Among the Roaring Dead

by Christopher Sword

  Jess swung the axe down again and again against the tightly wound rope that kept the planks bound in place.

  One side of the bridge came loose and the couple toppled, both barely catching their balance against ropes designed as barriers and guard rails. The woman half-plunged into the river, but the man’s red eyes didn’t move from Jess’s position – he was clearly prepared to leave his partner behind to get what he wanted. The woman was pulling herself back up when Jess took another swing down on the other side and the entire thing at his end let loose. Although still anchored to the mainland, it started to turn downstream, pulled and pushed by the strength of the current. Both of the things on the bridge went up to their necks in the water and yet both raged against Jess’s spot on the island, their arms coming up through the churning water before they were swept downstream, hidden under the undulating waves.

  The others were huddled at the entrance to the lighthouse. It seemed impossible that so many bodies could fit within a doorway at once.

  He was only intending to speak to his own children when he lifted a finger and shouted a two-word order: “Inside, now!” All of them, adults and children alike, moved and closed the door.

  He circled the house once, looking for weak spots. There were windows that had to be shored up. Perhaps I can find a hammer and nails, he thought. Some wooden boards should be possible, even if I have to rip up furniture to get it.

  Out across the river was another person, newly arrived. Jess missed spotting him at first but eventually heard the rattle of a can that the thing kicked out of his way. The man wore blue jeans and a dark blue jacket. A red baseball cap sat crooked upon his head. He moved slowly to the shore, walked 20 feet in one direction along the ledge of water and back the other way. He did this over and over, as if the shoreline might change and offer up a possible route across to the island. It was clear what he wanted, even though he was too far away for Jess to tell if he had those horrible white eyes. He had the same singular movements, like someone drunk or hurt, but with an extremely directed focus – a caged and starving animal wanting one thing only: violence.

  Soon, more came.

  Jess noticed that they seemed be aware of his presence. He walked some ways down the shoreline, his shoes crunching against broken sticks, and then he went back in the other direction. Every time he moved the zombies all seemed to reach out for him. He started playing a kind of game in which he would walk by quickly and the creatures got excited, with at least two or three falling directly into the water, washed away by the dark waves. He got to thinking that he could dramatically reduce their ranks this way but for every three he dunked, five more seemed to appear in their place.

  They were all human-looking from a distance – old grannies wearing aprons; guys in suits; teenagers in baseball caps. But they didn’t move like people. Their movements were jerky and uncoordinated. They never took their gaze off his position on the shore, bumping into each other and tripping over the low-lying fence.

  He knew they could not stay. A boat was there round the back of the lighthouse, lying upside down on the shore. It was barely big enough for all of them and had bits of rust round the outside but appeared solid enough to withhold water and transport them all somewhere else. He figured that in the morning he would tell the older couple of his plan. They would board the boat with as many supplies as they could manage and head downstream a ways, just enough to get out of range of the assembled zombies. There were at least two full kilometres of river that were fully inhabited during normal times, so that it was conceivable that they had a good stretch of time before they would be out in the middle of shit creek. It was possible that half a kilometre or more downstream and they should be able to pull up along the shore, scamper along to the main road and find a car that was marginally full of gas and get the hell out of Dodge.

  The problem was Toni was still locked in the van, on the other side of the river. The boys would never allow him to leave her, even though they now understood what a monster she had become.

  Toni’s parent’s place was still a good half-day’s travel away at least, but it was the best idea he had at the moment.

  The only door of the lighthouse was thick and heavy. It was also possible to lock it from the inside and it seemed sturdy enough to permit some peace of mind. There were many windows, but most were small enough that no one could fit through them.

  Patricia tucked a stray strand of silver hair back behind her ear and continued to busy herself by filling the fridge with food.

  “Where is the electricity coming from?” she said.

  “There’s a hydro generator at the bow of the island,” Jess said. “It uses the power of the river. I practically tripped over part of it as I did a walk around.”

  “I don’t think there’s enough room for all the food.”

  Jess looked around. He knew his boys were hungry. He was hungry himself. He still held the axe, hanging heavily from an arm. He propped it up against the wall beside the main door.

  “Then I guess we’ll have to eat what won’t fit. I think we could all use a nice dinner.”

  There was a small supply of wood out back the lighthouse and they were hoping to start a fire in the cold and dark fireplace. He was able to locate a broom and swept up the ash that had accumulated at the bottom of the empty chimney.

  They struck a fire using newspaper and matches. The old man looked even more sickly than usual in the flickering light and Jess tried not to meet his eyes.

  “What do we do about mom?” Michael said. “We can’t get back there now that you’ve cut the bridge loose! You’ve trapped us!”

  There’s a boat at the far end of the island. Once we’ve rested enough, we’ll use that to go downstream and then we’ll head back to get the vehicles.

  The old couple sat in silence.

  “Are there any more out there?” Dustin said.

  “More what, buddy?”

  The boy had his arms wrapped around his knees and was drawn up in a protective cocoon of adolescence. He was still his child, but he was right on the cusp of becoming a headstrong young man like his brother.

  “Dead people.”

  His answer wafted out like a bad odour. No one wanted to admit it had been heard for a moment.

  “Why do you say that buddy?”

  “I’ve seen the movies dad. I know how dead people move and act.”

  “What movies?”

  “George Romero. Night of the Living Dead. Zombies, dad. Don’t you know anything?”

  Then and there Jess had a vision of his son at the age of three, running from his bedroom in the middle of the night because he thought there was a ghost in it.

  “There’s more people out there. I saw them across the river. Not too many. Maybe one or two. They can’t get across. I think we’re safe for now.”

  “Is mom one of them?”

  “I don’t know pal, but if she is, we’ll do everything we can to get her back to normal.”

  Chapter 26

  The boys kept calling them zombies.

  The living dead.

  Jess refused to believe that Toni was anything other than sick.

  At every hour, during his waking hours, Jess stood on the shore of the riverbank – right at the edge where the grass met the mud – and watched. He kept an eye out for danger but he also watched with his son’s comments in mind. How would you know they’re dead and not just infected with something? They paced – that’s all they seemed to do. Some rocked back and forth on their feet. Others walked from one point on the shore to another; over and over again, like mindless things; no more likely to think any further ahead than one moment at a time.

  He had seen plenty of people do that in hospital waiting rooms. Stuck someplace with nothing to do and no way to get out.

  The lighthouse seemed a monstrosity from the edge of the island. He looked straight up to the tower and realized that even in the dark, it must have been visible simply due to the fact that it broke up the seamles
s sky. Inside, it seemed a lot smaller once you had eight people trying to sleep within its walls. Michael and Dustin were given their choice of rooms, and they opted to sleep in the tower, which at first thought seemed a good choice due to the fact that it was a good 20 meters up in the air. Jess was all too aware that the top room was buffered by tall panes of glass – very easily broken in comparison to a brick wall. But Jess had also taken a good look at the spire from the outside. It went straight up with no footholds anywhere. He tested it just in case, and scratched up his arms in the process.

  The stairwell went up like a tight spring wound around the inner edge of the tower. There was nothing fancy about it, just an iron contraption with a rubbery substance coating each step along the way. There was a short landing midway up, which was where Jess planned to sleep. His boys were both almost teenagers and privacy wasn’t something he could intrude on, but he figured that he could make it up the stairs this far without inciting their cries of opposition. He found some cushions and spread them out uncomfortably on the landing that first night, a jacket slung loosely overtop the lower half of his body.

  He had planned to sleep. He told himself that there was no way any of those things were going to get across without a bridge in place. But he couldn’t sleep. He laid on his back, his ears trained to every strange sound that came in the night and his muscles tensed – he was ready to throw his body into a sprint up the steps at any moment.

  And so he spent most of the night listening to the little things that the lighthouse amplified. Every building has its own mysterious sounds, especially at night. Still, there was no sign of danger at all, but still he crawled up to the top step so that he could spy on his boys, just to calm his fears. He was reminded of when they were very young and he and Toni would both creep into their room late into the night and watch them sleep. Were they too hot? He would check their heads for signs of perspiration. He would put a hand on Dustin’s tiny chest, to make sure that he was breathing strongly.

  He didn’t go that far this time. He rested at the last step of the spiral and watched them quietly. There was a large moon outside the window with silver clouds rolling by like thundering bison on a vast field. He couldn’t escape the sense of dread that blanketed his mid. He looked at the windows and his mind envisioned zombies smashing at the window and trying to get in. Were it real, could he grab his children and get them out quick enough?

  He retrieved a bottle from his jacket pocket and tilted it until the contents spilled down his throat.

  He woke with a pain in his neck. He had somehow contorted his body to rest on the top two stairs. The boys were still sleeping and all the windows were solidly in place.

  His back was stiff and his ribs felt like they had taken a beating, as if the corner of the stair had been jutting awkwardly there for too long.

  He went back downstairs slowly. They had agreed to leave some of the food outside under a tarp, as the ash had stopped falling but the temperatures were still cool at night and as such, a good refrigerator was provided by Mother Nature herself. He hadn’t seen animals in days.

  He opened the door and waited for intruders. No one appeared. The boat was still off to the side of the lighthouse. It was about 12-feet long with four oars lying prostrate in its belly. He inspected the inside of the boat and found that it was in fairly good shape, although it would be a crowded vessel for them all to travel in. He didn’t know for sure how they were going to get back to the van.

  There were more figures across the river now, shuffling and pacing as though waiting for some ghostly bus to arrive.

  He retrieved a carton of eggs left at the door-frame and returned inside. The smell of cooking food or the warmth and crackling of the stove must have woken everyone because they all slowly rose and congregated in the main room without being prompted to.

  He made fried eggs for everyone and even managed to bake some muffins from a package of powder that only required the addition of water. They were almost too soft on the bottom and burnt on the top, but just about perfect in the middle and everyone seemed to eat at least one, an indication that he had done reasonably well. Either that or they were all just too hungry to make any fuss.

  There were two quiet days at the lighthouse. The kids were challenged to find something to keep them interested. There were few toys around and the surroundings were cramped at best. Even Patricia and George seemed fidgety. They almost seemed to take turns moving to the window and looking across the river, although they had to lobby for space with the dog that seemed to be more interested in the outdoors than any of them.

  “Hoover come!” Jess said and scratched his back when he arrived at his side.

  The children all gravitated to the top floor of the tower during the day. The adults didn’t intrude – they were children, thrown into a situation that children shouldn’t have to face.

  Michael’s smartcard still couldn’t make or receive a call but he had found a way to recharge it. It could play movies and games and kept the lads occupied for a few hours.

  It was clear that he felt that his father was still treating him as a child: Turn the volume down, we’re trying to hide. Try to stay out of the line of sight of those things; you’ll get them agitated.

  The way Michael was grimacing made it quite clear what was on his mind. Jess wasn’t showing him any respect. It was like they were being told to stay in their bedroom for the rest of the trip. He was getting tired of it. He had nothing in common with the two toddlers that were now rolling a marble back and forth to each other on the floor. He was old enough to get his driver’s licence, just like his father, and he was almost old enough to drink beer.

  He got his brother’s attention by mentioning his name quietly. He told him they were going downstairs. The skinny brat looked at him with worry but when Michael made for the hall, Dustin followed all the same.

  Michael took the first step down when he heard the little voice of the other kids behind him.

  “Where are you going?” the little girl asked.

  “We’re just going to try and find us some games,” Michael said. “Just stay here and we’ll be back soon. We’ll bring something back for you.”

  The youngsters fell for it. Michael led his brother downstairs where the old couple were in the far end of the lighthouse before the fireplace, talking and trying to get it lighted. The old man coughed and coughed with every movement. Their father was busy in the kitchen cleaning the dishes.

  Michael opened the door and they both went out, their sneakers sinking a little in the moist and cool earth surrounding the lighthouse.

  There was only about thirty feet of grass from the front door to the edge of the water and the breadth of land all around the lighthouse was about as thick at every direction.

  “I don’t know how they call this place an island,” Michael said, picking up a small rock and heaving it into the rushing water. For the first time in days, he could actually see the beginning and end of clouds in the sky. There still wasn’t any blue sky to be seen but there were patches of purple and red.

  “What do you mean?” Dustin said. “There’s water on every side and there’s a lighthouse in the middle of it. It’s an island!”

  “I’m just saying I’m amazed that there isn’t another name for a really small island. It’s not like you could actually live here. Not without going crazy anyway.”

  Michael found a stick and stuck it in various spots of the water just off the shoreline. A few jabs in and the stick was almost completely submerged – that’s how quickly the mud at the bottom inclined. They went almost the full way around the house before coming upon the scene of the broken bridge, now tied to the ground only at one end, with the other floating downstream and threatening to be yanked away. There were more rocks at this end of the island. Many were both round and flat, and perfect for flipping across the surface of the water. Michael knelt down and picked one up and spun it across the surface of the choppy water.

  It bounced three times
before sinking below. Michael turned around to find another when he heard a sound. The small crowd at the edge of the broken dock had only a few lumbering bodies hanging around a few seconds ago but there were now more coming to see what had made the sound of the kerplunking rock in the water.

  Dustin was visibly nervous and started talking about their favourite foods and what their first meal would be once things got back to normal. It seemed to Michael that he was trying to keep his thoughts off the menace across the water.

  “Kraft dinner would be my choice,” Dustin said, “with extra cheese.”

  It was exactly how Jess made it, seemingly on a weekly basis. They probably hadn’t been poor, but it wasn’t like they were living without a financial worry either.

  “Are you kidding?” Michael said. “You’re given a gold ticket and you go for Kraft Dinner? What about seven layer lasagne with garlic bread or a giant homemade hamburger with caramelized onions and mayo, just like they make them at the stadium?”

  “Mayo is gross. It’s like goo.”

  “You eat your boogers, so I figured you’d eat anything.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Make me pipsqueak.”

  They gently pushed and shoved one another until Michael stopped, distracted by the growing numbers across the water.

  In a few minutes their numbers doubled and Michael was sure that they were spotted, even though they must have seemed nothing more than miniature figures caught in a dark stagnant grey mist.

  “What do they want?” Dustin said.

  “Probably to eat us. You’ve seen the movies. You know what they want.”

  “Shut up!”

  Michael took off his jacket and laid it on a nearby bicycle rack. He picked up another rock and bobbed it a foot in the air before it fell back down into his palm.

  “They’re nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “And I can prove it.”