Taking on the Dead

by Annie Walls

  The lanky guy has stuck his walking stick through the zombie’s gut. If this zombie was as bloated as the other one, it would have popped like a water balloon filled with pudding. Unfazed by the stick, the zombie is still on target while lanky guy guides him away with the stick. I hurry over to cut the zombie’s head off. The guy takes notice and steps out of the way. This beheading is less messy, and I chop at the spinal cord a few times to get the head completely off, much like the zombie from last night. The skinny girl finishes off the other zombie. When I see it still twitching, I raise my boot, and smash its head. The skull gives way easily, but sticks around my boot as if I had my foot deep in rocky mud.

  We stand there, staring and panting. I’m busy trying to keep my eye on them and clean off my boot in the thick brush. All of our chests heave, though mine heaves from exhilaration.

  “Where are your weapons?” I ask, walking backward toward my pack. I don’t want them behind me. It doesn’t escape my notice how they’re looking at me. Their eyes follow the blood and sweat dripping down my stomach. It only pisses me off. I’ll be damned if these people, the first people I’ve seen in little over three years, will make me feel self conscious.

  “We had guns, but we ran out of ammunition when we got ambushed about ten miles back. They’ve been everywhere since.” The man with shaggy hair tells me. He is a weary man with rough hands. Needing a cut, his dark, gray streaked hair falls into matching dark eyes. A strong, tall build said he could take on anything, but it hadn’t helped him now. A flannel shirt is cut off at the forearms, but drapes over worn jeans covered in old, dried blood. He has a backpack, and his gun’s tucked into his pants. Despite knowing it isn’t loaded, I inwardly cringe away. “We’re heading to a southern government camp. We must be close,” he prods, and eyes my bloody machete.

  I stare at him. “Looking for a zombie-free winter? It doesn’t matter where you are, if you’re with a crowd, it draws them.”

  “We know….” He looks up to the sky almost lost in thought, “The camps give us shelter, food, safety, and human companionship.” Makes sense, but they don’t know how long I’ve been alone without attracting zombies. Would they believe me if I told them?

  We reach the tree I left my pack against. Slipping my tank over my sports bra, I turn to the girl with my hatchet and notice the younger lanky guy staring at me with an expression I don’t want to understand, but I do. It brings on a familiar feeling from the old life. He is good looking, in a best friend’s little brother type way. His dark hair, almost black, has the slightest curl in the back; with bangs sweeping over his ice-blue eyes, surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Standing several inches taller than me, he’s holds another stick, looping a thumb in the belt loop of his dark, denim jeans. The fitted shirt, emphasizing his skinniness, stretches as he lifts a shoulder to what Shaggy just told me.

  I reach for the hatchet. The girl gives it to me handle first. She’s very slim – her bones jut out sharply at her elbows and cheek bones. Her low rise pants and short baby doll tee hint at her protruding pelvic bone. Her short blond hair is dirty and emphasizes her sharp chin. Despite her blond hair, her eyebrows are dark. Her eyes are hard, and focused on me. I can’t really judge. I know I look like a hobo. Like me, she would be attractive if she didn’t exude coldness. I wipe the blood from the weapons and put them in their place. Picking up my loaded crossbow, I point it at the older woman.

  Startled, she looks at the ground. She’s very pretty, with blue eyes, and a petite nose scattered with freckles. Her eyebrows are lighter than her hair. She has soft curves, and tries to hide them with bigger clothing. Her pink jogging suit us is covered with blood and dirt.

  “So, you were bitten? I couldn’t tell if that was zombie blood or yours. I guess it’s both,” I say, keeping my voice calm while glancing between her and Shaggy.

  She looks up suddenly with panicked eyes. “I –” she begins, but Shaggy jumps in front of her and puts his hand out for her to be quiet.

  “Whoa, let’s talk this out. She’s got a couple of days at most,” he says quickly, peering at the woman. Automatically recognizing a silent exchange when I see one, I look them over, sizing them up a few moments more. They’re all dirty from travel and need fresh clothes.

  “Well, I guess you all can follow me, get cleaned up, tend to her wounds, and rest up. I have food, clothes, and some extra weapons you may have. Then, you can be on your way. There is a new government camp in Birmingham.” I’m not only going to have to keep my eye on the petite woman, but all of them. Their demeanor and body language tell me they know each other well.

  “Birmingham? What about Clarksville? How close are we to that one?” This was the first time best friend’s little brother spoke.

  I glance at him. “Broadcasts stopped coming from there a long time ago. You can always go there if you want. I believe it was infiltrated and would be a waste of time.”

  He looks upset to hear this. As I watch, the girl puts her arm around him, whispering. He looks at her, shaking his head in a practiced motion to get the hair out of his eyes.

  “We’ll figure it out, Kale,” Shaggy says. “Let’s just rest for now.”

  I’m leading them out of the wooded area when I hear a twig snap and feet pounding. Spinning around to look, a zombie races toward us. It looks almost human, except for its blue bloody lips and clammy skin. Dark purplish in color, its eyes are full of settled blood. I point my crossbow and shoot the zombie between the eyes. It sticks right in the front, only slowing it down. It’s also right between Shaggy and Kale. The girl lets out a yelp. Sliding the hatchet out of my pack loop, I tomahawk toss it. Hitting the arrow and jamming it in, the zombie falls to the ground with a heavy thump. Blood seeps out of its side from a recent bite wound and stains its dirty shirt. It probably hadn’t even taken a bite out of someone else yet, he was so newly transformed. That isn’t what shocks me.

  Standing there, I am stunned – the zombie had been running full on. I understand the arrow getting stuck since the pistol crossbow is only meant for fun or small game, but just like the zombie last night, the damn thing had been moving with amazing speed. This shakes me more than I care to contemplate. What’s even worse, no one seems surprised but me. Trying to cover my reaction, I walk over to brace my boot on its forehead, yanking and jerking the shaft to get my arrow out. The hatchet buried the arrow to the fletching. When it does come out, I feel something gooey splat on my hand and I jump back.

  “Shit!” I croak. I shake off the gore like it’s the black plague. It probably is some kind of plague. Shaggy steps forward, about to say something, but I hold my finger to my lips. We walk the rest of the way in silence. Well, I’m silent. These people wouldn’t know reticence if it bit them on the ass. Their movements seem to pound through my head. No wonder they were attacked by the living dead.

  I can’t help but want these people gone. They’re just an unwanted burden that dropped onto my shoulders for their convenience. Not to mention, they brought strange, unfamiliar zombies with them. They’re weak, and I don’t want to take care of them. They’ve relied on others through this whole ordeal, and if they stay, they will rely on me.

  Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back furiously. I don’t know their story. They’re weaponless because they used them to survive. Why am I faulting them and calling them weak?

  I lead them through my back gate, then shut and lock it behind us. My backyard is about a half acre surrounded by a privacy fence. This was once a space run by our black lab, Spudnick. He died before the outbreak. I still miss him. Sometimes, I can picture him running after a tennis ball, his tongue lolling out of his jowls.

  Pumping some water into the basin, I say, “Wait until I get water into my bunker, then you can use this short hose to clean off. Just try not to get blood in the basin. Does anyone else have any injuries besides…?”

  “Nadine, my name is Nadine,” the soon to be undead, strawberry blonde politely tells me. I don’t want to know their names. I w
ant them gone by morning.

  Hells bells, I don’t want to be rude either. “I’m Kan,” I tell them.

  “Thank you, for your help, Kan,” she says. I feel a tight smile on my lips. At that, their demeanor toward me changes. I’m someone who was going to kill their friend, but someone who’s surviving. They are happy to see me, and I wish I could feel the same.

  The older guy offers me his hand, and I take it as he says, “Harley.”

  I look at the skinny girl expectantly and she says, reluctantly, “Bridget.” I really don’t know what to think of her. She seems stubborn rather than reserved, and the way she fought that zombie did not come from a reserved person. I can’t really say anything since I haven’t said much either. Something stronger lies beneath the surface.

  Kale sticks out his hand. I grab it harder than necessary, “Kale, I heard him call you Kale. Like the lettuce?”

  He smiles, grateful that I remembered. “Yup, like the lettuce.” It’s refreshing to see people, but seeing them smile, makes my chest lighten.

  I get down to business. “We should get cleaned up. I can make us something to eat.” I look at Nadine. “After you wash up, I have bandages for your injury.”

  I show them how to use the pump, and then how to siphon through the short hose. “I have a long hose going into my bunker I use for cooking and cleaning,” I explain, plucking towels off a laundry line, handing one to each of them.

  “We’ll clean whatever we use,” Harley says. “Is everyone else out hunting?” He looks around and I can tell he’s thinking I couldn’t possibly be by myself. Picking at my cuticle. I still don’t know if I can trust them. People are just strange, stranger still since the outbreak. Something is different about them.

  “No,” I whisper, looking at the ground. “It’s just me.” All four of them stare at me. I don’t want to get into it. I flash a mirthless smile, but before I turn around, I say, “Try not to make a lot of noise.” I peer at all of them and go into my bunker.

  I leave the door open so they know they can follow. After flipping the generator switch and turning on a few lamps, I go about lighting a fire that reminds me the ventilation system might be leaking. The fire will help me seek out the source. It’s just before midday. Usually, I would feel secure getting out. After this morning, I can’t really say it is safe to fix it now. Zombies might be lurking. Opening the trap door used as a pantry underneath the plywood counter, I grab a couple of cans of vegetables. I’m in the middle of opening cans, when a gasp sounds throughout the bunker.

  I turn around and the four of them are looking around. Harley must be a little over six feet tall because he looks slightly hunched as to not hit any plumbing pipes. He checks out my computer set up. The other’s attention is directed to the dinette table piled with books, my toothpick bridge, and assorted clutter. There’s clearly only space for one. I’m conscious of how lonely it looks. They probably think it’s pathetic, but I don’t care.

  “Wow, you live here?” Kale asks in awe. “Why don’t you live in the house?”

  My teeth clench. “Survival. Look, I need to wash my pot and tub.” I hand Harley some bandages out of a drawer, along with a basic first aid kit and instruction guide. I stack books from the table and put them on the desk, to clear more space for them.

  I take the pot and tub outside and begin the task of cleaning them, the tub especially. I turn the tub over to drain, and wash again later. I dry the pot with a hand towel and take it inside.

  They’re relaxed, I can tell. The only reason they are is because they’re enjoying the safety and comfort I bring them. Slamming the pot on the grill with unnecessary aggression, I notice Bridget has already found a book, and thumbs through it. Anger flashes through me that she went through my things.

  I swallow any derogatory comments and dump canned vegetables into the pot. It’s just a book anyway. My mood lifts a little as the smell wafts around me. The distinct sodium and metal aroma makes my mouth salivate.

  “This is great Kan. I can see how you’ve managed alone,” Harley says. I just look at him. Some part of me acknowledges his compliment. The other part, the part I don’t like very well, but also the part that has kept me alive, doesn’t like them invading my space. I glance at the fire to see it is going good, heating up the bunker.

  “I was awakened by zombies last night. They were attracted to my ventilation system that ends about three hundred yards away, and walking circles several yards from my fence.” I let that sink in to see if they catch on.

  To my surprise, it’s Kale. “You have a leak?”

  “I believe so. Now that the fire is going good, I should be able to detect the smoke from the leak,” I inform them.

  He nods, “Cool, I’ll go with you to cover your back.”

  I eye him doubtfully. “As you can see, I can take care of myself.” His face falls, making me feel guilty. Maybe I should just shoot them all.

  My indecision, settling as curiosity, wins over my irritation – I want to know what they know. Judging from the zombie fight, I have a feeling Kale is the weak link. “Okay, come on.”

  Chapter 4

  We go outside, and instead of heading out through the gate, I take him inside the house. I can feel his curious gaze watching me, and his need to ask questions as we go in the back door. He takes in all the dust and webs of disuse. The kitchen has cherry cabinets, creamy ivory granite counters, gleaming stainless steel appliances, and track lighting. Opening the cabinets, the hinges protest loudly, sending thick dust into my eyes. I wave it away from my face before touching the cobwebs sticking to the tableware inside the cabinet.

  I grab casual bowls and plates from the cupboard, and cutlery from the drawer. “Here, will you wash these in the basin?” I hand him the armload. “You guys will need something to put food in so you can eat.”

  He looks at me, outraged, shaking hair out of his eyes. “You’re doing this so you can go out there by yourself. You saw how that zombie came out of nowhere. I need to be there to be on the lookout for them.”

  I peer at him, “I need you to help clean those, so they can eat. I’m sure you’re hungry, too. Right? Please, just do this for your friends. They need you more than I do. By the time you’re done, I’ll be back. I need you to keep an eye on Nadine.” I look around for anything else we might need, “I’m not sure of their relationship, but I know he isn’t willing to do what needs to be done.”

  Looking back, his eyes seem to pierce me, making me uncomfortable, but I don’t flinch or back down.

  “You don’t know them,” he says angrily. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes, we’re coming to look for you!” he threatens. Cute. I tighten my lips to hide a smile and demean his minimal masculinity. It will also risk him smiling back. I don’t want to care about these people, and I don’t want them to care about me.

  “There is a closet in the big bedroom with all the clothing you’ll need.” I swallow hard. My parents won’t be using them anymore. They may as well go to someone who needs them. I turn before he can say anything and walk through the garage, where I have some tools stored. I grab the shovel to dig the trench and fix the leak.

  It’s still warm. The sun beats down on me as I walk into the yard. I smile and let it warm my face. By the time I make it around back, tools in hand, my smile falls from my face – I can smell the rotting zombie corpses. The stench is worse because of the hot sun. This time, I can’t hold back. Tasting bitter bile, I throw up in the thick brush. It continues to contract with dry heaves and I wish I had more in my stomach.

  I run past the corpses to gulp fresh air. Smoke wafts up from a hole, identifying the leak. The brush around it is broken and trampled from the zombies, making it easy to set about digging up the trench. I fix it up with duct tape, my go-to mending tool. I put my tank over my nose, to help with the smell as I drag the zombie remains downwind through a patch of trees, and into an old cattle field where I set them on fire.

  On my way back to the bunker, Harley sc
opes out the hole I dug to fix the ventilation. “Great idea. I’m sure it works like a charm,” he tells me. I nod to acknowledge him. He scrutinizes me with renewed interest, “I turned on your radio and caught a broadcast near Birmingham. It seems they’re doing fine there, so we’ll be heading there soon.” He sounds worn down.

  “Come on. Let’s eat and get some rest. If you want, there are beds in the house. Comfortable. I won’t sleep until long after dark, so I’ll keep an eye on things. Last night and today are the most zombies I’ve seen in a little over three years. Well, except for the occasional wanderer, but I don’t count them if they aren’t attracted to my home.”

  His mouth opens in astonishment. “You’ve been alone for that long?”

  I squint and look up at the sky, “Yeah.”

  ***

  After everyone eats the hearty vegetable soup in silence, my guest put on fresh clothes. It stings to see the guys in my dad’s clothing, but I don’t say anything. I’m surprised the girls put on some of my old things. I guess they don’t like my mom’s style. I’m curvier than Bridget, so they look a little loose on her. At least they aren’t tight. I lay on the bed pretending to write and doodle in my notebook as I survey my guests.

  Harley scans the books. The Johnny Five T-shirt he wears was my dad’s favorite. Being a technology professor at the local University, he loved to read and learn about anything man-made. He went through books quickly. Just like Johnny Five, the robot from the movie Short Circuit. It was an inside joke of our family. I silently fume, ready for my unexpected guests to leave.

  Nadine reclines on the couch next to Kale and Bridget. She doesn’t look feverish. She chose a cotton sundress of pinks and purples. They’re laughing and telling jokes together. Their faces transform into something I never expected to see again. Bridget sits cross-legged on the floor against Kale’s leg. She has on my old t-shirt, with a cartoon of Smokey Bear, She looks up at Kale and smiles at whatever he says.