Randell slowed the truck into a gentle curve and I began to remember all the landmarks again. We crossed over The Slash, a local waterway that cut the island in half, starting at the north end of the island and extending its heart. I had spent plenty of time on it as a kid in our little skiff, learning to sail.
Randell took a long looping right and we passed by a bank and then a supermarket. The supermarket looked like it had been through a war. Several of the windows were smashed in and a monster truck with gigantic tires sat half-in/half-out of another set of windows closest to the main doors. Grocery carts littered the parking lot with most of them overturned. We went for another quarter of a mile and took a right.
I could feel the anticipation welling up on my chest. We drove past a house that was much worse for the wear. Most of its windows were missing along with a large section of roof. This struck a pang of fear in me, but we would find out soon enough if our planned refuge was still there.
Randell slowed the truck to steer around a car sitting on its side and we started the final push. My grip on the lip of the dump truck intensified. We passed by a small grove of trees and I saw it. The Castle. At least that’s what we called it as kids. It stood just as tall and proud as I remembered it, looking indestructible.
My great-great grandfather had built the original place. It was quite a formidable place, or so my dad had told me. But the storms were stronger and it was nearly destroyed in a hurricane in the ‘20s. My grandfather re-built it, almost starting over. Where most places had pilings placed deep into the ground, my grandfather went twice as deep and used a combination of concrete and steel. The exterior of the house was primarily made of limestone, big and knobby rocks. Beneath this hard exterior was even tougher stuff. More concrete and steel. My grandfather said the place was built like a battleship and that’s why it still stood while so many had fallen.
He had even built the dock on the inlet behind the house to military standards. There was nothing cut rate like many of the modern designs about the place. He had built it to last and it had. I could barely see any damage at all. Maybe there were a couple dents in the metal roof and there was a large palm tree down in the side yard, but that was it. The Castle had weathered the worst the world had thrown at it and had come up a winner as it always had done.
Randell bought the truck to a stop and we, in the back, disembarked. My muscles protested the movement, but my mind ignored the pain as I reveled in the place and all its memories.
“It looks like a castle,” Martin said.
“That’s what we called it,” I said.
“And your family built this place?” Joni asked.
“My grandfather did,” I said.
Jay and Jane walked in a wide arc around the front of it, their expressions a juxtaposition of wonder and curiosity.
“Man, this place is mucho grande,” Jay said in awe.
Randell and Robbie gingerly helped Rosalita out the cab and down to the ground. When she saw it, Rosalita crossed herself and said, “Dios mios!”
“And we’re going to live here?” Martin asked still looking amazed.
“That’s the plan,” I said.
“And no more running?” Jessica asked, but the question was guarded as if she wouldn’t be able to believe the answer.
“Not if we can help it.”
My grandfather was a prepper before the term had been even coined. He didn’t live in paranoia, but was very practical. He always said, “Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.” Whenever I stayed there as a kid, I’d pour over the storehouse of supplies he had kept in the house. There was a cistern of purified water, boxes of canned food, and even a place to process and store fish. Being the planner he was, he also installed a back-up heating system with a large propane tank. It went without saying that he also had a hidden cabinet full of weapons and ammunition. Over the years, my extended family had carried on my grandfather’s indomitable traditions and made the place a shelter through any sort of disaster.
Everyone ‘ooooed’ and ‘ahhhed’ when we went inside. Unlike most of the homes on the island which had ocean or nautical themes, the Castle had an up-north hunting lodge feeling as if it were in the mountains somewhere, but there was nothing ostentatious like animal heads mounted on the wall. The walls were made of dark wood as were the floors. The first floor used an open concept with heavy timbers throughout. The only two walls separated the expansive front room for the kitchen and dining room
The house was built to host four extended families with kids, so there was plenty of room for our crew. I made a quick assessment of the provisions on hand and discovered we had enough food and water to last for at least a month before we had to start foraging. After I told everyone that a palpable sense of relief washed over them. There’d be no scraping by day-to-day like we have lived for the past months.
Despite knowing this, it was hard to let our guard down. With the undead on the island, we knew we’d have to deal with them sooner or later, but for a day, we all relaxed and enjoyed the bounty in the stockpile of food items in the house. Generally, stored food wasn’t all that great, but after scrounging by, we were happy to eat canned ham, canned vegetables, and canned fruit. And with the ample propane supply, we were able to heat some of the food. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it beat how we had lived recently.
Still, we put together a twenty four guard duty. They felt sorry for me and let me sleep through the night again.
Randell came into my bedroom, the bags under his eyes looking so prominent from fatigue that they resemble raccoon's eyes.
“Can you take a shift?” he asked.
After two fairly restful nights, I was more than ready and told him so.
“Any deaders?” I asked.
“Yeah, a few,” he said rubbing a hand across his face as if he could wipe away the fatigue. “A couple came down the street, but one washed ashore and flopped on the beach like a broken fish. I’m guessing it was swept out to sea in the hurricane. We put them all down as quickly and quietly as we could.”
He held out his rifle for me to take and I readily took it as he shuffled away to his room, walking like a zom--. No, I’m not saying it.
As soon as I left my room, I smelled it. Fresh coffee. It pulled me along like a siren song to the kitchen where I found Joni at the kitchen table with a mug in her hand. She looked out the large bay window that provided a view of the inlet and the wetlands across the narrow strip of water behind the house. I could tell she wasn’t seeing the waterway, but was looking across time and circumstances.
Not wanting to disturb her thoughts, I quietly walked into the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and helped myself to some coffee. It wasn’t great coffee by any means, but it tasted heavenly just the same. I took a seat across the table from Joni and we sat in a companionable silence, drinking our coffee. There was so much said and unsaid in that silence.
I had no idea what she was feeling. I had never been married. I had a live-in once and we came close to getting engaged, but something went bad and the relationship self-destructed before we could make it to the next crucial stage. All things considered, I was ill-equipped to say anything, but emotions stirred inside me, compelling me to talk.
When I finally mustered up the courage to speak, I asked, “What do you think of this coffee?” That was the best I could do. Pathetic, right?
She shrugged and said, “Hmmmm.”
Since I was being so useless, I decided to head out on guard duty. When I stood, she asked me where I was going and I told her.
“I’ll go with you,” she said and slowing stood.
“You have a gun?” I asked.
She picked up a pistol from a chair next her and held it aloft for me to see.
“Good,” I said setting down my coffee mug and heading for the door. She fell in behind me and we went out the back door onto the deck. A gaussian mist hung over the wetlands and inlet like a thin blanket. Seagulls called to each other in the fog and I caught the occasional sound of
fish splashing out the water. The air was rich with of the aroma the ocean, salty and damp.
Again, the uncomfortable silence hung between us. Being the king of avoidance, I walked down the stairs to the ground level to do a perimeter search. Joni followed, not saying anything. We walked around to the front of the house, the grass thick with morning dew soaked my shoes. I stepped onto the driveway where the dump truck was parked and heard Joni’s footsteps behind me. I made a quick cut and headed down the driveway and past a small stand of bushes and short trees. As soon as I got around them, I took a right turn and walked to the edge of wetland, stopping there to look at the four docks on the other side of a small bay. A large cruiser sat tied to one of the docks and I wondered if it had any fuel. It could be a good way to head into the mainland when we needed to.
From there my mind went into high gear, making a list of all the things we would need to get our hands on once we cleared all the undead off the island. We needed medical supplies, more propane, and more ammunition, if we could find it. Batteries would be good, too, along with more radios. A couple more flashlights on hand would be good idea.
I kept checking off my checklist when I felt Joni’s hand on my arm. It was just a gentle brushing motion, but it stopped me dead.
“What?” I said, bringing up the rifle.
“No,” she said, her voice thick.
I turned to look at her and saw tears streaming down her face. She cried unrestrained for nearly a minute while I stood there considering what to do next. I’m not sure if she put her arms out to me or fell into me, but I dropped the rifle and held her tight as sobs wracked her body. I made comforting noises and patted her back as she shuddered through each storm of tears. At one point, I felt her knees start to buckle, but I held her up.
After about five minutes, she calmed some and we just stood there in each other arms with me supporting her. Finally, she broke the embrace and tried to wipe away the tears with her hands.
“Sorry,” she said.
“That’s okay.”
She blinked hard for several seconds and I thought she might start crying again, but instead, she wiped her sleeve across her nose.
“Gross, I know,” she said.
“Think nothing of it,” I said. “We’re friends. Anything goes.”
The silence fell upon us for a few more seconds, then she broke it. “We’re more than friends. I know it. You know it.”
“Yeah,” I said being the eloquent bastard that I am. I decided to be a bit more elaborate. “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“Yes. I know it’s there, but it’s too soon. I was with Dave a long time. We had kids together. We had our ups and downs with more downs lately than up, but he was still my husband. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes,” I replied, but really didn’t.
“I thought he was gone for good when we left San Antonio, but then he popped up out of nowhere. Something was going on between you and me, but then it all got confused. A part of me didn’t want him around. I knew he abandoned me and the kids when the shit hit the fan. I knew it was no accident that we found him with that woman in the R.V. He was no saint before this zombie thing and there was no doubt he wasn’t after. That was hard to forgive and forget and I didn’t really do a good job of that.”
She ran a hand through her hair and turned away to looked out into the waterway, then turned back to me after a few seconds, her body pulsing with nervous energy.
“What I’m trying to say, is that the timing isn’t good right now. It’s just too fresh. He’s only been gone a day.”
The grief and tension boiled over to frustration and she stomped a foot on the ground.
“I guess what I’m trying to say...no, ask. Can you wait?”
I paused for a moment and then said, “Sure.”
She looked me directly in the face and a small smile formed on her lips, but as quickly as it came, it slipped away. She fell into me again and hugged me tightly. The embrace lasted quite a few seconds and something started to pass between us, but I decided not to push it and broke the embrace. She wasn’t ready for anything right now.
“I promise it won’t be that long,” she said. “Listen, I’m going to head inside. Okay?”
I shrugged.
“You shouldn’t be alone out here. I’ll send someone out.” She turned away, but didn’t go anywhere. After three seconds, she turned back to me and there was a full, but slightly crooked smile on her face now. It was a maniac smile, one fueled by grief and hope that one day things would be better. I knew that crooked smile would would smooth out over time. She didn’t say anything, but turned and walked into the mist and I went back to watching the waterway.
And that’s how it went. But there was one last detail to take care of. It was an unexpected detail that came out of nowhere.
The next morning, I went out on guard patrol with Jay. The morning was similar to the day before with a fog covering the area. Jay was bummed that his storehouse of cannabis had run dry in our harried escape from Oklahoma, but he seemed more awake and aware than he had in the past.
“Man, this is really early, dude,” he said, shivering against the damp morning air.
“It is, indeed,” I said, “but it is necessary. Randell and Robbie had to take out three zombies on their watch yesterday.”
“Where are the coming from?” Jay asked.
“Two were just wanderers they think,” I said. “One washed ashore. The storm grabbed a lot of them and took them out to sea and now the tide was bringing them back in.”
“Why don’t they drown?” he asked while scratching his head.
“Because they’re dead, Jay.”
“Oh.”
We continued on our patrol walking the perimeter around the house. A pelican, up early, swooped into the inlet and splashed down looking for breakfast. Another one glided in next to his companion and gracelessly plopped into the water. Pelicans were good at the flying thing, but not so good at the landings.
We started on a loop around the south side of the house when a loud splashing noise sounded in the direction of the beach. In the dense fog it was hard to see anything, but we both stopped and listened.
“What do you think it is?” Jay asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Could it be a fish?”
“Shhhh,” I said. The loud splashing ended and switched to a sloshing sound. It was rhythmic. Slosh, slosh, slosh and it was getting closer. I bought up my rifle and readied it.
“That fish sure sounds loud,” Jay said.
“It’s not a fish,” I said.
A shape shambled in the mist. It was humanoid and was shambling our way, but at a divergent angle. No doubt it was another undead castaway. The form slowly became more distinct as it moved out of the fog in our direction. Step-by-step, it moved forward on a course that would take it past us and into the island. It finally broke through the fog and was close enough to make out.
It was a man. Or, better put, had been a man. It was shirtless, but its pants were ragged and torn with pieces dangling down.
“There’s something familiar about this one,” Jay whispered.
“Be careful,” I said, “you don’t want to offend it by saying they all look alike.”
The ocean had not been kind to it. Its skin was bloated and water logged. There were several long gouges in its exposed flesh on its chest and what looked like a large bite mark on its arm. I’m guessing a shark chomped down on it. Despite the damage, there was something about this one.
“Holy shit,” Jay exclaimed, “its Dave.”
Once again, Jay was right. The explosion must have thrown Dave into the ocean instead of immediately blasting him to bits. The odds against him showing up at this place at this time were astronomical, but fate had a cruel sense of humor.
Up until then, I’m not sure that the zombie had noticed us, but it did after Jay exclamation and changed direction for a collision course with us. It was about twenty five feet away and
closing as fast as its zombie legs would carry it.
“What should we do?” Jay asked.
That was an interesting question.
“There’s nothing to be done,” I said, “but to put it down.”
“But should we let Joni know?”
I pondered this question for a long moment and said, “She doesn’t need to go through losing him twice.” I brought up my rifle, targeted Zombie Dave’s forehead, but held my fire.
It was Dave, but a waterlogged version of Dave, bloated and wrinkled from a lot of time in the ocean. A twinge of guilt hit me, but the apocalypse didn’t allow for guilt. Everything was distilled to practical matters of life and death. Dave was definitely in the death column now.
His forehead fell dead-center in my aim and I pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed for for several seconds, but then died in the fog.
Against his better wishes, Jay helped me drag the dead thing back down to the beach where we pushed it back into the water. It was nasty work, but the body slowly floated away and out of our lives forever.
I made Jay swear he would never speak of it, even to Jane, and when people asked what the shot was after we returned to the house, we just said it was another deader.
The island turned out to be our safe harbor. With the bridge destroyed, none of the zombies on the northern islands could easily make their way down to us. A few washed ashore, but we dealt with them quickly and without mercy.
We rested and relaxed for two weeks, living off the stored food items at the house. Randell organized foraging missions and along with finding food, discovered a few real live human people who had hunkered down island just like us to survive the storm and the zombies. One was an older guy turned out to a doctor and he, along with his wife, became the newest additions to our survivor’s clan at the Castle. The other discovery was a couple of newlyweds who had their extended honeymoon on the island turn into a nightmare when the world went down the drain when the zombies showed up. They stuck to themselves at a large house on the ocean side of the island, but we saw them frequently. It was sort of nice to know there were other people on the island with us.
Forget The Zombies (Book 3): Forget America Page 19
