Among the Roaring Dead

by Christopher Sword

  It continued to slowly climb up the stairs and a starving moan emanated from its open mouth.

  Jess snapped the broom in half over his thigh, which made for two new pointed and slivered ends. The creature came closer and Jess aimed for its mouth with force, but drove the stake deep into its neck. It slowly fell backwards and rolled down the stairs.

  “Come, now!” Jess yelled at his children.

  They went down and Jess had to lift both of them over the now stilled form of the old man.

  “Don’t look at anything,” Jess said. “Just move for the door and wait outside.”

  The creature reached out one last time, grabbing Jess’s pants and caused him to lose his footing.

  They smashed against a cabinet that had several lit candles sitting on it. The entire thing tipped and rolled away. Sparks of flame caught on blankets and old wool throws piled up in the corner of the room.

  The man’s hands clawed at his face and the room was suddenly bathed in growing light as the fire climbed vertically as if there was an unknown upwards draught in the room. The old man’s outstretched hands continued to claw at him and Jess had to swat them away, only to find that they were covered in blood or some other substance that was sticky and dark.

  They were tangled around the floor – his hands wildly flailing out in an offence that didn’t seem very thoughtful. Jess kept trying to push him back enough to get away but the old guy was big and heavy and did his best to get on top of him, despite having a foot-long stake protruding from his bloodied neck. The old man’s hands came down upon his shoulders and the full weight of him came down next, forcing Jess to the ground. They twisted and rolled together, coming to a stop against one of the sofas in the room. Jess kicked his legs as strongly as he could and pushed the old man a foot or two backwards, which provided enough time and space to let him get to his feet. The room was beginning to fill with dark black smoke and he took another step backwards, finding his way blocked by the furniture. He turned and sought something that would serve as a weapon. That was when he saw the details of the two young grandchildren on the sofa.

  They had been ripped apart like animals, glistening red portions of meat torn from the beige skin that should have held their insides together. Their faces both looked upwards, perhaps in plea to a God that did not seem to hear.

  Michael had pulled something from his jacket pocket– Jess thought it looked like a knife, and he swung it down at the old man with much force. Whatever thin utensil it was that he had picked up was then plunged deep into the old man’s eye socket. He did not scream like one would expect a man to do, but he did let out a kind of audible expulsion of air, like he was surprised by what had happened.

  Still, the threat did not end and the thing, a stake in his neck and a knife in his eye, and it still took another step forward.

  Jess punched him in the face as hard as he could, driving the knife in even further.

  The old man toppled slowly, as Jess imagined the Leaning Tower of Pisa might do one day, surprising all with its slowness.

  Dustin was waiting about midway between the front door and the shoreline. Jess ran out, rounding up both of them by the hands, dragging them to the back of the house where the small boat sat upside down on the lawn. He single-handedly right-sided it and pulled it over to the lip of the river and told his sons to get in. He took one of the oars and pushed the boat into the water with his free hand.

  He had to wade to his knees in the water in order to free the boat. The dog started barking again.

  “Dad!” was all Dustin said.

  Damn, he thought. He quickly tied the rope around a post nearby and ran over to Hoover and untied him. He climbed in the boat and made sure his sons were okay. They turned and Hoover waited on the shore, hesitant about the water.

  “Come!” Dustin cried.

  The dog did a little circle, as if surveying his options and then ran and leaped into the craft.

  The boat immediately followed its own course as it moved away from shore, taken forcefully in the direction of the river’s currents.

  The three of them snuck glances back at the lighthouse as they drifted downstream. Its beacon rotated, sending a powerful beam out into the otherwise dark sky.

  “We have to go back to get mom,” Dustin said.

  Jess looked over at the shore. The zombies were starting to turn and follow them down the river.

  “Your mother is one of them, Dustin! She’s dead, or sick, I don’t know, but she wants to hurt us all. Kill us, just like them!”

  Dustin started crying.

  “You said we would try to save her,” Michael said. “You said you didn’t know what we could do, but that we’d try.”

  The boat bobbed quickly, back and forth, atop the river’s dark currents.

  “Fine,” Jess finally said. “But we have to go far enough downstream that they can’t track us. We’ll double back and find a way to the van.”

  He waited another 15 minutes in the boat before looking for a way to pull it ashore.

  They had drifted down the river for a kilometre. Possibly two. The current was strong but the water was not always deep and there were many rocky bottoms along the way that threatened to rip up the bottom of the boat. They passed by a small group of houses, and saw some cars parked not far away. But three times they saw such a sight and considered pulling their craft up to shore when a zombie would appear; something new, unknown and appetizing having caught its attention.

  It wasn’t until he knelt in the muddy shore, gathering water in his cupped hands to drink that he noticed his face was almost entirely covered in red blood from the thing that had tried to kill him.

  Chapter 28

  It didn’t take Jess long to realize that they had washed ashore with nothing. No safe haven; no vehicle, clothes or weapons.

  The zombies – although slow and dumb – seemed somehow able to track them like patient and determined animals.

  They went as far as they could – but going ashore in any kind of once-populated area was out of the question.

  Now, they were standing in an empty field. The lower halves of their pants were wet and the grey haze of the sun was like a mirage: warming only in image. Even Hoover looked deflated, soggy and cold and just wanting it all to stop.

  The clouds overhead had not lifted but changed from a dark grey to a lighter grey. More light was coming through. They could see that there was nothing but a thin forest before them.

  “Let’s get a move on,” Jess said. He turned only once to make sure that his sons were following him. They trudged through woods and fields and small streams until the veiled sun had positioned itself above their heads.

  “Orson, you still with us?”

  “Yes, I’m here – and I’m even getting a trickle of power from your solar cells. It seems the sun has not abandoned us completely?”

  “Are you able to track our position? Can you get us back to the lighthouse?”

  “I think so. You’re certainly off any mapped trail right now but I should be able to point you in the right direction. We’re about 15 kilometres away at this point.”

  They walked for as long as they could but had to stop every so often to rest their legs and to catch their breath.

  On one stop they sat in a triangle, having found an open patch in the woods with several large rocks to prop themselves upon.

  Michael sat up straight as a tree and leaned in as he spoke to his father.

  “Why do you drink?”

  The boys both watched Jess, their eyes were barely visible in the darkness. They were waiting.

  “The thing is – I don’t know that I’ve ever tried explaining it before. I guess I worry that I do it because of some genetic chromosome that got passed down from my father. He was a drinker too – for much the same reason as I do, I think.”

  They waited.

  “People drink for all kinds of reasons, but usually to cover something up; to dull insecurities or numb themselves from worry or
pain. The truth is I probably drink for those reasons and a few more.”

  Jess came to realize that his answers were only going to lead to more and more questions.

  “It’s like a drug – an addiction – and most people who get started on it forget why they started in the first place. All they know is they can’t seem to stop. I know you guys are thinking that I destroyed my marriage with your mother, and maybe you’re right but I never hit her and I never cheated on her. I was miserable, and hard to be around and I didn’t like myself very much and I drank to stop myself from thinking about just how much I disliked myself. I know it’s pathetic and if I could change places with your mother right now I would!”

  Jess dropped his chin and looked at his feet. He felt awful and really wanted a drink. Despite it all – finding the two most important things in his life, he still couldn’t stop thinking about the drink.

  Something touched his shoulder. Jess looked up to see Michael standing over him.

  “We should get going,” Michael said, suddenly looking seven-feet tall.

  “Okay.”

  They walked again, until Dustin was the first to break the silence that had lasted for hours.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “We’ll come across something soon,” he said out of a shivering jaw. “Come on.”

  Dustin tried to keep up. But Jess forgot that while Michael was on the cusp of manhood, his youngest still had smaller legs and child-like fears that occasionally required parental intervention.

  He fell. Tripped over a rock covered in moss. A stubbed toe and a scraped elbow resulted in sobbing and a steady flow of tears.

  Jess knelt down on the grass with Dustin and put his arm around his shoulders, lifting him to his feet.

  “We have to keep going buddy, come on.”

  They were growing into men, but not quite there yet. Dustin’s hair seemed to have grown during their trip. Jess thought he needed a trim. He even had the makings of a slight moustache, not like Michael's stubble that threatened to grow into a full-blown beard, but there was still something that momentarily halted the descent of his tears. He thought for a moment about the world they were now living in and couldn’t help but hope that they would be able to live full lives with families all their own.

  “Do you guys know what I did when you were young boys?”

  Neither made any movement to acknowledge their father’s question and he didn’t wait for their approval before continuing with the story. He needed to change the topic.

  “I was filled with this completely illogical fear of death when you two were born. For the first time in my life I was worried about dying.”

  Dustin looked up at him first. Michael threw away a rock he was cradling in his palm.

  “Why would you be afraid of dying because of us?” Dustin said.

  “Because I loved you two so much that I worried I wouldn’t be able to see you grow up into young men capable of looking after yourselves. I went from being a completely irresponsible young man to understanding that my job was now to keep both of you safe.”

  He paused a moment, remembering back to when they were both babies.

  “I loved your mother. I still do, but you guys were my babies; my little men. I wanted to give you everything I possibly could and sometimes I put too many expectations on myself.”

  Dustin’s eyes were still red and moist.

  “I got on the internet and started writing one of those online diaries.”

  “A blog,” Dustin said.

  “A what?”

  “A web log. It’s just like a place for people to record their thoughts out, only it’s not on paper like in the old days, it’s on the internet. That’s what you mean, right?”

  “Yes, you’re right - a blog. I started putting things in it for both of you every month. Little stories about what had happened in our lives, the changes you were both going through. I was so worried that I was going to get sick with something that I felt like I needed to leave you both something to remember me by and some way to teach you even after I was gone.”

  “I don’t think the Net is around anymore,” Dustin said. “There’s no power anywhere. It’s all gone. Just like mom.”

  “That’s not true,” Michael said. “Just because there’s not power doesn’t mean the internet has been erased. You can turn Orson off and take the hard drive out. But you put the power back in, even years later and it’s all still there, just like you left it.”

  “Well dad’s blog may still be around, but mom isn’t. Did she write a blog?”

  “No, I don’t think she did, but she was a better parent that I was. You know that.”

  Dustin’s hand wrenched up into little balls and he scrunched up his beautiful face.

  “I hate you,” he said.

  “That’s fair enough, but you’re stuck with me at the moment. Let’s go try and find a safe way back to the van.”

  Neither of them even acknowledged what Jess had said. No eye contact.

  “What do you want, me to tell you that there’s no monster under your bed and nothing bad ever happens? I don’t want any of us to be in this situation, but here we are. Get up Dustin.”

  Jess started walking away.

  There was a rustle in the woods behind them and Jess didn’t realize how thick the brush was that they had entered until the sound silenced them all. He could barely see beyond thirty feet in any given direction due to the overgrowth of trees and bushes. Dustin came over and cradled himself in his father’s stomach.

  Then, in a small clearing to their right, a single deer with a white fluffy tail cautiously strode out into view. It looked at them, standing still for what seemed like a full minute. It’s neck craned sideways watching them with ears perked up like two giant white leaves on its head. It took prancing steps forward. One hoof, then stopping to watch. Then another hoof forward, stopping to watch. It was as if it couldn’t quite figure out what they were. Then it moved on, not bounding like they would have expected one of Bambi’s brethren to do, but walking, off into the trees, like it had not a care in the world.

  It was another 15 minutes before they saw any sign of civilization. They came across a small home that looked like it was the filming location for Little House on the Prairie. It was a cute and quaint little house in the middle of nowhere with grassy hills on all sides and a small barn just to its right. For most of the trip Jess had repeatedly told his sons how to walk quietly in the fields. Use small, spring-like steps rather than long, heavy strides that broke and rattled the ground beneath their feet.

  He told his sons to stay back out of sight behind a large tree.

  “I need to check this place out.”

  Michael disagreed. He put a hand on his Jess’s arm.

  “We should stay together. When people split up in the movies, they die.”

  Jess swung around and looked down upon his oldest son.

  “I don’t care what happens in movies. This isn’t a movie. I don’t know what’s in that house, if it’s safe or not. You guys are staying out here because if anything happens to me, you need to take care of your brother, do you understand?”

  Dustin began crying and Michael’s eyes instantly reddened, although he seemed to fight back the release of any tears.

  Jess moved forward – quickly and quietly, towards the barn. The door was open just a crack. His boys saw how he flattened his body against the thick wooden door and whipped his head around the opening first. That only took a moment and then he slipped inside and was gone from view. Michael wiped his face with the back of his hand and punched a tree.

  The inside of the barn was dark, but enough light came through the open door that Jess could see the basic layout of the place. It was a handyman’s barn with a back door big enough for a small car or tractor to fit through. A work area was set up on one side with the kind of tools and instruments one would use to ply wood, glass or other materials into useful forms. A single chain hung down from the work area and Jess pulled o
n it and a light bulb lit up the room. He quickly scoured the interior, finding a heavy pitchfork that could possibly be used as a decent weapon. A pair of hedge clippers looked useful as well and he slid those into the back pocket of his jeans.

  He quickly scanned the outside of the house. There was nothing that made it look like it was clearly inhabited. Withered ivy grew thick along one wall and gave the place the impression that it had been deserted for many years. The sun was beginning to descend and there were no discernible light sources shining from the inside. The windows were all closed. No smoke rose from the chimney.

  The clippers fell from his pocket with a loud bang as he entered the door. He pointed the prongs of the pitchfork in front of him, hands gripped tightly to the shaft. The door pushed fully open with a squeak - Jess held out the bladed end of the tool and entered with it ready to be rammed forward if he saw any sign of movement.

  Before him was a long hallway that seemingly narrowed as it went along. A shadowy figure came into view at the end of it. She stood there. A teenager most likely, Jess guessed, based on the way she was dressed. She had long hair and tight jeans with very little width in the waist. Too small to be a mother, Jess thought. He braced himself, waiting for the thing to move forward. Instead, she just stood there, looking as if she also was not sure what to make of the situation.

  “Hello?”

  The girl’s head tilted slightly at the word, as a dog sometimes does. Jess wondered if it was just a really stupid zombie that didn’t realize that she was looking at food or if it was something else entirely.

  Jess remembered that there was a significant French population in the area. Perhaps his initial greeting was meaningless.

  “Salut?”

  “What do you want?” the girl said. “We haven’t got any food. No H-gas either.”

  “Are you here alone?”

  “No.”

  “We need a place to stay. Just for the night.”

  “Who is we?”

  “My sons and I. Just the three of us. We’re not infected. We’re not looking to rob you. We’re just trying to survive, like you.”