Desolation Boulevard

by Mark Gordon

  Chapter 23

  Others

  Sally stood in the cool, dark bar, staring at the back of the man who had snubbed her just seconds ago. Her hand gripped the baseball bat tightly, and her heart was beating so fast that she could actually feel a vein throbbing in her right temple. The man in black took a swig from his beer bottle and casually turned to her. He smiled.

  “Hi, can I get you drink?” he asked, holding out a hand in friendship. “I’m Dylan.”

  Sally’s anger at being ignored dissolved instantly, along with her resolve. She dropped the baseball bat to the floor, stripped the bandanna from her face and ran forward, throwing her arms around him, as she burst into tears.

  Dylan didn’t return the hug but allowed Sally to embrace him. She released her grip and stood back wiping her eyes.

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry ... it’s ... just ... been ... I ... haven’t ... seen any ... my mother ... I’m so … sorry.”

  “Hey, relax,” Dylan said. “It’s fine. Sit down.”

  Sally sat on the stool beside him and stared at the brightly coloured bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind the bar as the sobs subsided. While she regained her composure, Dylan climbed from his stool, walked around behind the bar, and began mixing a drink from the bottles she’d just been staring at.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” she said, not looking at him. “I wanted to be strong. I have been strong. It’s just that I was beginning to think I wouldn’t find anybody. When you smiled I was just so … I don’t know … relieved. You could have … you might have been … I need someone to help me.” She paused, and waited for a response. When there was none, Sally asked, “What’s happened to everybody?”

  Dylan put a large orange cocktail on the counter in front of Sally. “One thing at a time," he said. "Drink this. It’ll help. It’s full of Vitamin C too. Good for you.”  He walked out from behind the bar and resumed his spot on the barstool. “What’s your name?”

  “Oh God! Sorry,” She held out her hand. “I’m Sally. I’m just not with it. I’m so confused. Why has this happened? Do you know?”

  Dylan handed her the drink. “You’re still upset. Have a mouthful, take a deep breath and then we’ll talk. There’s stuff you need to know.”

  Sally took a big gulp.

  “Hey, that’s really good. Thanks. Are you a bartender or something?”

  “Not any more,” he replied. “Okay. Do you feel better?"

  Sally nodded and took another pull from her cocktail.

  "Let's here your story then. You've got me curious."

  “I’ve been holed up in a little motel a couple of suburbs away," she began; glad to be able to finally share her story. "One of those creatures almost got me the first night. I’ve been more careful since then. I don’t go out at night. Obviously. Hey, have you seen anybody else? I’ve been hearing lots of gunshots over the past couple of days.”

  Then, logic kicked in as Sally gazed at the gun lying on the bar in front of him. She looked at him. It made sense.

  “Hey, is that you doing all the shooting?”

  “Yeah, mostly, I guess. I’ve been pretty busy.”

  Sally looked at him more closely. He was younger and better looking than she originally thought. Under the black t-shirt his body was muscular, and she noticed that the tattoos on his arms were a complex collage of skulls, beautiful women and intertwined flowers. The thing that was most obvious about him, though, was how comfortable he seemed in this frightening new world. Sally had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, the qualities of strength, confidence and toughness would serve people well in surviving the horrors they now faced; but Sally had always valued sensitivity, intellectualism and creativity in men. She knew she was being unfair; she shouldn’t be judging this man before she even had a chance to get to know him properly. Even though she was apprehensive about the answer she might receive, Sally plunged in.

  “So what have you actually been shooting?”

  Dylan looked at her incredulously, frowned, and then burst into rolling waves of laughter.

  “Are you serious?” he guffawed. “That’s hilarious.”

  Sally blushed and eventually the laughter subsided.

  “What do you think I’ve been shooting? I’ve been shooting those fucking zombie motherfuckers!”

  Suddenly his face became still, and he stared at a spot on the bar in front of him. “What am I shooting?” he muttered to himself. “Shit! What a question.”

  Sally didn’t know what to say. She feared that she’d offended the man who might be one of the few people left who could help her. She held her breath, half-expecting him to get up and walk out of the bar, leaving her to face any future challenges alone. He surprised her, however, by stating matter-of-factly, “There are others, you know.”

  Her head snapped around and she grabbed his arm. “Are you kidding? Where?”

  He looked down at her hand that was still clutched to his arm. "Did you think you were the only one?”

  “No, of course not," she said, releasing her grip. "But I just haven’t seen anybody until you. Well, except for that crazy guy who breaking windows and talking to himself, but that was days ago. Where is everybody?”

  Dylan considered his response.

  “Well, I think a lot of people have been hiding out; they won’t even come out in the daytime. They’re scared shitless, so they’ve barricaded themselves in their homes. The zombies will get them eventually though. Who can survive on their own forever?”

  “I don’t know. I was trying to. But they’re not really zombies are they?”

  It was a statement more than a question.

  “No, not like in the movies anyway. I wish they were just zombies! They would be much easier to deal with than these … freaks.”

  Sally looked at Dylan and almost pleaded, “Do you know what made everyone this way?”

  “No. Nobody knows, but everybody at the church has a theory. That’s a more popular topic for discussion now than the fucking weather.”

  Sally jumped from her stool and stood up.

  “What do you mean “everybody at the church?””

  “There’s a group of people down at Saint Jude’s on Celebration Boulevard. It’s a dozen blocks away. They think they can start again. Build the world back up to how it was before. Dreamers. Anyway, at least it’s pretty safe down there at the moment. I sleep there at night. They feed me. Most of the people are nice enough. Every day a few more come out of hiding and join the group.”

  “Jesus! How many are there?” Sally asked, trying to control her excitement.

  “As of this morning there were fifty-two. But a few more people have probably turned up since I left. That’s not the only place either. I’ve come across some other groups. One was in a school – that was quite a big group - bigger than ours anyway. Another about the same size as ours is occupying a warehouse over on Houston Street. Anywhere with a big fence or strong brick walls seems to work quite well. St Jude’s has a very strong fence. Nothing’s gotten through yet.”

  Sally took Dylan’s hand. “Take me there.”

  "What about your stuff?"

  "It's not important."

  “No problem,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  -

  As they walked down the corpse-strewn, tree-lined boulevard towards the church, Sally quizzed her new companion, and found out that since the event he had re-modelled himself as a kind of fanatical 'zombie' hunter. He stayed with the community at St Jude’s during the night, and went out at first light searching for nests where the creatures slept, and then shot them through the head one after the other. Sally didn’t say anything to him about it, but as far as she was concerned he was wasting his time. In a city of over two million creatures, what impact could one man with a shotgun have? She understood that his grisly preoccupation may simply be his way of trying to exercise some degree of control over an impossible situation, but there seemed to be something else driving him to spend his days slaughter
ing the beasts. She wondered what that motivation might be.

  As they got closer to their destination Sally stopped in her tracks. “Do you hear that?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “It sounds like music.”

  “No, you must be hearing things," he said. "Let’s go. We’re almost there.”

  Sally was sure that she could hear faint music in the distance, and she was sure that Dylan could hear it too. She also had a feeling that it was a tune she knew. The melody floated in and out of range, frustrating Sally’s attempt to recognise it, as they walked down the street.

  “Are you sure you can’t hear that?” she asked. “God, I know that song! What is it?”

  Sally wasn’t sure, but she thought Dylan might just have had the hint of smile on his face.

  “You hear it too, don’t you?” she pushed.

  He took Sally by the hand and stopped walking. “Listen.”

  The music was a little louder now, as it was pushed towards them on the changing breeze, and then as if a switch had been flicked, the memories came flooding in as the melody and lyrics became crystal clear in the desolate city.

  “Oh my god! Oh my god!” she exclaimed, as she stood in Celebration Boulevard, surrounded by dismembered corpses and the flies that fed on them, “It’s “Big Red Car! It’s the Wiggles! It’s the fucking Wiggles! Why?”

  Dylan gripped her hand tighter and gave her an odd smile.

  “We play it during the day to encourage the little kids to come out of hiding.”

  She looked up into his eyes with renewed respect. “Wow. That’s amazing. Has it worked?”

  His smile faded. “Not since the first day. Come on. Let’s go meet everyone.”