The Zombie Chro [99] - Collapse, Tales of the Zombie Chronicles

by Mark Clodi

  “Have you seen Carl?” he asked.

  “Not since last night, we were a little...ah, very drunk. He came by to tell us you made contact and we tried to get him to stay, but he left pretty quick.”

  “Where'd he go?” Unlike the others Carl had not taken a cabin to stay in, usually he stayed on the bridge or in one of the public areas. Tom had not seen him yet this morning, which was unusual.

  “He didn't say, or if he did, I didn't hear.” Eli said, “Oh, he asked how Mary was doing. That's about the last I remember.”

  A feeling of dread welled up in Tom, but he nodded and said, “I should go check on her.”

  “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing. She's just been down there alone. I should see if she wants anything.”

  “Wait a few and I'll go with you.” Eli said, she was wrapped in a sheet by the door and Tom suspected that was all she was wearing.

  “No, that's okay. You can meet me down there.” he said, hastily retreating.

  “Tom wait! Just give me a minute!” but it was too late, Tom was walking briskly away towards the stairs that led into the bowels of the ship.

  He arrived at the medical station and found the door locked. This was reassuring. He unlocked the door with one of the master keys and went inside. The clinic was dark, only a small lamp on the counter provided any light at all and it was not enough for him to see by. Flicking on the lights he noted with alarm that the gurney Mary had been in last night was empty, the bedding was messed up, but the woman was gone.

  “Oh shit.” Tom moved forward and then jumped backwards as Mary opened the door from the bathroom at the end of the hall.

  His yell scared Mary and caused her to jump about a foot, then she laughed, “Good thing I just went pee, you scared me!”

  “I thought...”

  “What?” she asked as she came down the short hallway towards him.

  “I thought something had happened to you, the bed was empty and I couldn't find Carl...”

  “Carl? I haven't seen...” her voice trailed off and her face lost all color.

  “What?”

  “Behind you.” she said softly.

  Carl had been there, written on the wall behind Tom in permanent ink were the following words, “All powerful Lord, do not let me succumb to the temptation to fall into error! Benevolent Spirits who protect me, turn this bad thought away from me and give me the strength to resist this evil. For if I succumb, then I will deserve the expiation of my failing in this same life and in the next, because I have free will to make my choice. I came here. I prayed.”

  The writing continued in a second paragraph, “When I raised my eyes towards heaven, praying for the strength to resist temptation while at the feet of Mary, the Lord showed me the way. Have faith Tom, everything is part of His design. I will pray for you.”

  It was signed simply, “Carl”

  “How did he know?” Tom said softly.

  “What?”

  Tom strode forward and pointed at his name, “How'd he know I would read this?”

  Mary just shook her head and said, “Maybe God told him?”

  Tom's laughter was tinged with doubt, but there was no other way he felt he could react.

  Contender

  Chapter 1

  The four men each had a cup of pure liquor in front of them, they had found a cache of whiskey and rum in a bar they had looted on the same day they found Hon, raising his speckled blue metal cup to his lips Jed took a long pull then looked at the other three, "I don't want no faggot talk around Hon. We don't need to be putting ideas into his head. A boy like that needs to grow up with only one option for where to put his pecker. You guys got it?"

  The men nodded absently, not really caring one way or the other. They had found boys and girls before, none of them tended to last long. Bubba looked Jed in the eyes, "Giving the boy a little affection isn't going to turn him into a faggot. Kids need hugs and stuff, a kiss goodnight. I got that and I know you did too Jed, it ain't right just ordering him off to bed like no one gives a rat's ass about him."

  "And who is gonna do that Bubba? Seriously I ain't stupid and I know you three are a ways above dumb too. You gonna get him close to you? So you can watch him die? Or maybe you will pull a Jim on him?" Jim was the fifth friend of theirs who had managed to rescue a brother and sister from a besieged house early on when the dead rose up to attack the living. The kids had lasted six weeks until the group got caught by a mob while looting a grocery store. The store had been a setup from the start, one of the more intelligent zombies had made everything look good for the living to draw them in.

  The seven of them had gone in with empty carts and were filling them up with canned goods when the zombies showed up out front and started pouring into the building. The group had fled to the back room, barricading the stockroom doors as well as they could when they discovered the back doors were impassible, blocked from the outside.

  It was Jim's ax that saved the group. Bubba had taken it and cut a hole through the ceiling while standing on a pile of grocery goods. The zombies had burst through one of the barricaded doors by the time he was through the wood, tar and gravel. The men had almost won free when the pile they were using as a ladder collapsed. Jim caught hold of the edges of the roof and was pulling himself up when he heard the kids cry out; they hadn't made it and were on the floor surrounded by the dead.

  Jed had reached for the man's hands, knowing Jim was going to let go to try and save the kids, but both men were too late. Jim tumbled to the floor as the girl was killed and there was nothing he could do to save the boy or himself either. The four men had watched while the other man went into a grief filled berserk rage, killing zombies throughout the storage room. At first the four kept up a flurry of bullets to try and save their friend, but it soon became clear they would not be able to do so; there were just too many of them. Jed had called a halt to the gunfire and made them retreat while Jim was distracting the mob, the man probably had saved their lives after all and Jed remembered him fondly in moments like this; remembered and cherished the sacrifice he had made for them.

  "I won't pull no Jim, but I want him to at least like us for christssake. You treat him like a dog, well he ain't a dog, he thinks and he has feelings and giving him a can of food or a bone ain't gonna make those bad feelings go away."

  Jed thought for a moment, the nodded, "I see your point."

  "And I don't want any more sex talk at all around him, nothing about women or anything. It ain't right to talk like that around a kid, he is only ten and still thinks girls are gross."

  Jed spat sideways out of the circle of firelight, "Anything else dad? Or can we get to drinking without all this bellyaching of yours?"

  "To Jim." said Greg.

  "To Jim." the others echoed.

  "I am gonna take the boy under my wing then." said Bubba. The others nodded, but didn't say anything.

  Chapter 2

  Hon woke up as usual about an hour before sunrise with a strong urge to pee. Carefully he climbed out of his cocoon and made his way through the narrow tunnel out into the warehouse towards the far wall. This was the latrine, you could pee there, but not shit, or so Jed had told him. Letting loose with a long stream of urine Hon painted the wall even darker in the dim pre-dawn light. Finishing up he backtracked a few steps directly away from the piss area, he didn't want to step in anyone else's pee while barefoot.

  There was a slight sound behind him and Hon crouched to one side and looked deeper into the building. Nothing....he scanned the building until he saw a slight movement up on one of the catwalks; it was Jed's hand, the white palm barely visible in the darkness. Concentrating Hon was able to focus enough to see the man in his black sleeping bag, he had his target pistol pointed at Hon and gave another little wave, which the boy returned.

  Moving back to the large pile of tumbled wooden pallets Hon approached the entrance to his lair. The pile of pallets was left over from whatever shipping needs the business had
, but they had not been stacked well and were now all fallen together into a jumbled mess. Hon had climbed all over them and with some effort he made a path into their depths. Jed had encouraged him to set up his own 'clubhouse' so he had borrowed a saw and a hammer and had cut a few pallets out of the heart of the mess where he could sleep. Hon had strung up reflective foil survival blankets all around the walls. The men didn't understand his infatuation with the blankets when they first met him, he had been wearing one when they found him and he collected them like prized trophies. Bubba had asked him about it and Hon just replied that he like the way they looked. Hon was much too embarrassed to tell the man that he thought the foil made him invisible to zombies. He would have been surprised to learn that the men had already figured that out and didn't mind tossing him the blankets, even if they thought it was foolish.

  Feeling his way in on his hands and feet he moved past the first barricade he had put in place. He slid the half broken pallet shut behind him, then moved past some jagged wooden splinters, careful not to get caught on their points. Hon had left the spikes of wood far enough apart so he could slide through in a hurry if he had to, but just barely. He knew the way in by heart now, he had been with the men for a little over a month so he had time to practice getting in and out of his fortress.

  The next barricade led to a good sized area in the middle of the pallets, Hon turned on his flashlight and looked over his room with satisfaction. With the barrier down behind him and the flash light off it was pitch black. He had lined it well and it looked lived in, full of the trinkets of boyhood that even now he managed to collect. This was not, however, his true lair, he pushed over the ruffled sleeping bag and lifted a section of the foil to reveal another small tunnel behind it. Crawling on his belly through the oily dirt that rested on top of the cement he moved one body length into his real sleeping room.

  This one was lined with foil as well and was filled almost completely with sleeping bags, blankets and pillows. Hon also had an emergency backpack, an ax, a saw, and a crowbar secreted on one side of his sanctum sanctorum. The tools would be needed if he ever wanted to cut his way out of the pile. He had almost finished building an escape tunnel that ended by the side of the warehouse. All he had to do was cut through or pry out another board or two to get to the bare sheet metal that was the outside wall. The backpack held a change of clothing, matches, three survival blankets, a large folding knife, an empty water bottle, eight candy bars and seven cans of ready to eat soup with pull tops. As far as get away packs went it was the best one Hon had ever created.

  Bubba had been pretty decent to Hon recently, more than decent if Hon were honest with himself. But the zombies always found and killed whoever he was with. Always. Hon had lived for four months with different groups of people or on his own. He would still be on his own if the men hadn't run into him at the bar he was hiding in at the time. Hon had almost let the men go without revealing himself, once he figured out they were alive he called out to them, which had been a dicey affair, they could have shot him. Making himself comfortable in his nest of blankets Hon thought about moving in with Bubba again. It was early November and it was getting colder every day. Bubba had extra room in his recreational vehicle and was concerned that Hon was freezing at night.

  “I really don't freeze at night.” Hon said softly to himself, “I just like being alone.” Pulling his feet in closer to his body he curled up in the mound of sleeping bags and was soon dozing again.

  Forty five minutes later the smell of coffee and eggs caught his attention. Full of hunger he moved into his larger room and pulled on a couple of hoodies, both were large, dirty and worn. He debated putting on shoes, on the one hand his feet would get cold without them, on the other it seemed to annoy Jed when he was barefoot, which was a plus in Hon's mind. Pragmatism won out and he broke open a pair of blended wool hunting socks that Bubba had given him. Then he pulled on the flexible black crocs that he knew Jed didn't care for much and made his way out to breakfast.

  Bubba saw the boy coming and grinned, 'Crocs and socks. That will get Jed's attention'. He hid his grin before Jed or Hon could see him and turned back to the grill.

  Hon was the last one to arrive for breakfast so Bubba stirred the last of the reconstituted eggs and poured them into the pan. The RVs had kitchens in them, but the men still preferred to eat out at the picnic tables. They had dragged the tables inside and had them set up next to four grills where they did most of their cooking. They only used one grill at a time, but all of them were set up and ready to go. The extras were in case they finally shot a deer and needed to process the meat quickly. Steve knew how to make dried beef and figured deer would dry the same. The guy sold the stuff every year at the county fair, so he probably knew what he was doing. So far none of the men had really done much in the way of hunting.

  'We got enough food to last us a couple of years, if it doesn't go bad'. Real eggs and bacon were a distant memory, but Bubba found himself missing dairy items the most. Like the other men he had started 'Z-day' with an extra thirty pounds, in four short months he had lost most it. He'd even had to find smaller pants; his old ones reminded him of a clown's oversized clothing.

  “Crocs and socks. Jee-suses save us!” Jed said as Hon grabbed his plate from the counter they had set up next to the grills.

  Wisely, Hon didn't say anything, just accepted the plate of food from Bubba and sat down.

  “Well at least he is wearing shoes and socks. I'dda thought that would make you happy.” said Greg.

  “Plastic shoes. No, they shouldn't even be called shoes. They aren't safe, kid's feet get caught in escalators all the time. And they melt if it is too hot out.”

  “Really, Jed? I think Hon might be safe from escalators and he won't have to worry about being too hot for another seven months.” Greg retorted.

  “Hon, what happened to those hunting boots I picked up for you?” Jed said, ignoring Greg and Steve's laughter.

  “They hurt my feet.”

  “Well of course they do! You gotta wear them for a while, that's called 'breaking them in' there is nothing like a good pair of boots to protect your feet.”

  “Mm.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?” turning to the other men Jed said, “See what is wrong with the youth of today? No manners. If I'dda answered somebody like that my pa would have belted me one.”

  “You didn't ask me anything.” Hon mumbled through his egg filled mouth.

  “And talking with his mouth full too! We got our work cut out for us boys, turning this little man into a gentleman. Damn yankees don't know anything about manners, if you ask me.”

  Bubba thumped his own plate down between Jed and Hon, then brought over a couple of travel coffee mugs, extra non-dairy cream powder and sugar in Hon’s, his own was black with two sugars.

  “Don't go disparaging the dead again.” Bubba said, squirting ketchup onto his eggs.

  “I wasn't. Well maybe not, but you reminded me to keep my manners. See, Hon? Bubba here has manners and kept me from making a fool outta myself.”

  Hon didn't always understand what the man said to him, but had learned that nodding worked pretty good, so he nodded his head in what he thought was a polite manner then turned his eyes back down to his food.

  “I knew a guy once, didn't have a tongue.” said Greg.

  “Yeah?” asked Steve, playing the straight man in their duo.

  “Sure. Nicest guy you could ever want. Like our Bubba here, only quieter. He had problems chewing his food. You know that your tongue kind of keeps the food on your teeth? I learned a lot from him.”

  “Like what?”

  “That thing about the tongue for one thing. I tried eating without using my tongue and couldn't do it. He also taught me when to use it and when to hold off.”

  “Like for kissing?” Jed asked.

  The men laughed, and Greg replied, “Naw, he wasn't no....” He eyed Bubba's warning look, then continued, “He wasn't like that. More about when to k
eep your mouth shut and when to open it. A good guy. Not much for conversation, but a good guy.”

  “How'd he lose his tongue?” Hon asked, his eyes wide just thinking about it.

  Greg bent down low over his plate and looked at Hon, “The swamp folk took it.”

  Hon sat up straighter and shook his head, “Not-uh.”

  “It's true, it is. He ran afoul of them when he went to them to get a love potion to give to Nattie Frye over in Thorton. Jaye was all in love with Nattie, but she wasn't having him. Oh she dated with him, necked with him a few times out at the bowling alley, but had her eyes set higher for a...a husband. So Jaye was down to the fair that year, me and Steve were working it, selling his jerky and I saw him there. Well you know the swamp folk always come in and set up shop for the fair. Did you have fairs where you're from?”

  Hon shook his head, his eyes were still narrowed in skepticism, not quite believing Greg's story.

  “No fairs? So you never ate 'elephant ears' or 'deep fried twinkies'?”

  “No one eats elephant ears! They don't live here, only at the zoo!” Hon said, convinced Greg was lying now.

  “Oh no they aren't actually made of elephant, Hon, they only call them that because they are as big as an elephant ear. It's just fried dough, they put on a little butter and sprinkle on powdered sugar and you eat it hot, with a good beer or pop to wash it down.” Greg shook his head mournfully and looked at Jed.

  “No." Jed shook his head, "We ain't gonna find some damned carny rig to make him fried dough. Maybe next year.”

  “Next year then. No one should live life without having an elephant ear. Anyway, where was I? Jaye, yeah, he came down to talk to the swamp folk. You know they are descended from gypsies right?”

  Hon shook his head, “What's a gypsy?”

  Greg looked shocked, “You don't....Jesus, Jed! You are right; we got a lot of educating to do here. Gypsies are a wild folk, they live close to the earth and travel here and there doing odd jobs and stealing children so their blood doesn't get bad. It's a way of life that is pretty much gone, but not quite. We had a clan of them living in the swamps, the old ones are wise women; I ain't never seen a old man gypsy, they probably all die in knife fights. Gypsies love to knife fight. Sometimes it's for their honor, usually it's over a women or booze. The old ones kind of kept to the swamps and had a few old squatter shacks out there they stayed all year round. The younger ones would head out in the spring and do whatever they did, then come back in the fall to work the fair and pay the back taxes on the land. Anyway, they worked for the carnival, running rides, cleaning up messes, that sort of thing. They always used to set up a fortune telling booth too, you could pay to get your fortune told. Me and Steve both went there that year to see what they'd tell us.” Greg stopped to take a pull from his coffee.