majority of power back on, and the long dead being put back to rest at Mourningside Cemetery, Davis moved on to the next step in his plan; a town meeting. He had every one who wasn't working on either one of the roadblock's or up at Mourningside go house to house to inform every one who stayed in town to assemble at the town hall at sundown.
By the time sundown came around the job was barely finished. Everyone who was capable came to the meeting. Jeff and Walter Caulfield came out while the rest of their family stayed home. They both agreed that the children had no reason to come out to the gathering and their better halves were content to stay the course.
People were excited to be outside, and some of them took it as a sign that things were on there way back to normal. Though that certainly wasn't the case. Jeff and Walter stood at the back of the room, nodding and smiling at everyone. The air was full of small talk and speculation.
Once everyone was gathered Davis began the meeting. It took him a moment or so to quiet the room down, but he eventually did. He asked how ev
eryone was doing and if they were in dire need of anything. He asked if anyone had come across the dead and most had. Some had dispatched creatures while others avoided them altogether. Walter asked about the city bombings, and if they should be concerned about nuclear fallout. Davis went at length about being better safe than sorry. He used it to touch on other subjects as well but didn't think fallout would be much of a concern given the distance and time elapsed, but stressed that he wasn't certain and that there just wasn't any real information other than their own speculation. It was an issue, just not an immediate one.
From that came the topic of radiation sickness, and then just sickness in general. That led to medical needs and the realization that they were pretty much on their own in that department. There were no doctors or dentists among them. There were a number of people trained in CPR and at least two people capable of stitching wounds and reading x-rays, though.
They talked about food, fuel, energy, water and how best to conserve them. What to do with the garbage. They talked about many things. Then Davis began to steer the conversation to where he wanted it to go.
He brought up the need for everyone to be capable of defending themselves. He brought up the notion that help may never arrive and that they should be prepared for the worst. That the days ahead could get darker than anyone could imagine. Davis worked the crowd into fervor and then laid it on them: his master plan, The Wall.
There were some scoffs, as was to be expected---it was a crazy idea, but these were crazy times---but there were more nods of approval than anything else. Some people left, and once one left there were always followers, and they left too. Most of the people were on board with his idea to wall off the town, though, which made Davis very happy. He hadn't thought of what he would do or say if it turned out to be ill-favored. Davis smiled and began to wrap things up.
The meeting slowly came to an end. People had a lot of questions and probably just wanted to be out and talking to each other. It went as well as he could have expected, and starting tomorrow the planning would begin. Tomorrow at sunrise Davis would have a dozen or so people gathered at the station to help draw up the plans for the wall. They would scout for supplies and tools and begin to gather up what they would need to put the plan in motion.
That was tomorrow though, and right now Davis was needed at Mourningside to make sure the long dead stayed dead. He shook a few hands, then headed out in a hurry.
CHAPTER 21: If it's the last thing we ever do
Jon-Jon fumbled for words. "I know we have something...I'm not sure what exactly, but you know it's more than nothing."
"I know," Dawn said with a half smile.
"I don't think it's a good idea to stick around. This sheriff guy is out of his mind. You've seen what's around here---nothing but death and destruction. We need to get away, far the fuck away from all this."
"I don't want to stick around here any more than you do, but where can we go? Hmm, I mean seriously, this is all just fucked. Those things are everywhere. Dead people are everywhere, and anywhere that we can go will be other people. At least we know these people." Her lip trembled.
"True, but...what if we go somewhere cold. Someplace where they can freeze and you and me can get cozy by a fire." He smiled at her.
"That sounds great, but...but...how the hell can we get there? The roads are shit. We barely made it here and look how many lives we lost along the way. Do you really think the two of us can just drive off into the sunset?"
"Maybe. Once we get past Titan City we can head northwest, not even have to worry about New York and just head toward Canada?" Even as he said it he didn't fully believe that the two of them could do it on their own.
"It's crazy, maybe if we all went it could work. But we'd be dead long before the city. Just think about how many more of them there'll be in a big city like that. Whoever didn't burn up from the bombing is going to come back---a city of the dead--"
"Against the two of us," Jon-Jon cut her off, "they wouldn't stand--"
"We wouldn't even be a snack," she snapped. "We would get up, as dead as them, and come right back here looking for..." she broke off into tears.
Jon-Jon held her, but couldn't console her one bit. They cried in each others arms, unable to move. They would stay the course. They would help build the wall, and maybe, just maybe they would survive.
***
"I want to go back home," Judy said.
"Me too, babe," Scott replied, "I don't see it happening, but I want to go back too."
"I miss Mister Butters so much," she began to weep. "I hope he's okay."
"I know, I know." He rubbed her back.
"Steamer's doing just fine on his own, he never needed us---it was the other way around," Scott said.
"Stop calling him that."
"It's his name," Scott smiled.
After a few quiet moments Judy said, "We'll never see our home again, will we? This is never going to end is it? We're all just going to die."
"It has to end. We can survive this. We just have to be smart about it. We got to keep our heads screwed on straight." Scott rubbed his forehead. "If you want to go back home we can try it. But I feel safer with everyone else. I think we stand a better chance together than we do on our own."
"Me too. I'd love to go back home, though, but you're right. We're safer together. Maybe this wall thing can work, too, right?"
"Sure it can. All we need is enough time to do it."
With that they felt more at ease. They felt hope begin to kindle again somewhere deep inside them.
CHAPTER 22: Runaways
They were driving on fumes, and fast too. How they made it so far and managed to survive none of them knew. After Titan City had been leveled, and another after that, they knew they had to leave and get as far away as they could. They didn't know how, or to where, and a series of near-disasters on the road had led them to just outside of New Haven.
They had not rested, had not slept, and had only managed to drive by some form of autonomy. Everything that had gotten them to where they were was by accident or luck, and either of them would be hard-pressed to differentiate between the two.
Fighting to keep her eyelids open, Danni drove as fast as the car would allow her. She had with her two passengers: to her right, Clem, was barely awake, and Darryl, the panicked back-seat driver who was practically sitting on her shoulder irritating the shit out of her. They came across him by sheer luck as well, and as the two in the front would agree, it was probably a bit of bad luck. The guy was bad news, drugged-out, annoying, and of little-to-no help at all.
Dane was on roadblock duty again. But apart from guarding the town line he was also to be doing some preliminary work on what would be the wall: and that meant digging, and Dane hated digging. He didn't go through the academy to dig ditches. He became a cop to stop bad guys and go on high-speed car chases. Little did he know that he would be giving out speeding tickets for most of the time leading up to the end of days.
Dane noticed the little car kicking up dust in the distance and whistled to Keith, who was also working the roadblock with him. Keith had a flask in one hand and a shovel in the other. He looked in the direction of Dane's finger and nodded, but didn't seem impressed. They didn't have many people coming through town lately, but he figured they would eventually.
They pulled themselves up out of the growing ditch, and readied themselves behind their cruisers. Dane stood ready with a rifle while Keith grabbed the handset to the car's PA system. The car was not slowing down.
"Stop the car," Keith slurred out.
They didn't.
"Stop the car," Keith yelled louder.
The car continued to speed forward. Dane was ready to fire.
"Stop the fucking car, or we will shoot," Keith screamed.
Dane fired at the front tire. Though not the best of shots, he hit his mark and caused the car to swerve violently. It didn't slow down however, and Dane and Keith had to run out of the way as it came crashing into th
e two cruisers.
The back-seat driver was thrown through the windshield, sending tiny cubes of bloodied glass into the air. He smacked his face on the cruiser and then lay limp on the hood of it. Danni had fallen asleep, and only after the impact of smashing into the two police cruisers did she stir from sleep. Her nose was broken on the steering wheel and blood poured from it---she was in a daze. Clem lay unconscious with his body slumped forward, after smacking his head against the dashboard. Had he not been wearing a seatbelt he'd probably have been thrown through the windshield with Darryl.
Dane rushed toward the car, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and pulling out his service weapon from his holster. Keith was right behind him.
"Don't fucking move," Dane commanded.
"Wha-wha- happened," Danni mumbled, her words soft around the edges.
"Dane," Keith tapped his shoulder.
"What is it," he turned.
The back-seat driver lifted himself from the hood of the cruiser. His jaw was slack and his face was mangled. He began to move, but Keith and Dane both fired at the dead man. They didn't have to check his pulse to know he wasn't alive. The dead things had a look to themselves that no living person could pull off, actor or not.
The noise of the gunshots jolted Danni and Clem, back to reality and out of their semi-unconsciousness. Danni began to scream, and Clem tried to figure out what the hell had transpired in the short amount of time since he'd fallen asleep.
