by Max Danzig
“Yes,” she replied. “It's a dream house, isn't it? A new coat of paint and it could be a beautiful home.”
He sighed and yawned again.
“Other than the hundreds of rotting bodies on the other side of the fence it’s great.” he mumbled.
Rachel ignored him. She tried to stifle a yawn but couldn't. “I'm tired,” she said.
“Want to go to bed?” he asked.
“No point. I wouldn't sleep.”
“Me neither.”
Peter lay back down again scratching the side of his face and then rubbed his chin. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he last shaved but it didn't seem to matter. He put his hands behind his head and enjoyed the warmth of the dying fire.
“If it wasn't for the bodies,” he said, his voice quiet, “I could get used to this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I wish everything was back to the way it was,” he explained. “All I'm saying is that I could deal with it a lot better if the dead bodies had stayed dead. I can handle that there are only a handful of us left. I'm just having trouble coping with the fact that it's a constant fucking battle.”
Rachel knew he was right, and she agreed with everything he said. Wasn’t it punishment enough to have lost everything that ever mattered to them? Now they had to contend with dead bodies walking around that wanted to attack them.
“And what gets me,” he continued, “those things out there are dead. You can't kill them. I bet if you shoot them they'd still keep coming at you.”
Rachel didn't respond. This was a conversation she didn't want to have, but she felt it was good to let Peter vent. For too long they kept their fears and emotions bottled up so they wouldn’t upset the fragile peace they had found at the farm.
After several minutes Peter said, “It's too quiet.”
“And what's wrong with silence?” Rachel said.
“It lets you think too much.”
“You need to switch off,” Rachel said. “We both do. We weren't cut out for this kind of life. Your mind and body can't cope if you keep going at full speed all the time.”
“So when are you going to switch it off?” he asked. “When are we going to do something without worrying about the consequences?”
“I don’t know.” Rachel said.
“So when was the last time you switched off and disconnected?” he asked.
Rachel was quiet for a couple of seconds. “About six months ago,” she laughed.
Peter and Rachel had a long rambling conversation to preoccupy their minds late into the night.
“We're you born in Derry, Pete?”
“No. New Jersey. I took a job transfer to Manchester, but I lived in Derry. What about you?”
“I’m originally from Mass. I have an apartment right in town, it’s close to work.”
“Did you like living in Derry?” Peter prompted.
“It was okay.”
“Just okay?” Peter continued to probe.
“I liked it I guess.” Rachel continued. “Derry has its fair share of nice areas and shitty areas, but everywhere does. It was home. I’ll admit, I much prefer being out in a place like this. Not under these circumstances, but before all this happened. I was always happier out in the country away from the noise, the concrete and the people.”
“How about you?” She questioned.
“I used to get away every chance I could.” Peter said. “I’d hop in the car, drive for a few hours and see where I ended up. Once I found a place I liked, I’d hike a trail along a river or to the top of a small mountain; whatever it was I’d enjoy the day.”
After another minute of silence Peter asked, “Rachel, do you miss television?”
“I miss the noise and normality of it, but not much else.”
“I miss the Food Network. Y’know the cooking shows.” Peter said.
“The Food Network?”
“I never realized how much I loved watching all those cooking shows. I miss watching them cook all those delicious dishes and desserts.”
“Doesn't matter anymore though, does it?” Rachel said.
“I suppose not, but I still wish I could watch it again.”
“Just looking at the TV switched off reminds me of everything that's gone now.”
“Did you watch any TV shows?” Peter asked.
“I used to watch more movies than anything else.”
The conversation stalled for several minutes. Both of them sat there staring at the flickering fire, lost in thought.
“So how's this all going to end?” Peter asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I don't know. Are things ever going to get back to some semblance of normalcy? Will anything ever be the way it once was?”
“No, I doubt it. That was a delusional question.”
“I know, sorry,” Peter said.
“It'll get worse before it gets better.”
“How could it get any worse?”
"Disease. There's millions of rotting corpses lying in the streets, right?" Rachel said. "Those decaying bodies open the door to all sorts of diseases contaminating the air, the water, and even the land."
"Yeah, that's what I told Steve too," Peter said.
“Then there are the rats. There will be millions of disease-carrying rats running all over the cities.” Rachel said.
Peter fell silent.
“Do you think you would have gotten married?” Rachel said, changing the subject.
“I don't know. I would've liked to have settled down and had a family.”
“So did you ever get close?”
“No. I always thought I’d know when I met the woman I would marry, but it never happened.”
“I got engaged when I was eighteen.” Rachel said.
“How old are you now?”
“I'm twenty-three.”
“So why didn't it work out?”
“Because I was doing all the work while he sat on his ass doing nothing. I would have done just about anything for him but he wasn't prepared to do anything for me.”
“So you must be glad he's not around anymore?”
"No, I wouldn't say that." Rachel said.
Rachel and Peter talked until three in the morning. The two of them ended up sprawled out together on the rug in front of the glowing embers of the fire. Peter woke up when Rachel shuffled in her sleep and snored, and his sudden startled movements woke her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, untangling himself from her legs. Their bodies had become entwined in the night.
“I'm all right,” she mumbled, her words dull with sleep.
Peter got up and shuffled around until he was in a similar position behind Rachel. Exhausted, he lay down next to her. He reached out and put his arms around her body, holding her tight.
Chapter 49
Steve was driving on Interstate 93 just outside the town of Derry. The sky showed hints of light, suggesting the oncoming morning.
Since starting out, a dense fog had formed. After a few serious near misses, Steve learned that going too fast was risky, and adjusted his speed to a near crawl for the rest of the trip.
After hours of creeping along dark foggy roads, his fatigue was reaching dangerous levels, forcing him to concentrate even harder, further depleting his already taxed energy reserves.
As he got closer to Derry, his heart beat faster with anticipation and his breathing was shallow. He felt relieved the journey was almost over, but dreaded what might be waiting for him in the deserted streets of Derry.
Everything looked featureless and empty in the dense murkiness. The lack of light surprised and disorientated him. He half-expected to see a few lights on in the area by now, but the cities and towns were as dark as it was in the countryside.
Steve slowed the Jeep even further to read the road signs through the fog to be sure he didn’t miss the Derry exit. The impenetrable dark and dense mist was disorienting. Steve turned his head from side to s
ide looking for any recognizable landmarks. He knew the area like the back of his hand in the daylight, but tonight he couldn't see anything resembling a familiar landmark. Despite having reduced his speed he still passed many of the road signs without being able to read them.
He knew Derry was right off the interstate but he still almost passed the exit ramp in the fog. Cursing under his breath, Steve hit the brakes then reversed the Jeep on the highway and took the Derry exit.
Once off the interstate, the road into the center of town seemed narrower with all the obstacles in the way. In the early heavy mist, wrecked cars, bodies, homes, and stores lined the sides of the road. It left Steve feeling claustrophobic and trapped increasing his level of anxiety. He followed West Broadway towards the community center.
In the dense fog, he almost didn’t see a blockade of cars across the width of the street until he was almost on top of it. He slammed on the brakes, and then swerved to the left, jumping the curb onto the sidewalk to get around the wall of cars.
Just as he thought he was in the clear, he hit a dull black pickup truck blocking part of the sidewalk. The right front of the Jeep hit the rear fender on the passenger side of the truck.
The impact spun the Jeep around, tossing Steve around inside the vehicle. He hit his left shoulder and head against the driver’s window as it came to a sudden stop. Steve sat back in the seat stunned and unable to move for a moment.
Through blurred eyes, he could see the rear of the smashed truck. He forced himself to sit up and groaned in pain, put the Jeep back in park and restarted the stalled engine. Steve put it into gear and got underway again.
Dozens of shadowy creatures swarmed towards him out of the fog. With only seconds to spare he drove the damaged vehicle away before the closest ghouls were upon him. He escaped by carving a path through the middle of several zombies, running them over like speed bumps.
Although his fear was rising, he was close to the community center where he knew he'd be safe among the survivors. There was movement in the shadows all around him and he sensed hundreds of bodies nearby. The remaining headlight illuminated the sign for which he had been looking.
He made a sharp left into the parking lot of the community center. There was a momentary elation of having made it. In the back of the parking lot he saw Eddie Cook's car which they had used as a beacon that first night. Also there was the Mustang he used when he first arrived. Steve swung the Jeep around and parked near the stairs by the front door. He jumped out of the Jeep, leaped up the front stairs and banged his fist on the door.
“Open up!” he yelled. “Open the fucking door!”
He glanced over his shoulder to see the dark silhouettes of stumbling figures staggering down the street toward him. Despite their slow and labored movement, they made determined and frightening progress.
“Open the fucking door!” he screamed.
Steve reached down, grabbed the door handle and yanked it downwards. To his surprise, the door opened.
Chapter 50
Steve slipped inside the front door of the community center, slammed it shut and locked it. No sooner was the door closed and locked when thud after sickening thud hit the door as the loathsome creatures outside crashed into the building. He secured the entrance and leaned against the wall shaking with fear. He slid down into a squat and held his head in his hands.
There was no movement in the dark community center. Despite the panic and noise of his arrival, no one had moved. With his legs heavy and leaden from fear and fatigue, he got to his feet using the wall behind him for support. He took the LED flashlight out of his coat pocket and clicked the button. His mouth was dry, and he found himself unable to call out. He stepped down the hall, following his light, towards the main hall. He eased past the dark and silent front offices and past the bathrooms and walked into the main community center.
Then he stopped moving, and stared.
Paralyzed with disbelief, and absolute terror, his legs almost buckled under his shaking knees. The flashlight illuminated the community center with a harsh, white-blue light, revealing a sight so terrible that, at first, Steve could not comprehend what he was seeing. Even after everything else he had seen during the last couple of weeks, this new vision of horror sickened him. He thought he might pass out and tasted bile rising in his throat.
Human remains were strewn all around the floor of the community center and coated with dried blood.
Steve stood rooted to the spot not moving, his eyes opened wide in shock. He took a few stumbling steps forward, and picked his way through a macabre maze of cold, grey flesh and blood blackened gore. He searched for explanations and thought the corpses were the remains of creatures that came in after the survivors left. Maybe the zombies found a way into the community center, forcing the survivors to leave. There was a body on the ground in front of him. Half-dressed, the exposed skin was ripped to shreds.
Fighting to control his heaving stomach, he reached down and grabbed hold of one exposed shoulder, pulling the body over onto its back. It was Ann Vachon. The face was intact enough to recognize her, but the rest of her body was mutilated, torn away or eaten.
Steve recoiled, putting a hand to his mouth to stifle a scream. He stood in the center of the room when he heard sounds coming from the darkness in front of him.
“Is anyone there?” he called out.
No response.
“Hello...” he tried again. “Is someone there?”
A lone figure appeared from the shadows illuminated by the flashlight. Elated, Steve took a few steps forward.
“Thank God,” he called out. “What happened? How the hell did they get inside?”
The figure inched closer. Every clumsy step it took forward brought it closer into the light. Two more steps and Steve saw it was the body of a slender woman, with her head slumped forward, and there was a gaping wound in her right thigh. It slowly looked up at Steve with cold, emotionless eyes, its blackened lips peeling back exposing red gums and yellow teeth. He had a moment to recognize it was Erica Desantis just before she lunged at him.
“Shit!” he yelled as he moved to one side.
The creature lost its already unsteady footing on a pile of bones and gore and fell to the ground. Steve steadied himself and stared at the wretched corpse as it struggled to drag itself back to its feet, emitting a hissing sound.
“Shit!” he shouted again in desperation. “You motherfucker!” He took a step closer and kicked the creature in the face, the full force of his boot catching it square on the jaw. It fell back to the ground but started to rise again. Steve unleashed his full fury and frustration on the pathetic carcass, kicking and stomping on its head until it stopped moving.
"FUCK!" he shouted out in rage and terror, unable to believe what he had found.
There was a sickening moan that made Steve’s heart leap into his throat. He spun and pointed his flashlight across the open space at a large, shadowy figuring standing in the doorway of the open back door. The monster that used to be Eddie Cook uttered another horrific moan then staggered across the room in his direction.
Steve’s mouth hung agape. Unable to scream he turned and ran towards the front door. He ran into the door and fumbled with the deadbolt, unlocked it and threw the front door open. A dozen zombies lingered around the Jeep and on the stairs to the front entrance. As soon as they saw Steve, they moved as one towards him.
Steve slammed the front door closed and locked it again just as rotting fists thudded against it on the other side. He turned to see the Eddie corpse trip over something in the main hall and fall on its face. Steve ducked into one of the front offices.
He was breathing heavy, his chest heaving with the effort, his hands shaking and sweaty, his thoughts racing, thinking this was it. He was going to die like the other survivors had. The ghouls were going to tear him apart and eat him or he’d end up one of them. In his head he could hear his dad’s voice, ‘Don’t give up. Never give up. Keep fighting until there’s nothing
left.’
He heard the Eddie corpse working its way down the hall towards him. He scanned the office with the flashlight for anything he could use. There was a solid glass globe on the desk that had been some sort of award. He could wield it like a stone. Then his light flashed on the mantle of a fireplace. On the floor next to it, serving as a decoration was an antique wrought iron fireplace set.
Steve snatched the heavy poker from the stand and held it two-handed like a bat. He turned just as the Eddie corpse came through the doorway opening the maw of its blood and gore stained mouth, uttering a spine-tingling groan.
“I don’t wanna to fucking die!” Steve shouted, with the iron poker cocked over his right shoulder. He took a step forward and unloaded a vicious swing at the head of the Eddie corpse. There was a meaty impact and a loud crack of breaking bone, the groan abruptly stopped. The big form of the Eddie corpse collapsed to the floor like a wet sack of dirt.
Steve stood over the body ready to take another swing, but there was no need. Eddie would never rise again.
Chapter 51
Steve looked out of the office window and saw a crowd of zombies in front of the building and around his Jeep.
“Shit.” Steve muttered standing in the office, still holding the fireplace poker. His mind was spinning thinking about what to do next and knowing he had to act fast. He considered closing the back door to keep them out, but then he'd be trapped. He knew he couldn't get to the Jeep. Even if he went out there swinging the poker, there were too many of them.
Then he remembered, the Mustang in the back lot. He was sure he left the keys for it in the backroom with the skylight. Still using the flashlight he went to the main hall and picked his way across the open room. He was careful not to let his gaze linger too long on the horrific jumbled piles of human remains strewn around the floor.
Steve entered the small back room with nervous caution. He was ready in case anything jumped out at him. There was nothing there. He shined the light on a shelf and there were the Mustang keys. His phone was there too. After the battery died, he had left it there and forgot about it. He took the keys and phone and pocketed them in his hooded sweatshirt.
