The King of Clayfield - 01

by Shane Gregory

  "Part of me hopes I do have it," she said softly. "Things won't get no better than this."

  "No," I said. "The government has contained the virus. We just have to wait here."

  "Be real. They ain't coming for us."

  I knew this. Deep down, I knew it had spread everywhere by now. But I had to give her some hope.

  "Then we'll go to them," I said. "We'll head west and cross the river. Besides, we're not the only people left in this town....”

  "Yeah," she snorted, "There are plenty of people--all drunks and monsters."

  Using the hatchet, I split the slats from the pallet into narrow strips, and broke the strips across my knee.

  The fire was dying, but I fed it some more paper, then the pallet wood. I got my head close and blew on the embers. Soon it was a respectable fire. I went outside and brought in the rest of the wet wood and piled it near the stove to dry. I closed the damper a little.

  "The fire is going," I said. "Let's have a hot meal then we'll try to come up with a plan. I haven't really eaten much since yesterday morning, and I'm starting to get a headache, too."

  She looked up at me, warily.

  "I get headaches when I don't eat," I said.

  I pulled one of the food boxes in front of her to unpack, and then I started on another.

  “Who the hell buys canned beets?” she said, pulling food out of the box. “Or lentil soup?”

  “I’ve had those a while,” I said.

  "Did you buy them on purpose?"

  “We can save them until last, or eat them first and get them out of the way.”

  “Or…” she said. “Or we could forget about them altogether.”

  I pulled out a cylindrical box of oatmeal, and just looking at it made my stomach growl.

  "We’ll need to get in the house,” she said. “Where does your friend keep his key?”

  “I don’t feel right about going in there when they’re not home,” I said.

  “Did you bring a can opener to open this lentil soup? Or a pan to cook it in? Or a spoon to eat it with?”

  “No,” I said. It made me wonder how many things I'd forgotten. “I’ll take care of it. That way I won’t have to explain about a stranger in their house.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be back for a while,” she said.

  “Still,” I said, “I’d feel better if I did it.”

  "Suit yourself,” she said. “Knock first when you come back. I want to change clothes.”

  I found the spare key underneath the fourth rock that lined the walkway to the back door, just where it always was. The rock was frozen to the ground, so I had to knock it loose with the heel of my boot.

  After I picked up the key, I looked out across the fields again. The dark figure I'd seen earlier was gone now. It made me uneasy. I knew they were out there. I knew they were around, just like in town.

  I went in the house.

  "Hello? Blaine?"

  Even though I knew no one was there, I still thought I should announce my presence. If they had been home, they would have been in the workshop with a fire; it was too cold inside. I went into the kitchen and started collecting the necessary utensils for our meal. I didn't want to be nosy in my friends' house without them there, but I decided to see if they had anything decent to eat, so we wouldn't have to eat canned beets. I would try to replace it later.

  The pantry was empty. Completely empty. I opened the refrigerator. There was a frozen stick of butter in the door and an open jar of pickles in the back, but otherwise, it was empty, too.

  I left the kitchen and went into the living room. The pictures of the kids that Betsy kept on the bookcase were gone. Some of the bookshelves were bare. I went to the kids' bedrooms. Their closets had very little clothes. I went to Blaine and Betsy's bedroom. The chest-of-drawers was open. Blaine's gun rack was empty. I stepped over to the walk-in closet.

  "They bugged out."

  The voice startled me, and I jumped. Jen had come in and was standing behind me in the doorway. She'd already changed her clothes.

  "What?" I said.

  "Got the hell out of Dodge," she said.

  "It looks like they moved."

  "Well, it looks like they plan to be gone a while," she said. "Did they have family somewhere else?"

  "Betsy's family lives in Missouri...I don't understand. Why didn't he tell me?"

  She looked around the room.

  "Do the kids have twin beds?" she asked.

  "Huh? I don't know."

  "If they do, we should move them out there to sleep on. It'll beat sleeping on those countertops."

  She left me. I sat down on the bed.

  He could have told me he was leaving. He could have at least warned me about the virus.

  "There are twin beds in both rooms," she said when she returned. "After we eat, we should move the mattresses into the shop before it gets dark."

  "How could he do this to me?" I said. "He just left."

  "Don't be hard on him," she said, sitting next to me. "He had kids to worry about."

  I still felt a little betrayed.

  "Come on," she said. "Let's eat those lentils. Maybe this headache will go away."

  We didn't eat the lentils. We ate oatmeal instead, and it was the best oatmeal I'd ever tasted. It felt good to have my belly full. Jen seemed to feel better, too. Her headache was gone, and we moved the kids' mattresses out to the workshop with the intention of moving the beds out there the next day. I went out and checked the clock in the Blazer, and it was after 2 pm.

  "Our priority now is to get you drunk. I think the tequila killed it. I feel good...well, as good as I can, considering."

  "I didn't see anything to drink in there," I said.

  "We'll have to get some somewhere. Maybe one of the neighbors..."

  "Break in somebody's house?" I said.

  "I'll do it if you feel weird about it," she said. "But we need to do it now. It'll get dark soon. We might want to find some candles while we're at it."

  We headed outside.

  "Another thing," she said. "We need a toilet."

  "We can just use the ones in the house...."

  "I did use one of the ones in the house, but we'll have to haul in water to flush it at some point."

  CHAPTER 9

  I would have suggested driving back into town to one of the liquor stores, but Clayfield didn't have liquor stores. In fact, the whole county had been dry since Prohibition. I figured Grace County probably had a higher rate of infected for that reason.

  It wasn't that there was no alcohol here; it just wasn't sold legally. People drove over the county line and bought it or got it from bootleggers. It was likely that one of the neighbors would have something stashed away, but finding the right neighbor would be the key.

  Blaine's nearest neighbors were close enough that we could see their houses, but not close enough to walk there quickly. I drove and Jen rode shotgun...literally.

  I pulled into the driveway of the nearest house. The name on the big black mailbox was Kaler. It was a brick home with a large red barn off to the side. There were two cars by the house under a carport and a small blue tractor by the barn.

  "Next house," Jen said.

  "Huh? Why?"

  "Look on the gray car. There's a Jesus bumper sticker."

  "So?"

  "Not likely to have booze, so it'll be a waste of time."

  "Okay," I said, putting the Blazer in reverse.

  "We'll come back, though," she said. "There's a four wheeler parked in the barn. It's painted camouflage. You know what that means?"

  "What?"

  "Somebody in that house hunts, so there'll be guns in there."

  I laughed for the first time in days. "You're a regular Sherlock Holmes."

  "Well, yeah," she said, "elementary, my dear dumbass."

  She smiled. It was a real smile, like in her profile pictures on the social networking sites. I hadn't been thinking about it before, but she was pretty in a r
ough-around-the-edges kind of way.

  We passed another field of cows and pulled into the driveway of a large white house with a wrap-around porch. The mailbox at the end of the driveway was painted to look like a large-mouth bass.

  “Ahh," Jen said. "Another sportsman."

  I stopped behind an older pickup truck.

  "Well, Sherlock, what's the verdict?"

  "Let's try it."

  I turned off the Blazer, and we got out. We both stood still a while to listen and wait in case someone was inside. We didn't want to bust in on an occupied home and get shot.

  "I think it's fine," I said. "But I'll go knock on the door. You okay with the gun?"

  She nodded, and brushed her hair away from her face with her forearm. Her long coat sleeves were bunched up, stopping at her knuckles. The only thing preventing her hands from disappearing inside was her grip on the shotgun.

  I stepped up onto the long, wooden porch, and walked down to the front door. The screen door was closed, but the main door was standing open. I felt a sinking in my stomach. There was no reason for that door to be open.

  I looked down the porch to Jen who was standing by the truck. She raised her eyebrows and started forward. I shook my head for her not to come. There was a noise from inside.

  Heeeeeh. Heeeeh. Heeeeeh.

  I stepped back from the door.

  "What's the matter?" Jen whispered.

  I motioned for her to stay back.

  Heeeeeh. Heeeeeh.

  There was movement in the darkened room. I could see through the house to a window on the other side that looked into the backyard. Suddenly the silhouette of a head and shoulders were framed in that window. Fine, wispy hair stood away from the head. I stepped back to the porch railing. I began to make out the rest of the person shuffling toward the screen door.

  Heeeeeh. Heeeh. Heeeeeh.

  It was an old woman. Her long gray hair had been pulled back in a bun, but was coming loose, part of it draped across her shoulder. She wore a night gown that was ripped from her left shoulder and one bare, shriveled breast hung out. Her chin was black with dried blood.

  Heeeh. Heeeeeh. Heeeeh. It was her breathing.

  I couldn't move.

  Jen was on the porch.

  "What is it?" she said.

  The old woman stared at me. There was a look in her eyes like a hungry animal. She charged, slamming into the screen door.

  I yelped, flipped over the railing, and tumbled out into the yard.

  I could hear Jen running back toward the Blazer.

  The door didn't open. The woman rammed it again. It still wouldn't open. It must have been latched. She let out a noise that stood my hair on end. It sounded like a growling cat.

  Jen came around the porch and ran to me.

  "Are you okay?"

  "She can't get out," I said.

  Jen looked up to the door and got her first view of the woman.

  "Holy shit," she said.

  "She can't figure out how to unhook it," I said, fascinated and terrified at the same time. "Let's go," I said. "We'll try another house."

  "No," Jen said, "We need to get you something to drink, and we are liable to find something like her at every house we go to. She looks kind of frail; we can handle her. I'd rather face her now than have to deal with you later."

  "But there's no guarantee there will be anything in there. She doesn't look like a drinker to me."

  Jen nodded and made a face.

  "Okay, but we've only got a couple of hours until dark.”

  We went back to the vehicle. Before Jen got in, she went over to the pickup truck, opened the passenger door and searched it. I had the Blazer cranked when she returned.

  "I was hoping to find a flashlight," she said.

  We drove another quarter mile past woods and a sleeping cornfield. We passed a little Baptist church. I was still shaken from my encounter with the old woman, and I knew I'd have nightmares about her.

  "Maybe we should just head back the other direction and check houses that way," Jen said. "I'm starting to worry. When were you exposed for the first time?"

  "Around noon yesterday, I guess."

  "It's getting close for you, then."

  "I feel fine.”

  “Zach did, too," she said. "It'll hit you fast.

  The next house was a mobile home. There were two junked cars in the front yard; one had a blue plastic tarp over it. To the side of the house was a huge oak tree with an engine block hanging from one of its limbs by a chain. The driveway wound through trees and circled around to the back, then continued a few hundred feet farther into a wooded area to a concrete block building with a garage door. I pulled around and parked by the back door of the home.

  When I got out I could hear a sound like an engine running. It was coming from the direction of the block building.

  "What's that noise?" Jen said, "It kind of sounds like a lawn mower."

  "We should leave," I said.

  "Someone is there," she said. "Maybe they can help us."

  "They don't look like the sort...."

  "You haven't seen them to judge whether they're the 'sort,'" she said. "Let's at least go take a look."

  Reluctantly, I agreed. We walked out toward the building. The snow was all trampled down and muddy there. There had been a lot of activity there that day. I stepped over near one of the trees and picked up a stick. It wasn't long like the tobacco stake, but it would make a good club.

  There weren't any windows in the front of the building; I could see a couple in the left side. There was a gravel footpath that led around that side of the building to the rear. There was a lot of rusted metal and junk piled along the way.

  Jen nodded toward some broken beer bottles and said, "Looks promising."

  "I think the noise is coming from behind the building," I said. "Let's go around."

  We started around on the path. I was trying to look in the windows, but they were too high up.

  "Oh God," Jen said, grabbing my arm.

  She was staring into the trees to our left. There was a doghouse there that had been pieced together with scraps of siding and plywood. There was a food bowl and a stake driven in the ground next to it. Attached to the stake was a chain, and the chain was attached to the mutilated remains of a mutt. It had been ripped apart. There was blood in the snow.

  This wasn't good. Now, I'd have to check on the noise to see if someone was in trouble.

  I stepped away from her and eased toward the back of the building toward the noise.

  "No," she whispered. "Let's get out of here."

  I ignored Jen. I didn't want to leave if there were people that needed our help. I walked softly to the corner of the building and peeked around.

  There was a small gas-powered generator next to the building beside the back door. The door was cracked enough to allow an orange extension cord inside. Standing next to the generator with his back to me was a large man in dark blue coveralls. He was hunched over a little, and I couldn't see what he was doing. I scanned the rest of the area behind the building for others, but all I saw was more junk and trees.

  I looked over my shoulder. Jen was still by the dog motioning me back. I returned, but I didn't plan on leaving just yet.

  "There's a man back there," I whispered. "I can't tell whether he's infected. I'm going around to the other side to see if I can see his face."

  "Is anyone inside?"

  "I don't know," I said. "But there's a generator running back there, so probably."

  She was planted in her spot. She didn't offer to come with me. I went around the right side of the building. There were no windows in this side. I looked around the corner. The man wasn't there anymore. I presumed that he had gone inside.

  The noise of the generator would mask the sound of my movement, so I wasn't concerned about that. I went up to the back door, and put an eye up to the crack. It was a garage. There were lots of tools and oil stains. There were five cots set up in the middl
e; one was occupied. The extension cord coming from the generator was connected to a television, a space heater, and a small lamp. The person on the cot wasn't moving--probably asleep.

  Then there was a shotgun blast.

  I ran around the building. Jen was still where I'd left her. The man in blue coveralls was on the ground between us on his back.

  "Mother fucker!" she was crying. She stepped closer to him, pumped the shotgun, and fired again. The coveralls near his stomach blew out like confetti. The sound echoed through the woods behind me.

  "Mother...," she dropped to her knees, the shotgun rolling down her lap to the driveway.

  "Jen! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

  She grabbed a handful of gravel from the driveway and threw it at the body.

  When I made it to the man, I paused to look at him. He was a bearded, middle-aged man with a buzz haircut. There was blood on his face. Something was hanging out of the corner of his mouth that looked like an uncooked sausage link. In his left hand was one of the bloody dog legs.

  Jen was sobbing now. I ran over, lifted her to her feet and pulled her to my chest.

  "He was eating it," she said. "He came at me..."

  I didn't want to be insensitive, but we didn't have time for this. The gunshots would attract more, and it was getting late. Here in this wooded area the light was already fading. I had to get some alcohol and we needed to get back to Blaine's very soon.

  I led her back to the Blazer and put her inside. She wouldn't quit crying. Once she was inside, I shut the door, and then went up to the back door of the mobile home. The time for discretion was over. I didn't knock; I just went in.

  The interior of the house smelled like a combination of ashtray and wet dog. It was hard to see anything in the low light. I was in the kitchen. There was a small table in there. It was piled with mail and small parts from car engines. The white refrigerator had black, greasy handprints on it. The sink was full of dirty dishes. The floor was littered with trash.

  How do people live like this?

  I started on one side and went around opening all the cabinets. A quarter of the way around, I noticed the bottles on the shelf over the refrigerator.

  "It's about damn time," I said out loud.