Chicago Fell First: A Zombie Novel

by Smith, Aaron

  She tore off her apron, tossed it on the ground, took Doug’s hand and walked toward Danielle’s car with him. They both smiled, they both felt a little insane.

  They were back on the road within minutes. Introductions had been made, Doug got behind the wheel again with Kacey joining him in the front while Brandon got in the back to sit with Danielle. Danielle was feeling all right, still slightly tired but otherwise normal. Still, she shot Doug a look as it was decided that Brandon would ride in the back with her. Doug nodded his understanding: the merest hint that she was becoming Empty and Doug would get the boy away from her and do what had to be done.

  As they resumed their trip north and to the west, Doug realized he was no longer afraid to have Kacey with him. The experience with the busload of zombies had done something to him, changed him, as if he had finally, after so long, found a way to satisfy the violent urges within. But how long would the afterglow remain, he wondered? How long would he be able to keep himself in check before the conflict grew again? And if there were no walking dead things around to mutilate, could he maintain control now that he truly knew what it felt like to surrender to his shadow-self?

  Terence Trumbull had finally been forced into hiding by midday. The streets had gone too insane. He had lost count of how many headshots he had delivered to Empty Ones and he could no longer shoot them fast enough to keep from being surrounded. It was not only the Empty Ones that endangered him. The troops on the streets had grown increasingly panicked, as had the police and the roaming bands of gun-wielding civilians. In broad daylight, it would be too easy for a lone soldier to be mistaken for one of the wandering dead.

  He had taken refuge in a recently abandoned apartment and it felt odd to be hidden away in a set of rooms that had just, perhaps only hours before, been lived in. The television had still been on when he entered, loud and bright, broadcasting a game show. He turned it off and sat on the couch, putting his guns down for the first time in hours. He barricaded the door with a small but heavy table, made sure all the windows were secured, and tried to rest without taking the risk of falling asleep. As bad as the situation was, he feared what would happen next, for he knew the mind of the government and knew they would feel backed into a corner concerning Chicago. It was probable that they would shut the city down and sacrifice those who remained inside its borders.

  Trumbull had tried to do all he could, tried to help, but felt like a failure. At least—he consoled himself somewhat—he had seen the young woman and the little boy to safety, or at least the temporary safety of the outside world that had not yet felt the cold touch of the Ether-virus.

  He sat there for a long time listening to the background music of Chicago. The band consisted of the same three instruments played over and over again: gunshots, screams, and sirens.

  There was little conversation as Doug drove Kacey, Danielle and Brandon further up I-94. Doug stared straight ahead, navigating roads that were unfamiliar; he’d never gone this far north before, even after living most of his life in Illinois. Kacey was lost in thought, occasionally letting a giggle slip out, still amused by her own daring in tossing aside her hometown like yesterday’s clothes and taking a step into the great unknown. Danielle was quiet but awake, fearful that she might be just on the edge of a terrible metamorphosis. Brandon, the excitement having been too much for a seven-year-old, had fallen asleep.

  After a time, the highway narrowed and no longer looked like a major route. Danielle sat up straighter in the back seat and took out her cell phone, activated the GPS feature.

  “We’re getting close now, at least close to where we get off the highway and things get weird.”

  “Weird?” Kacey asked.

  “You’ll see,” Danielle promised, enjoying, despite the circumstances, the feeling of mischief that went with taking her new friends into a world they probably had no idea existed so close to the places they were used to.

  “Just tell me where to turn,” Doug said from behind the wheel.

  Five minutes later, the moment arrived.

  “There’s a left turn any minute now,” Danielle said. “After that we’ll just follow the trail.”

  “Here it is,” Doug said, turning the wheel and taking them onto a very narrow road that had once been paved, badly, but was now composed of weathered tar worn through to the dirt underneath. The ride grew bumpy and Brandon woke up and stared out the window in wonder at the thick banks of trees that covered the land on either side of the thin pathway.

  It seemed darker than afternoon thanks to the thickness of the forest. They all felt like civilization was much more than a few hours in their pasts. The narrow road went on for what felt like forever, minutes stretching out, one after another, to form almost an hour, yet they were not going in a straight line, for Doug had to turn the wheel many times to go with the serpentine windings of the line.

  Finally, they stopped. They could go no further, for a gate blocked the road. It was a huge door made up of large logs bound together horizontally with thick ropes, attached to a tall oak tree with a giant rusted hinge. It was a construct unlike anything any of the four travelers had seen before. Doug began to open his door.

  “Doug,” Danielle warned, “you shouldn’t get out.”

  “But I have to move that thing.”

  “No. Trust me. I’ve been texting Professor Harrison, the man we’re going to see, while you were driving. He’s sent somebody to meet us here. They’ll let us in.”

  “What kind of professor,” Kacey asked, “lives in a place like this? Does he have a Mary Ann and a movie star with him?”

  “The kind I trust,” Danielle said. “He can keep us safe. You won’t find any zombies out here.”

  “Wow!” Brandon suddenly piped up. “That guy looks weird!”

  All eyes faced front then, and were met with the sight of the first human being other than each other they had seen in many, many miles. It was a man, a sort of wild creature that looked like it struggled to adopt a semi-civilized appearance. He appeared to be in his twenties, a tall, lanky man-boy with a messy mop of golden brown hair. He was only partially clothed, wearing a furry vest that seemed to be made of some sort of animal skin and a pair of shorts with a faded Gap logo out of which extended a pair of scrawny, hairy legs that ended in a pair of grimy naked feet. He began to speak and the three adults in the car rolled their windows down simultaneously to listen.

  “I am … Constable Fess,” said the forest native, speaking in a manner, which seemed as though he were struggling to speak properly and clearly despite instincts that prompted him to howl out in gibberish. “Which one of you all is called Miss Hayes?”

  “That’s me,” Danielle said through her open window.

  “If you are a friend of Mr. Donald,” said the constable, “then you can be a friend of me and my people, too. I’m gonna open this gate now and you all are gonna to ride through in your car and I will sit on the top and tell you how to get going to the place where Mr. Donald is at.”

  With that, the dirty young man pulled open the big wooden gate, demonstrating strength beyond what one might expect from his skinny, starved-looking body, and proceeded to leap up on top of the car’s hood, sitting dead center so that both Doug and Kacey could see ahead.

  “You can start the riding now!” shouted Constable Fess. “I’ll a-tell you when you can stop movin’!”

  Doug drove forward, slowly and cautiously, hoping their new friend would prove adept at balancing on the hot steel hood as they travelled. They rode on through a dozen more twists along the primitive road, the trees growing ever taller under the same blue Illinois sky. The four young people in the car felt like strangers in a very strange land and the weirdness of it all was almost enough to make them forget the horrors that had sent them scurrying so far from the civilization they knew so well.

  Twenty minutes later, the path widened. They entered a large clearing surrounded on three sides by small buildings made of logs and bark and mud and roping. As they
came to a stop and Fess jumped down from the hood, several dozen people emerged from their cabins and surrounded the vehicle. They were all dressed in a combination of homemade skins or furs and rags that looked like Goodwill donations. There were young and there were old. A few were fat but most were thin as straw. All were dirty. Most were barefoot. They stared in wide-mouthed wonder as if they were Aztecs seeing Cortez for the first time. Their faces displayed a mixture of curiosity and terror.

  “Holy Deliverance, Batman!” Kacey blurted out.

  “Are we still on Earth?” Brandon wondered out loud.

  “Relax,” Danielle said. “There’s nothing to worry about. Where is he?”

  Doug clenched his fists. He wondered how easily his shadow-self would rise to the surface of his soul if they proved to be in danger.

  From out of the crowd walked a man. He looked more like what those in the car were used to seeing. He was older, early seventies, a big man, tall and thick with a gray beard, thinning hair, and dressed in faded jeans, a buttoned blue shirt, and white sneakers. He carried a cane carved from a twisted tree limb but the cane seemed to be more of an affectation than a necessity. He was cleaner than the rest of them and his smiling face and twinkling eyes showed intelligence and joyful interest in the world around him.

  Danielle popped her door open, got out of the car, and walked quickly in the man’s direction. “Professor Harrison!” she called out, and they embraced.

  Doug, following Danielle’s lead, got out too, followed by Brandon, who seemed reassured by the arrival of the man who resembled Santa Claus. Kacey hesitated for a moment but soon left the car as well.

  The rest of the forest dwellers backed off a few feet, giving room to the guests. Danielle stood beside the professor and made introductions.

  “Professor Donald Harrison, these are my friends: Doug, Kacey, and Brandon.”

  Doug shook the older man’s hand. Brandon let out a hearty, “Hi!” and Kacey nodded, forced a smile, still a bit uneasy in her strange new surroundings.

  Fifteen minutes later, as the sun was beginning to set, five people sat inside the largest of the little community’s cabins. Professor Harrison’s abode was not uncivilized; the walls were sturdy and the floor was covered with a carpet that appeared to be a patchwork of the skins of several different colors of animal. There were chairs that could have come from IKEA, bookshelves holding volumes on history, anthropology and various other subjects, a small antique writing desk, and an assortment of candles for light. Off to one side were a bed and a somewhat beat-up but functional dresser.

  They all sat and listened to Danielle tell the professor what had happened so far in Chicago, up to and including the incident with the bus and Doug’s brave and timely arrival, her injury and her fears of possibly turning into an Empty One herself.

  When she finished, Harrison nodded gravely.

  “Well I’m certainly happy that you seem to be all right, Danielle. Were I a praying man, I’d ask the creator of the universe to see that you remained that way, but I am not fond of such habits. Anyway, I welcome you all to my home. I suppose I should get around to giving this place a name one of these days, but I’ve been awaiting the proper inspiration.”

  “Are all these cabins as nice as this one on the inside?” Kacey asked, the first time she had spoken since their arrival; she was beginning to feel safe again and liked the professor and his welcoming personality.

  “No,” Harrison answered. “They vary in quality according to the whims and abilities of their builders and occupants, but I do suppose I have the best. I am, after all, the mayor!”

  “Professor,” Danielle suggested, “maybe you should explain your whole situation to my friends. It seems strange to me, so it must be really weird for them.”

  Harrison got up and looked around the room for his pipe. The sweet tobacco scent filled the interior of the little log house and it seemed to fit the environment as he sat back in his chair and began to tell the story.

  “I have been a professor of anthropology for many decades. Over the course of my career, I had heard rumors of a small community, a tribe, for lack of a better term, of people living out here in this wooded region of northern Illinois—undeveloped or unspoiled, depending upon your point of view. Such an idea fascinated me. It would be a dream for an anthropologist to discover a village of people living almost exactly as they had during the days of Lincoln’s youth or even earlier. When I had finally had enough of university life and decided to retire, I took it upon myself to investigate those rumors and see if such a place, such people still existed in this state. I expected to be disappointed. As you can see, I was most pleasantly surprised! I finally stumbled upon this place and, I must admit, feared for my life at first, for these people value their ways and do all they can to avoid contact with the outside, modern world.

  “Somehow though, they seemed to like me, even respect me. This was, I suppose, because I showed them respect and treated them as I would treat people of any race or ethnicity or traditions anywhere on this earth. I was very careful in my dealings with the villagers here. They came to enjoy my stories of the world beyond these woods and I showed them some, but not much, of what exists out there in the so-called land of civilization. I have tried to maintain a balance here, letting them live as they have and as their ancestors have for many, many years before, but using modern conveniences a little bit, just enough to make their primitive lives ever so much better. I have brought doctors here to see to their health on several occasions, but only physicians I know well enough to trust completely. I have tried to teach them to read and write and speak proper English so that they may be equipped should they ever need to communicate with the rest of the world. I do use modern things myself from time to time; my van is parked not far from here and I use it to travel to the nearest town to pick up supplies for myself, medical needs, and bits of donated clothing for my friends here, and other small necessities. I sometimes give those who live here food from outside, but only rarely and never enough to make them too used to it. I must tread carefully to avoid ruining the way of life in this place. I have, as you know, a cell phone and I use my van to keep it charged. It is almost miraculous that I can get any reception out here in this wild land, but it works!

  “These people elected me to be their leader, and it is a job that I hold most sacred. I would do almost anything for them, for my adopted family! I have given special jobs to many of them, for it makes them feel important and happy. You’ve already met Constable Fess. That young man patrols the lands surrounding the village and has, on several occasions, frightened away hikers who nearly stumbled upon this place. He is quite good at that and he knows that I will tolerate, under no circumstances save self-defense, any harm coming to anyone who ignorantly enters this territory. Life is good here. It is unique, it is joyous, and it is an anthropologist’s dream come true. I intend to remain here for as long as this old body of mine still breathes. Still, I must admit that it is nice to have visitors from the twenty-first century, though I wish the circumstances were not so dire.”

  Doug, Kacey and Brandon had listened with interest as the professor told his tale.

  “Fascinating,” Doug said as Harrison concluded the story.

  Their host glanced out the small window of the cabin and saw that dusk was in full, darkening bloom. “I suppose you’re all quite hungry after your long journey.”

  “I could eat,” Kacey said, inspiring a “Me, too!” from Brandon.

  “Irena,” Harrison called out, facing the window, “would you fix our guests some supper?”

  A grunted affirmation could be heard, followed by the sound of several of the villagers scurrying around outside. Small talk ensued among those inside the cabin and shortly, a woman walked in bearing a tray made from a wide, flat board. She looked to be about forty and was dressed like most of her neighbors. On the tray were five steaming bowls and an equal number of carved wooden spoons. Irena distributed the soup. Danielle, Kacey, and Doug stare
d at the murky brown liquid while Brandon sniffed the rising steam and wrinkled his nose. Irena left and Professor Harrison dug in, slurping hungrily at his meal. He looked up after the third spoonful, saw that his guests had not yet sampled the fare, and encouraged them.

  Empty stomachs overruled protesting eyes and noses and the four refugees from the outside world began to eat. None of them had the courage to ask exactly what they were eating but, surprisingly, it was quite good.

  Chapter 14

  When the soup was gone, Professor Harrison produced four bottles from his hidden stash of Guinness. Brandon had to settle for fresh cow’s milk.

  After the drinks, Brandon was eager to see the rest of the village and its strange inhabitants. Doug and Kacey took Brandon outside, with Constable Fess appointed as their tour guide. Danielle stayed behind. She wanted to speak to her old professor about the Chicago situation and about the bite she had received at the site of the bus crash.

  The village looked beautiful in the night, with torches and lanterns hung on wooden posts at intervals between the cabins, providing enough light for the inhabitants to walk around after the sun had set. Doug was beginning to like it, something about the atmosphere of oddness made him smile sincerely, which he did not do often. The weird aura of the place had the added bonus of inspiring Kacey to take hold of his hand as they emerged from Harrison’s cabin. They walked just behind Constable Fess, who led the way with Brandon beside him; the boy seemed to view the village as a carnival, a place unlike any he had seen before, and wanted to see everything, know what everyone was doing, and take in every possible aspect of it before he could calm down.

  As they wandered the village, Doug, Kacey and Brandon were given a look inside most of the small log structures that lined the area. The villagers were simply going about their evening business, the novelty of strangers having worn off by now. They looked into Irena’s kitchen cabin and saw that cooking was not much different than it had been in Doug’s Chicago apartment or Kacey’s Mirage Diner. The flames had to be stoked instead of springing fully lit from a gas or electric stove, but it was still fire that did the work. Ingredients were tossed into pots and boiled or covered with grease to fry. Leaves of various plants were added to steaming water to make tea. The smell of fermenting fruit was noticeable too, indicating that these people made their own liquors. In other houses, people sewed together skins to make clothing or whittled wood for tools or hunting implements or decorations. There were even children doing their homework, staring with a mix of concentration and curiosity at the works of Dr. Seuss, no doubt provided by Professor Harrison. They slowly sounded out the words until their voices mingled and rose and not liking green eggs and ham became a chanted song that echoed off the wood roof of that particular cabin.