“Welllll,” she said, hoping not to offend him. “Maybe it would be betterer if we hung them inside, like more in the middle of the building?” When she explained her thinking, he didn’t get mad. He only laughed, which was a great relief. She pulled away the blanket, reached into the wagon and pulled out a cd player the size of a piece of carryon luggage. “This will be what attracts them. That and the manikins. After that, the fire will do the rest.”
The factory all by itself was perhaps the finest, semi-naturally occurring monster-killing trap she had ever seen. There were only four exits, huge piles of lumber, thousands of gallons of flammable varnish and walls of made of brick. Her plan was to lure the beasts in and cook them in a giant oven.
Setting the plan in motion was nearly as easy as coming up with it in the first place. While she had been gone, Christian had blocked two of the exits—a precaution that was barely necessary since the dead could lock themselves in a bathroom or a car and never figure out how to get back out again. He had also piled long pine boards near the offices, as well as all around the sides of the building.
Soon the manikins and the homemade disco balls were strung up in the center of the building. Then the varnish was poured in a long winding river—and they were done.
“Now we find out if this will work,” Christian said.
Jillybean thought it would at least mostly work, especially on the small ones. They were the most like real people and she had seen them die in all sorts of ways before. The question was once again with the big ones. Jillybean had only just begun basic biology and knew close to nothing concerning human anatomy and physiology yet. And nor did she know if the big ones had undergone any other physical changes beyond their immensity.
She assumed they had. Normal human bones and joints could not have withstood the terrible pressures of so much weight without adapting in some way. Had they changed enough to withstand fire? Jillybean pondered this as she climbed to the roof of the factory.
Christian used the butt of his rifle to knock out a pane of glass in the center-most glass skylight. “You can do the honors.” Below the opening was a small stack of wood that had been doused with varnish. It was to be their initial fire. Jillybean counted on the monster’s fascination with flame to draw them to the center of the building, where the manikins and the disco lights would them either beguile them or enrage. It didn’t matter which, as long as they remained in the building.
Jillybean dropped a small torch down the hole and, quick enough, the fire leapt into existence. The smell was wonderful and nostalgic. It reminded her of Christmas though she didn’t know why. They didn’t have a fireplace in their house when she was “growing up.” At seven she had a lot more growing up to do, but to her, the home in Philadelphia would always be the house she grew up in.
For a few moments, the two stared down at the fire, lost in their own thoughts. Jillybean was thinking of the last Christmas she had shared with her family before the monsters came. It was a beautiful memory spoiled by the memory of the Christmas that had just passed. She had spent it trapped in a bitterly cold house with the frozen corpse of her mother shut up in the master bedroom. Candles had helped keep Jillybean alive, as did the fact she wore three sets of clothes and two coats day in and day out.
“I think we should turn on the music,” Christian said, breaking in on her ghoulish thoughts.
She hit the “Play” button— EVERYBODY DANCE NOW! the machine screeched, causing Jillybean to back away. The beat that went with the music thrummed throughout her body and was very nearly compulsive. Christian couldn’t resist. Laughing, he started shimmying his shoulders, swinging his hips and shooting out elbows.
“Man, I haven’t heard this song since forever! Come on, Jill, show me some moves. Do the Funky Chicken with me.”
Let me be the first to tell you, Jillybean, that’s not how chicken’s dance, Ipes remarked, looking askance at Christian the way most people looked at Jillybean. There’s a lot more head bobbing for one and they do like their chest-thrusts.
It did look funky as far as she understood the word. Still, she wasn’t an expert on chickens and their dances, which she assumed they did. She knew that bees danced to talk to each other about honey and bears and other things that bees cared about, so it made sense that chickens would as well.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she told the zebra. With the music so loud, she didn’t have to whisper. In answer to Christian, she shook her head at the idea of dancing over the sight of what she hoped would be the world’s largest crematorium.
Christian chicken danced in a circle around her. When she didn’t move, he cried out, “How ‘bout the Running Man!” He began to jerk and contort in what was a strange combination of running in place and dancing with neither really being fulfilled. When that didn’t get her to move, he asked, “Ok, how ‘bout the Moon Walk?” He started moving backwards in an oddly ungraceful manner across the rock-strewn roof. It wasn’t long before he tripped over a stunted little vent, made a valiant but doomed attempt to stay on his feet and was laughing before he hit the ground.
Despite the zombies flocking in, and the rather disgusting thing they were planning to do to them, Jillybean could help grinning. Christian had such an infectious personality and bright-eyed smile that it would have been impossible not to do so.
“I don’t know much about dancing just yet, except tap dance,” she told him as he stared up at her from his back. “I did that for a while, but I think I forgot most of it. Maybe even all of it except for jazz hands.” With her elbows tucked in tight, she stuck her hands out and gave them an extended wiggle and shake. “Maybe you can teach me some of the other dances when we’re not on a roof or nothing.”
“Sure,” he said, getting to his feet. He stretched his back and let out a little groan and for once his eyes were dim. “I must be getting old. My back didn’t like that. My neck, either. Let’s go see if the dead like our choice of music.”
Jillybean wasn’t sure whether she liked their choice of music. It had an abrasive, demanding quality to it—and it was repetitive. Since Christian liked it so much, she kept her views to herself and followed after him as he went to the rear of the building, rubbing his neck. They snuck up on the edge of the roof, crawling the last ten feet or so until they could see the town and the burned-out field, and the hundreds of zombies. The music, whatever its good or bad qualities, was loud and carried for miles on the quiet still Missouri air.
“Wow, that’s a lot of ‘em,” Christian said in awe.
Taking a random sampling, Jillybean concluded, “There’s five-hundred and twelve of them, plus or minus fourteen. Which is a lot if you ask me since the population of the town started off as only two-hundred and forty.” Christian raised an eyebrow and she explained. “I saw a sign that said how many people lived here back before. I thought it was kinda weird. They seemed to be proud that so few people wanted to live here.”
“People are crazy like that,” he agreed. “Here comes our first test.” A trio of grey beasts had come up the ramp, paused for a moment then headed inside. Christian held up a hand. “High five.” She slapped it and gave him a smile, however her mind was on another problem. Hanging on the wall near the front door had been a sign that had read: Maximum Occupancy: 351.
By her calculations, the building could hold three times that many. Yes, they would have to be squinched in, shoulder to shoulder, but they would fit. And yet, the sign had been put in place by the fire marshal. She did not know exactly what a fire marshal did, still, she drew up a composite of one in her mind: male, white—the word Caucasian made her think of Asians and if asked she would have guessed that it was the root word from which Asia stemmed—mid-forties, balding, uniformed, experienced and finally educated in all sorts of fire related duties as well as advanced mathematics, because how else did they come by their numbers?
She decided to run her numbers again; they were all rough estimates since the volume of the building, with its machi
nes and lumbar and barrels and such, had not been measured by her. And nor had the length and width of the building been…
“Here comes a big one,” Christian said, interrupting her train of thought.
The creature was so awful that both of them slunk just a little lower. It dwarfed the other monsters around it, making them look sickly and weak. It was also extra aggressive and would smash any of them which got in range of its fists. When it got to the top of the ramp, it didn’t even pause. With a roar, it lurched inside followed by a steady stream of the smaller dead, interspersed by the other giants.
“So far so good,” Christian said. “Let’s go check the other side.” The pair went to the far side of the building, where the zombies from the fields were hurrying to a chance to kill and feast on man meat. They battled themselves to get inside first.
From there, Jillybean’s plan went like clockwork. Once the majority of the monsters were inside, Christian opened up a new hole in another of the skylights and dropped a torch down on a pool of varnish that led along the winding stream to every part of the factory. Within minutes fire ringed the hundreds of zombies, half of whom were doing everything they could to get to the manikins swaying from the ceiling. The other half had become fascinated by the flames and stood entranced as the factory filled with smoke.
Eventually the zombies pyramided high enough to reach the manikins and the plastic bodies were torn to pieces. By then the roof had become too hot for Jillybean. The soles of her Keds started to feel gummy. She and Christian went to the side of the building and found it zombie-free and the two were able to scamper to the safety of a house across the street.
Soon the heat baking from the factory was so fierce that even that was too close. They retreated down the block to a water tower and from there they watched the smoke build into a pillar that rose hundreds of feet straight up before it gently bent over and streamed east. It wasn’t long before the boom box died.
The two humans relaxed as if enjoying a show. Jillybean had found three cans of Coke that afternoon and, along with the Girl Scout cookies, they made a fine meal. Much to Ipes’ delight, Christian turned down the cookies, and only drank two of the cokes in quick succession.
“None of them came out. I think it’s safe to say that the giants have died,” Christian said after half an hour. “Nothing could have lived through that. Here’s to you, Giant Slayer.” He held out a hand to hive-five her. Grinning, she slapped it and then shook out her hand. His was so hard it was like slapping a piece of granite.
“I could use a beer,” Christian said, putting his foot up on the rail and tucking his hands behind his head. Although he looked tired, his smile hadn’t dimmed a bit.
“I could use a bath,” Jillybean said, sniffing herself. The smoke, which had started favorably enough with its Christmas scent, had become overpowering and hideous when it had been mixed with the stench of burnt flesh. “I wonder if there’s water in this?”
Christian gestured to a small pipe that ran down the side of the tower. It ended at the base with a spigot that poked out. “Let’s see if you’re in luck. I think you might since this town was deserted so quickly.” The two climbed down and found that there was water in the tank. It came out of the spigot brown with flecks of rust, but only for the first few seconds.
Jillybean sniffed it, sipped at it and then splashed her face with it. “It’s good,” she said, beaming. She laughed as Christian hunkered down and drank and drank until his belly bulged.
“I hate the mugginess,” he exclaimed when he came up to breathe. “When I wore the uniform and played under that damned sun, it never bothered me but today, it’s just so oppressive. I think maybe we should head north for the summer. Or out to San Francisco. I hear they have wonderfully cool summers.”
Pretty much the only thing that Jillybean knew about San Francisco was that it was across the wide prairie, over the endless Rocky Mountains, past a high desert, and then past more mountains. It would be an arduous, dangerous journey of weeks or months where anything could happen, especially in the mountain passes where bandits were known to skulk. A person, even one as smart as Jillybean could be trapped with relative ease and either killed or taken captive.
She didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, let’s do that. Let’s go. Is the Golden Gate Bridge really made out of gold? I think that would be neat.”
“I think that should be a surprise,” he said, tipping her a wink. “It’ll make the trip more exciting. We should leave tomorrow. Right now, I’m beat and hot. All that running around didn’t sit well with me.” He looked down at himself and snorted at the filth and old blood covering his body. “Could I be more disgusting? This shirt has got to go.”
That was all the warning she had before he tore off the shirt, showing the world a lean, hard body that was nearly as torn and bloody as the shirt had been.
With a light gasp, Jillybean turned away, which had him chuckling. “Don’t worry, I’m keeping it PG. What do you say after we hit Bush Stadium, we go north to Minnesota to see where the Twins played? I forget the name of the stadium. Either way it’ll be the cooler, safer route across the country.”
Jillybean said, “That sounds great.” He took it as sarcasm, which was the exact opposite of what she had meant. Although the destination didn’t sound all that exciting, the idea of just traveling, of taking their time, of seeing sights that would one day be lost forever, sounded interesting and relaxing. For so long she had either been fleeing some terrible danger or desperately trying to find somewhere “safe” that she actually was enthusiastic about the idea.
“If you give me attitude, what’s in Darwin, Minnesota will forever remain a mystery to you.”
“What’s in Darwin, Minnesota?” She was suddenly brimming with curiosity. “It’s not another baseball place, is it? Because if it is, that would be okay with…” He had been rummaging in his pack for a green bottle and as he straightened, she saw three long scratches on him. They were bright red and puffy.
9-
She knew a fair share about scratches and although she hadn’t yet examined the healing cycle as it related to minor lacerations and abrasions, she knew scratches became red like this for one of two reasons: they were infected or…
The monsters got him! Ipes cried in anguish. It was her first thought as well.
Christian caught her staring and twisted his torso around. At first he looked concerned, then he waved a hand, dismissing the fear playing in her eyes. “It’s alright. You can relax. Remember those shrubs on the other side of town? I got these when we raced through them. It wasn’t the zombies, so chill.”
She remembered the incident with perfect clarity; it wasn’t alright and she couldn’t relax or chill. Within a minute of being drenching in black, diseased monster blood, he had scratched himself bad enough to bleed.
Now, given the state of the scratches and his slowly deteriorating mood, it was almost a certainty that he was infected and that in five or six hours he would become a zombie.
The terrible realization must have shown on her face because he started shaking his head. “No. I am perfectly fine!” His voice was as high and shrill as a teapot on the fire…for all of a second. Then he rubbed his temples with his eyes closed. Having calmed himself, he said, “No. This sort of thing happens and people don’t always die. I’ve seen it.”
“Have you seen it go the other way?” Jillybean asked. Even a self-described loner must have. She had known seven people who had died from the virus without being scratched or bit by a monster. With five of them it had been utterly mysteries as to how they had become infected; the other two had been scratched or cut running from monsters, exactly like what had happened to Christian.
He didn’t answer. He stared down at the ground as the truth slowly solidified in his head. In a minute, the idea that he was dying slowly evolved, going from impossible, to possible, then to fact, and as it did the weight of the truth bowed his head. He was devastated. His eyes were blank and staring and suddenly he
seemed half the man he had been.
Jillybean felt gutted as well. She had found a friend and lost him in the course of the same day. She wanted to cry, however Ipes scolded her, You’re not the one who’s dying. Cry tomorrow if you have to, but don’t ruin his last bit of time left.
She tried to smile, however her eyes sparkled with tears. “So, what’s in Darwin, Minnesota?” He didn’t answer. Instead he touched his temples with the tips of his fingers, pressing softly as if exploring for the source of his growing headache. She tried again: “Is it close?”
“Is Minnesota close?” he snapped, his forest-colored eyes blazing out of his face. “Is that what you’re asking? You act like you’ve never seen a freaking map. The answer is no. It’s not at all.”
“Oh.” The tears demanded to come back and there was no stopping them. She lifted the collar of her green kitten shirt up over her nose and wiped at them. The urge to bury her face in shirt and never look out again was strong enough to have Ipes scolding her again.
After a long breath, she tried a second time. “Maybe we can drive there. I saw all sorts of cars in this town. Sorry, they were mostly trucks and stuff like that, nothing as fancy as your race car. I did see a truck with purple flames on the side. It was real cool.”
“Purple flames,” he said, flatly. “Purple flames on a truck.”
Jillybean nodded emphatically and spoke quickly before her emotions could take over again. “Yeah, they were real cool. It’s probably a fast truck because who would put them on a slow one, right? I betcha it could get us up to Darwin in a super hurry.”
He sighed as if the very act of sighing was exhausting. “No. We’re not going to Minnesota. I was wrong about that. Just forget about all this.” He waved an apathetic hand that indicated both everything in the world and nothing particular. “You should go away.”
That wasn’t going to happen. She had seen too many people go through this to leave. She wouldn’t want to be alone. Even the toughest men sometimes cried when they became monsters.
The Undead World (Book 12): Jillybean & The First Giants [An Undead World Expansion] Page 9
