by Lowry, Chris
Which is why I smiled when Tyler stepped out of the trees.
"You were making a lot of noise," I lowered the rifle and reached out to shake his hand.
"I wanted you to know it was me," he cradled a hunting rifle in the crook of his arms, bundled up in layers of long sleeves, long pants and a hunting poncho.
he had a branch with leaves stuck in the straps of his pack, a moving piece of shrubbery,
and the coloring of his clothing meant he had to work to make sure we saw him.
"Where is everyone?"
He stared at the gate over my shoulder.
"I've been out a week," he said and shrugged.
Tyler was somewhere between fifteen and seventeen, small boned, razor thin made more so by hunting and scavenging to survive.
He was also one of the best woodsmen I had ever seen, skills honed to a sharp edge by constant use since the Z came.
"Place is empty," I informed him. "No sign of struggle."
He took it well, and stepped past me to inspect the interior of Fort Jasper.
I watched him stutter step as he caught sight of Bem, a typical teen boy reaction, despite her lumpy clothes and shapeless jacket.
I had a mini-war of pride and protectionist because my girl was still quite beautiful even under layers of dirt, grime and looking like homeless person.
Say what you will about everything else I've done wrong in the world, I made gorgeous babies.
I started to clear my throat and noticed the Boy glaring too.
He was taking being an overprotective brother seriously, so my pride swelled again.
Tyler recovered and marched through the gate.
Bem played with a strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear.
I decided to let it, followed the teen into the compound, and watched as he cast around quickly and came back to stand in front of me.
"No struggle," he said. "No blood."
"No Z."
He shook his head and studied the ground.
"Rain a couple of days ago cleaned up the dirt. Let's look outside."
"Gear up," I told the Boy.
He glared at Tyler and began to clear out our little campsite from the previous night.
Bem and I trailed Tyler as he made ever widening circles from the gate to the road, searching for signs of passage.
"Got something," he waved me over.
Boot prints under overturned leaves, pointing away from the compound.
"We could have figured that out since there's only one way to go," the Boy snarled as he caught up, huffing under the weight of three packs.
He passed one to Bem, the other to me and adjusted the one he had on his back.
Tyler shot him a look and nodded, biting back any comment he might have made.
"Shut the gate?" Bem pointed.
Our scout watched her move toward the gate and kept watching as she pulled it closed.
"Where to next?" the Boy brought his attention back to the ground.
We fell in line behind Tyler as he moved to the main road.
"No tire tracks yet," he said. "Still walking."
He pointed to scuffed tracks in the dirt, more than a few, all moving in the same direction.
There wasn't much more to see, but we walked on the blacktop as he tracked whatever happened, our eyes and ears listening for zombies, and anything else that seemed out of place.
The Boy watched Tyler, as he kept glancing at Bem out of the corner of his eyes, and she blushed when he caught her staring.
I sighed.
Human nature didn't give a damn about the zombie plague.
CHAPTER FIVE
We hit the railroad tracks and still hadn't found anything.
Just boot prints on the side of the road, all headed in the same direction. Scuff marks in the leaves, overturned twigs and branches.
Sign of a large group passing through, normal walking patterns according to Tyler so not zombies, but nothing more.
"Where are they going?" I wondered aloud.
"If it's even our group."
I hadn't considered that. What if we were on the wrong trail? What if it wasn't Anna or Brian or
the others, but some marauders or bandits that came along after.
"Tracks," I said.
"Where?" the Boy searched the ground.
"Train tracks," I pointed. "We're going to follow them."
Tyler studied the ground on either side of the rails.
"They did not go that away," he smirked.
"We are," I told them. "We don't know who we're following. Or what. But I do know where we need to go."
"Find the others," Tyler said.
"If we can. But we're going to have to rely on luck a little for that. Right now, we
need the essentials. Food. Shelter. More weapons. The rail is easy to follow."
"Keeps us elevated on a slope," Tyler appraised the terrain.
"We haven't seen many of the Z, Dad."
The Boy was right.
We hadn't heard any moaning, or groaning or seen the shuffle of a gray skinned body filter through
the trees.
I held up my hand for quiet and we listened to the birds in the trees.
Nature sounded normal.
"Are we going in the right direction?" Bem asked.
It was the first time she spoke on our hike and Tyler quirked his head to one side like he had
heard a Siren calling him to the rocks.
I almost punched him back to reality but took a breath instead.
"East," I told her. "Somewhere up there is Fort Knox."
"You want gold Dad?"
"All of it in the world Boy," I clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll build thick walls from the bars.
But I was thinking an Army base would have maps of the refugee centers and that's the
only one I know about."
I shot a look at Tyler and he made a face, shook his head no.
He didn't know of any others either.
Which made sense. Neither of us were from Alabama. He was a Georgia kid picked up from a Children's
Brigade I ran across in my race across the deep South.
And I'd never had cause to know much about anything North of the interstate in Alabama.
It was all fresh territory for us.
"If we find another depot, or base we can check, but we'll make our way east and North until then."
"Kentucky is a long walk."
I sent up a silent prayer to the education gods. At least the Boy knew Fort Knox was in Kentucky.
"Food first," I laid out the order.
"We could go back for the plane."
The plane would cut our time down and we could search from the air.
I wasn't sure how it would go from the sky though. It was easy when we were following the interstate,
and flying East would make sense.
"If we find fuel and a destination, it might make sense," I agreed with my son. "But I don't
want to run out of gas at five thousand feet."
I didn't wait for them to agree or to offer an opinion.
I just turned and started walking up the middle of the tracks, my steps long enough to hit
every other tie between the rails.
They fell in step behind me, Tyler bringing up the rear, and the Boy making damn sure he was
between the teen and his sister.
I couldn't keep a grin off my face as we marched through the morning sun.
CHAPTER SIX
"What is that?"
"It's a truck," Bem answered before I could.
We stood between the railway iron in a casual line looking at the crew cab contraption blocking the path in front of us. It was a regular
four door pick up truck, white with the logo of the railroad on it, but with something extra.
"What's wrong with the wheels?" asked the Boy.
It was my fault really.
I missed out on part of his education. Grow
ing up in Pine Bluff, a small town that
sprouted up as a railroad connection to the Arkansas River I sometimes didn't know what they
did not know.
Like what a rail truck was.
The regular pick up had been modified with steel wheels that dropped down and locked into
position on the rail line. The wheels would turn the steel, and convert the road driving
vehicle into a rail car.
"It's a rail car!" Bem shouted then put a hand over her mouth at the outburst.
That made us all laugh.
Tyler made a big show of it, being sure she saw his appreciation for her joke.
I made a note to pull him aside and do some Dad threats later.
"Exactly," I said.
It was pointed in the right direction, and I wondered why it was out here in the middle of nowhere.
At least until we drew even with the windows.
They were smeared on the inside with gunk and gore.
"Something's in there," said Tyler.
He backed away and pulled his rifle out.
"Too much noise," I said and knocked against the glass.
A Z face bounced off the window trying to snap my fingers off.
Someone died in the truck, a man by the look of what was left and the Z he became was too dumb to get out.
I tried the handle.
It was unlocked.
"Get a branch," I wished for my big giant Bowie knife or a pike instead.
The Boy found a good long, thick branch and I hauled the door open to let the Z out.
A wave of rotting stench washed out with it as the zombie fell out of the door and spilled
a large puddle of goo onto the cinder bed of the railway.
Bem squeaked and took a step back, slipped and plopped onto her bottom on the tracks.
The movement drew the Z and it slithered toward her, using its arms to drag and leap across the iron rail.
I used the branch as a club and tee'd off on its head, trying for a long hard drive to an imaginary green par four away.
Golf was never my sport, but it was a decent swing if I do say so myself and the Z appreciated it.
His went splat, separated from his neck and bounced down the slope on the side of the railroad.
"Gross," Bem got up and dusted herself off.
"You think that's bad?" the Boy stuck his head in the truck and pulled back out gagging.
I had to agree with him.
Rotting Z stuck in a closed cab since who knew how long, combined with sun and closed windows made
for a unique smell combination that sent all of us almost reeling.
"Is this a good idea?" Tyler regained his composure first, but he was the furthest away.
I opened all of the doors, and was glad we were light on breakfast and lunch because there was
nothing to bring up.
Zombie apocalypse, not only a great diet opportunity but constant ab workout from dry heaves.
We used pine needles to scrub out the seats and covered the floorboard with fresh ones we pulled
from the trees in an effort to mask the smell.
I checked the engine and it turned over, and small luck, the gas gauge said the tank was full.
We turned the A/C on full blast, and stuffed the vents with more needles to fill the cabin with
a better smell.
"Mount up," I said when I thought it was as good as it was going to get for now.
We would keep the windows down and a breeze blowing through would help.
"Can I drive?" Bem eyed the wheel.
Teens and human nature.
But if you can't learn to drive after the Dead start walking, then when is there a good time.
I motioned her behind the wheel, and slid into the passenger seat as Tyler and the Boy jockeyed for position in back.
She gripped the wheel with both hands and went through the motions of adjusting her mirrors and seat.
"We're the only ones out here and you're locked on a rail," the Boy teased. "Just press the gas."
And she did.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Windows down, wind in my hair, the only thing missing was the radio. It reminded me of rolling through the
backroads of Arkansas, only straighter as the railbed cut through the low rolling hills of North Alabama
and cut through Tennessee.
I felt happy. Two kids with me, a good soldier at our backs, and a full tank of gas to get us closer
to our destination.
Then I felt guilty for feeling content, because there was a little girl out there waiting for me
to find her.
Waiting for me to rescue her.
Maybe more people waiting on me.
Not that they knew I would come, the rational side of my head tried to argue.
But maybe they hoped I would.
They hoped anyone would
I didn't know what kind of trouble moved Brian from his dream Fort. I wasn't sure why Anna
would disappear or where Byron would take Hannah.
There were too many variables and speculation only led to frustration.
The same with my daughter.
Speculating about fate, about her well being or state of mind would drive me out of mine.
Better to make a plan.
Follow the plan.
There was a map of the refugee centers in Aniston. Lost now.
But where there was one, there were a hundred spread out on bases across the South. The Army did
nothing in small measures, and what they did print was in triplicate.
We would get our bearings, get a destination and hunt.
I'd find her.
No doubt about it.
I couldn't afford doubt. It would make me quit and I couldn't quit.
Not ever.
"Slow down," I told Bem as we approached a road.
She pressed the brakes and we were rewarded with a small town a few hundred yards up the road from the
railway crossing.
"Anyone feel like shopping?"
Bem pressed the parking brake and we got out.
"Do I lock it?"
I almost said no.
But call it a gut feeling. We were being watched.
By Z or by human I couldn't know yet.
I nodded.
"Seal it tight."
"It's going to stink," Tyler grumbled.
But he closed a window as the Boy rolled up the other.
We clicked the locks shut and grabbed our packs and rifles.
"Eyes up," I told them. "I don't know what's out there but they know we're here."
Bem pocketed the keys and we took off to see what was left of the little map dot the railroad forgot.
CHAPTER EIGHT
We moved from the truck toward the town.
It wasn't a far walk.
I couldn't tell what state we were in yet, the absence of signs on the side of the railroad making it
hard to determine location.
But this little berg looked like a hundred others I'd driven through before the Z plague or
walked through after.
A main strip that led across the railroad that served as a Broadway, a boulevard and strip mall
all at the same time.
Two rows of buildings on either side, a brick two story courthouse from right after World War II, block style
with little panache.
Houses beyond the strip, and trailers in the backyard of almost every one of them.
The weeds on the sides of the road were high, overgrown, nature looking to take back what man carved out.
"It's quiet," said the Boy.
I glanced over at his wide eyes roaming from building to building.
He was right. The insect hum here was gone, the birds quiet.
"Maybe we should go back to the truck," said Bem.
Tyler just clicked the safety off his rifle.
I st
eered us to the side of the road instead of the center, hand on my rifle, finger off the trigger.
"Let me move ahead," I said over my shoulder.
The kids slowed their pace. I could hear two sets of footprints and looked back.
Tyler had stopped, moved into the grass and was aiming at the rooftops.
I raised my gun and scanned the edges, but couldn't see anything.
"What do you have?"
But he was gone.
The grass where he was standing still waving in the wind. I didn't see a body, couldn't hear a shot,
but screamed.
"Down!"
I hit the dirt and began crab crawling forward, trying to zig, trying to zag, and hoping like Hell
Bem and the Boy found cover.
Nothing happened.
I put a hundred yards between us, getting closer to the building, still hunting for what happened to
Tyler, but there was no threat.
Nothing to see.
Nothing to hear.
Just the wind tickling the tops of the grass, whooshing over us.
My head rocked around to hunt for the kids, and sighed since they were hidden so well.
Both had scrambled into the weeds, both were stock still.
I could see a dull glint of sunshine on the Boy's rifle barrel but that was it.
From my vantage point I could see a store.
Glass whole, door shut, nothing moving.
We waited until I counted to three hundred, and then I moved.
"Check on Tyler."
I moved to my knees, aimed at the roof and watched.
The Boy crawled back to where Tyler was supposed to be but he wasn't.
"He's gone."
He must have seen something that spooked him and was flanking the town, or moving around to the opposite side.
I decided not to worry about him and focus on getting us to cover safely.
"Can you cover me?"
"I got you Dad," Bem sounded cold and clinical.
I hoppped up, stumbled and sprinted up to the storefront and under cover of the awning.
When I planted my back against brick, I waved her forward.
The Boy covered his sister while she sprinted to join me. I popped out from the awning
aiming up, which is as close to a direction as we could pinpoint potential problems.
Bem slapped into the brick, and the Boy was sprinting as soon as she hit the wall.
