Generation Dead - 07

by Joseph Talluto

  “That wheel wasn’t turning. Not a chance,” I said. I meant it, too. I would have fought Jake to keep from getting myself killed.

  It was Jake’s turn to say it. “Uh, huh.”

  Chapter 20

  I decided to change the subject, since the inside of a truck wasn’t the appropriate place for a pissing contest. “What’s the address of where we’re going?”

  Jake took the hint. “It’s supposed to be on the outside of town, at a farmhouse.”

  I looked around. “I hope there’s more to it than that.” We were in the middle of farm country and there were dozens of farms around. Problem was, if we had to check them all, it would take forever, since they were so damn far apart. This far south, these farms weren’t just a hundred or so acres. They were acres measured in thousands.

  “Here, look for yourself. This is what I was told.” Jake handed me a small slip of paper, which read ‘County Highway 20. South Side. First farm past North Peotone Road’.

  “All right. Well, you’d better pay attention, because we just passed County Highway 20,” I said, pointing at the road sign as it went by.

  “Damn.”

  Jake stopped the truck and reversed course, swinging us onto the right road. We had to be careful going over the tracks, since the winters had twisted the hell out of things lately.

  On 20, we passed house after house, and farm after farm. These farms were smaller, but still impressive. Each one had a number of outbuildings, and looked to be quite capable of sustaining themselves. A quick barricade could make these places islands of safety. I didn’t understand why people would leave here.

  At least, I didn’t understand until we crossed over Interstate 57. Then it became clear. Literally hundreds of cars had left the highway, many with their doors still open. I could see tracks in the dirt from cars escaping victims, and wondered where did they have to go? Out into the country, where the farmers had little defense against the oncoming storm? Not a good situation for anybody.

  On the other side of 57, we paid attention this time and saw the sign for North Peotone Road. The way ahead was clear, and I could see quite a ways.

  “That’s it,” I said, pointing to a farm positioned relatively close to the main road, unusual for a farm.

  “Got it,” Jake said, slowing the truck down and angling for the driveway. The grass had grown waist high, and I could see there were several outbuildings to the farm. A huge barn reared up out of the trees to the south, and a big silver silo dominated the yard to the west. An oak tree dominated the southern part of the yard, and a rusty bell stood on a pole near the porch of the house. The house was in remarkably good shape, all things considered, with none of the windows broken, and the doors were still in place. I was very hopeful we would find what we were looking for and be out fairly quickly.

  Jake parked the truck and we stepped out. Tall grass always made me nervous, since it was hard to see a zombie in the grass. I didn’t want the first warning of a hidden ghoul to be it sitting up and biting me in the nuts. I thought about it, and decided to bring my M1A. Jake cocked an eyebrow at me, but pulled out his rifle as well.

  “Just in case our friends from the tracks happen to be in the neighborhood and want to say hi,” I explained.

  Jake nodded and then said. “You want the house or the buildings?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For the desk. For all we know, it’s an antique they stored in the loft of the barn.”

  “Good point. God, I hope not,” I said, looking at the size of the barn.

  “Your choice,” Jake said.

  “I’ll take the house,” I said, figuring it would be easier to be in one place than hunting around several buildings.

  “You suck,” Jake said sulkily, heading off to the garage.

  “Don’t give me a choice next time, dope,” I laughed, stepping onto the porch. I looked into the windows, trying to see as much as I could before going in. The big room looked like it was full of antiques, so I may hit jackpot right away. There was a big bookcase in the room, so the books we may have wanted would likely be there.

  I walked off the porch and around to the front of the house. The entire area was still, no sound, no wind, no anything. It was very peaceful, all things considered.

  At the front, I looked into the parlor windows, but didn’t see any desk. That was okay, it might be in another room. I would find it when I went inside. I walked around the house some more, looking into windows, but didn’t see anything that was going to be a problem.

  I was just about to open the kitchen door when I caught something in the corner. It was a shoe, and by the angle it was to the floor, someone’s foot was still inside it. I tapped on the door, watching the foot, but it didn’t move. I banged a little harder, but the foot stayed put.

  Not much in the way of choices. I slung my rifle over my arm and pulled out my tomahawk. While my rifle was useful, firing inside small places really hurts my ears, and I tried to avoid it as much as possible.

  I tried the door handle and was pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. I opened the door and kept my eyes on the foot. It never moved, even when I circled around the table in the small kitchen. I snuck a look outside, and saw Jake working his way through the tall grass towards the barn. I guess the garage was a bust.

  On the far side of the table, in front of a pantry, I could finally see the owner of the foot. It was an older gentleman, long dead, slumped back in a chair. A rifle was between his legs, and the man’s head was back, revealing his neck, which showed a wound under his chin. His left arm was on the table, and I could see the faint outline of a bite mark on his wrist.

  Same old story. We had seen this hundreds of times. Someone gets bit, they find a gun, and they kill themselves before they turn. Can’t say as I blame them. I’d probably do the same, if I couldn’t find anyone to do it for me.

  I pulled the rifle out and looked it over. It was a .22 Anschutz-Savage; at least that’s what it said on the barrel. I didn’t know if this was the .22 rifle we were looking for, but I put it by the door anyway.

  Leaving the body where it was, I looked into the main room. There was a large stairwell leading up, and a couple of rooms to the north and east. I looked into the north room first, and found a bunch of books lining the shelves. Scanning the books quickly, I found the volumes we were supposed to look for and brought them to the table. They were a collection of Mark Twain novels and collected stories, and at first glance, they didn’t seem to be anything special besides old.

  The other room was a dining room, and there wasn’t anything in there. A small bathroom off the main room was the only other area to check, and then I made my way upstairs to check the bedrooms. At the top of the stairs was the main bedroom, and it looked fairly normal, except for the dead woman lying in the bed. She was kind of sprawled back, and I could see she had been shot in the head. There was a little bit of black around her lips and teeth, and I began to understand what might have happened here. This woman was probably the wife of the man downstairs, and when she got sick, she bit him. He killed her, and then killed himself. The question that popped into my mind was who sent us here to collect artifacts, then?

  Shrugging, I checked the other rooms quickly. In one, I found another .22 rifle, this one was an old, beat up single shot, with bent sights and a rusty barrel. Following a hunch, I took the beater downstairs and put it next to the nicer one.

  The last place I checked was the pantry, and to my surprise, there was a flight of stairs tucked in the back. The stairs were tall and narrow, and I was shocked to find myself in the attic when I reached the top. Those must have been what were once referred to as servant’s stairs. I had read about them when we were reading our history books.

  The attic was a pretty neat place, with four windows looking out towards each of the cardinal directions. Out of the north, I could see our truck and the countryside we had come through. On the east, I could make out the bridges of the interstate. To the west w
as another farmhouse, and to the south I could see the silo, the barn, and Jake coming back to the house through the yard.

  I could also see two small zombies moving quickly through the grass, heading right for Jake.

  Chapter 21

  Shit! I pulled on the window, but the stupid thing had been nailed shut years ago. Why the hell they would nail a window shut was completely beyond me. I didn’t have time to play with it, so I just took the barrel of my rifle and ever so gently busted the glass on one of the panes. I aimed quickly; lining up a shot where I thought the little bugger was going to be and waited for them to fill the sights. It didn’t take long for the first one, and just as Jake was saying ‘Hey, Aaron!’ I let fly with a thirty-caliber bullet.

  The sound was loud in the yard, and the little zombie’s head burst apart as the bullet killed it. Jake, fully aware now, sprinted for the porch while I tried to get a bead on the second one. That little sucker was proving hard to kill, since it darted around a small stone shed trying cut Jake off. Jake made it to the porch, then turned around and faced the yard, watching for any movement.

  I sprinted down the stairs, which was pretty dangerous given how strangely they were constructed. I actually had to jump the last four steps, landing hard in the pantry and slamming into the shelves. I bounced off the shelves and damn near went down another flight of stairs that led to the basement.

  I raced for the back door, opening it just in time to see Jake fire once, sending a bullet through the neck of the charging zombie, putting it out of commission.

  “Nice shot,” I said.

  “Thanks,” Jake replied. “And thanks for the warning; those little suckers would have nailed me for sure if you hadn’t got the first one.”

  “No problem. Think we might have stirred up any more?” I scanned the tall grass for movement, but couldn’t see anything that I couldn’t pin on the wind.

  “Probably. We’re going to have to move fast. Did you find anything in the house?” Jake asked.

  “I did find two .22s I didn’t know which one we were supposed to get. I also found the books we were looking for. Did you find the roll-top desk?” I secretly hoped he didn’t because with the zombie kids and the ghosts of the people who died here looking around at us, I was anxious to leave.

  “I did. There’s a small apartment in the loft area of the barn, but we should be able to use the hay bale pulleys to get the desk down.” Jake said.

  “All right, let’s get moving. I’d like to be back to some form of civilization before nightfall.”

  “Let me get the truck,” Jake said, moving off the porch and around to the front.

  I went inside and pulled together our collection, putting the books in a paper sack and the rifles were rolled up in a newspaper. Jake pulled up and I climbed in, hoping we wouldn’t get attacked before we could get the desk out.

  We pulled around the silo and Jake moved the truck backwards through the large barn doors. I couldn’t see much, but the cursory look I gave to my surroundings told me this was an old barn, one that was old enough to have its own personality, one that would manage this crisis without too much trouble.

  Jake parked the truck near a thin flight of stairs and pulled the big door shut. That was a lesson learned the hard way. Too many times people thought they were safe just by being inside, but then the zombies wandered in the open front door.

  I went upstairs to look around, and it was kind of weird. The hayloft had been converted to an open-air study. There was bookshelves, a table with three chairs, lamps, and the roll-top desk. There was a typewriter on a small folding table, and a laptop sitting on the recliner. It looked like a nice little getaway for writing or reading, but it was totally out of place for a barn. In the winter, especially the ones we’ve had over the last few years, this place would be a freezer.

  Jake came up the ladder holding the end of the rope attached to the pulley. We pushed the desk over to the edge of the loft and tied off the desk. Jake went down to the other end of the rope, and at his first pull, managed to lift himself off the ground.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Need some more lunch, Jake?”

  “You try it, smarty,” Jake said, holding the rope out.

  I went downstairs, hoping I could actually do it, just to show up Jake a little. However, when I took the rope and gave it a tentative tug, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. I found that a little odd, since we could move the thing on the loft pretty easily. Nevertheless, I had to give it a serious try, so I heaved and managed to move the desk about a foot. But I couldn’t do better, so I had to put it down.

  “Uh huh,” Jake said. “Let’s try this one together.”

  We both took the rope and gave it a hard, steady pull. The desk lifted off the loft and swung precariously over the open space. We let it down quickly, mostly because it was heavy, but also because we weren’t sure if the old pulley could hold that much weight. We’d have to risk it for the truck, though.

  “All right, let’s get it on and out of here.” Jake said. We lifted the desk again, and when it got to a certain height, Jake got into the truck and backed it under the desk. We lowered it onto the bed and we were congratulating ourselves as we tied it off.

  “Why can’t Chicago ever be this easy?” I said, looping a piece of rope around a desk leg.

  “Now you’ve done it. We’ll probably blow a tire on our way back to the capital,” Jake said, tying off his end.

  “Probably,” I conceded.

  We secured the desk as well as we could, and then cautiously opened the door. The yard was still empty, although there could have been fifty little zombies hiding in the grass and we never would have seen them. Jake moved cautiously through the yard, not just because of any danger to us from zombies, but he also didn’t want to drive over some piece of debris that punctured our tires. That would definitely take second place for ruining our day.

  We pulled out of the drive and back onto the road. I was for taking the highway back, but Jake said he wanted to go a different way. I pointed out that the sun was going down and we were going to have to find someplace to spend the night. Jake argued that we could spend the night away from the highway, and reduce the risk of any zombie attacks. I had no argument against that, so I agreed, watching as Jake turned towards the west and started driving.

  We turned up Route 45, and I knew enough of the area to realize we were taking a straighter route, if slower, than the highway. The area was still largely deserted, even though the number of attacks and outbreaks had dropped of significantly in the last few years. What Jake and I encountered in Peotone was more of the exception rather than the rule. Of course, looking back on it, we just left a big bunch of zombies out in the open, with no place to go but towards populated areas.

  I mentioned that to Jake and he was silent for a moment. After a minute, he gave his solution.

  “When we drop off the collection, we’ll let the heads of the army know, and they can dispatch a platoon to take care of them,” Jake said.

  That sounded a whole lot better than the two of us going back and trying to take them on ourselves, so I quickly agreed.

  We pulled up towards the town of Frankfort, and this particular town was reviving, after years of abandonment. Frankfort had been far enough away from the interstates to avoid the crush of refugees and infections, but the second wave hit it and the people had fled. Our uncles had been the ones who led the push south and cleared the town out without destroying it. Considering what we’ve heard about our Uncle Duncan, that was rather impressive.

  We stopped at a small restaurant, and we shrugged off the curious looks of the patrons. Not many of them had seen specimens like us recently, and a couple whispered the dreaded word ‘outbreak’ to startled gasps and sharp intakes of breath.

  Jake and I sat against the wall, looking over the customers and mentally cataloguing them. Most, I put down as secondary survivors. They were alive simply because they were lucky. Others were more hardcore, wearing their w
eapons with them, or having firearms on their hips. They must live further out of town, or on the very fringe of the grey lands.

  The waitress-slash-owner came over and smiled at us. “Well, what have you been up to?” she asked as we played a little with our drinks.

  Jake smiled back. “Collecting. What’s the special?” Jake spoke just loud enough to be heard by most of the customers. If we were really lucky, we wouldn’t be bothered.

  “Collecting, huh?” The waitress, a pretty brunette with a nice smile, made big eyes at Jake, to which that worthy just rolled with it. “Anything of any consequence?”

  “Nope. Just the desk and some books, couple of little rifles. Nothing anyone couldn’t go out and find in ten minutes anyway. But before we order, Jake said quietly, “Is there a way to speak to the sheriff or deputy, or anyone in charge?”

  The woman, whose nametag read Doreen, looked strangely at Jake before answering. “What might you want her for?”

  “Need to let her know she might have a problem coming up from the south if she’s not paying attention,” Jake said.

  As soon as the words left his lips, you could feel the air in the room change. One minute, people were spooning in their mouths the next bite; the following moment, people were straining their ears to hear the latest happening.

  “Outbreak?” Doreen’s voice quivered and I very nearly told everyone to relax, but Jake gave me a small shake of his hand.

  “No, not like that,” Jake said. “Nothing so serious. But it could get bad if people weren’t paying attention, and then we have the big mess all over again. Can we order now?”

  After placing our order, I noticed several customers head out quickly, and I was pretty certain the sheriff was going to know about the collectors in her jurisdiction sooner rather than later. That was okay with me, I would rather she come to me than have to chase her down ourselves.

  We ordered and ate well when our food arrived. Many of the customers were enjoying their coffee way beyond what someone might consider normal, and I figured they were hoping to see a show.