by Zuko, Joseph
Jim’s head popped through the opening and caught Cliff poking Freddy. “It’s a rubber eyeball. You can buy a bag of them at the party store.”
“That’s pretty weird, man.” Cliff backed away from the fake killer and found a good spot to cut.
“Yeah, I guess.” Jim climbed the rest of the way up and perched next to Cliff. “I absolutely love Halloween and the mannequins they sell at the stores are crazy expensive and never look very good. These only cost about fifty bucks for the costume and masks. Plus they’re fun to build.”
“Get the bag ready,” Cliff said as he tore a chunk of insulation from the rafters. Pink fluff fell into the open mouth of the bag. Cliff picked away at the fiberglass until it was clear and only exposed plywood remained. He fired up the saw and cut at the highest point in the roof. His face was blasted with dust and wood chips that stuck to his sweaty skin.
Jim tied up the garbage bag and dropped it back down the steps. Karen stepped into view and dodged the falling bag.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Jim wiped perspiration from his face.
“How’s it going up there?” Karen asked as she ascended the ladder.
“Good, he’s almost through.”
“The coffee is steeping. I’ll bring you guys a cup when it’s done.” Karen’s head breached the attic’s opening. She spotted the cardboard killers and smiled at Jim. “If it rains, these guys will be ruined.”
Jim took a seat next to the steps as they watched Cliff make a rectangle cut in the roof. “I’ll build new ones if we ever get to have another Halloween party. They gave Cliff a good scare when he got up here.”
“I bet.” Karen reached for Jim’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with the coffee.”
“Can you get the spears and pass them up?” Jim asked as she stepped off the ladder.
“No problem.”
As Karen reentered the house she noticed how her face and wrist throbbed with pain, but her heart felt almost whole again. The loss of her mother, Penny and little puppy dog, Paris, were still fresh wounds, but having Jim home safe helped to wash away a lot of her worry. She hadn’t had time to fully express the joy she felt. There was too big of an audience and too much to do, but tonight if everyone was still safe and whole, she was going to pour the two of them a couple of strong drinks and really show Jim how much she loved him.
Cliff made the final cut and the plywood dropped free from the rest of the roof. Jim helped Cliff catch the hunk of lumber before it crashed onto his forehead. They were blasted by sunlight and the attic became as bright as any room in the house. The sunbeams were followed by the stench of the dead milling around the outside of the house.
Jim covered his nose as they lay the cut piece of wood off to the side. “Damn, will we ever get used to that stench?”
“I hope not.” Cliff pulled off his goggles and brushed the dust from his face.
Sara was suddenly at the stairs with both spears in her hands. “Karen couldn’t carry them and climb the stairs with her busted wrist. Here you go.”
Jim reached for the weapons and took them. “Let the others know we are through the roof.”
“Will do.” Sara headed back down the steps. “How do you guys like your coffee?”
They both answered, “Black.”
Sara yelled like she was back at work in her coffee kiosk, “Got it, two coalminers coming up.”
“Let’s see what we’re up against,” said Cliff as he reached for Devon’s old spear.
The two of them stood up through the opening. The warm spring breeze felt amazing on their damp skin. They continued to climb out onto the sandpaper surface of the shingles until the two of them were standing at the peak of the roof.
They looked three-sixty. It was an awful sight. A lake of infected bodies surrounded all four sides of the house. They were in a heap of zombie trouble.
Jim tapped Cliff on the shoulder and said, “We’re going to need a bigger spear.”
Cliff blankly stared at Jim’s smiling face.
Jim nodded and asked, “You get it?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“It’s from Jaws.”
“I know.”
“But they needed a bigger boat.”
“Explaining it doesn’t make it funnier.”
“Right.” Jim scanned their surroundings and tried not to act embarrassed. “We need to get some rope and secure ourselves.” Jim took a few steps toward the edge. He wanted to see just how far down the zombie heads were from the roof. “We don’t want to be the idiots that fell off the roof, right?” Jim stepped on a loose shingle and his foot shot out from under him. He landed on his butt and started to slide toward the edge. Jim could clearly hear the chomping noise coming from the sharp and hungry zombie teeth below. A spike of adrenaline hit like a drug as he thought to himself,
Goddamn it, I’m the idiot about to fall off the roof.
Shit!
Chapter 12
Pastor Michael Caruthers was sick to death of the crying man on his shoulder. This guy, Ben, wouldn’t shut the hell up about his dead wife. Michael really regretted asking him if he was okay.
I get it, she was the love of your life.
For heaven’s sake, pull it together man.
Michael believed he was a compassionate fellow. He tried his best to feel deeply for all mankind. As a pastor it was part of the gig, but Ben here had been weeping like a baby for about an hour and enough was enough. Michael snuck a peek at his watch.
Oh, God it’s not even ten.
The idea of listening to another minute of this man blubber was maddening. Every time he tried to pull away, Ben clutched him tighter. A half hour into helping people with their grief it hit him.
Brother Paul wanted me out of his hair. Damn him!
Michael couldn’t take it any longer. Without thinking, he pushed Ben off his shoulder. He had to say something fast before Ben uttered a word. “Lisa’s in a better place.” He knew it was a generic thing to say at a time like this, but it just fell out of his mouth.
Ben’s features scrunched together. “What do you mean? She’s still out there. She’s one of those things.” Ben tugged at Michael. His head landed on the pastor’s shoulder with a thud. Tears leaked through Michael’s dress shirt and had worked their way into his undershirt.
Yuck! He couldn’t believe himself. How the hell did he miss the fact she wasn’t dead? Michael was no dummy and lightning fast he responded, “The body is flesh and bone. It’s her soul that has moved on to the better place.” There was no getting out of this. He had to suck it up and persevere.
Michael tried to dip his shoulder out from under Ben as he glanced around the room. There was a flurry of people moving throughout the armory. His eyes continued to land on the same person time and time again, Doctor Lindsey Bryant. The one person he wouldn’t mind comforting, but the woman was solid as a rock. He was confident at some point she would have a breakdown. Then he could swoop in and be there to comfort her. He needed to make sure he got there first. He didn’t want to play second fiddle to that muscle head, Dallas. Michael imagined just how the scene would go.
He was sure Dallas would say something dumb like, ‘Oh, you’re like upset Doctor babe, because like, the world is going to hell, and stuff?’ Dallas whips off his shirt and does a quick flex. ‘Here, rest your sad head on my chiseled six-pack. That’ll help you forget about your troubles, babe.’
She swoons, falls into his arms and the porno music starts.
Guys like that always find a reason to take their shirts off. Michael rolled his eyes and shook off the sexy nightmare. He had many conversations with Dallas over the last year and he knew that wasn’t how the man talked, but it made him feel better about himself imagining Dallas as a stereotypical dumb jock. Ben moved his head back and forth.
Gross! Michael was sure Ben just wiped his runny nose on his shirt. Before he could go on with his day he would have to change his shirt. He couldn’t be out in p
ublic unless his outfit was spotless. It was a compulsion of his that started in grade school. He pushed at Ben, hoping this would signal to him he was done listening as he focused on Lindsey once more, but Ben didn’t take the hint.
In a strange way Michael was happy that none of them were going anywhere any time soon. It meant he had a chance to get to know her better. So all he had to do was wait in the wings for the right moment. His gaze landed on her again. She appeared past the point of exhaustion. The weight of finding a cure for this disease was clearly crushing her.
I better practice an amazing spiritual monologue to dazzle her.
And maybe I should do some pushups, too.
Lindsey’s eyes burned. She had been staring into the microscope all morning. Nothing about this infection made any sense. It first attacks the host until it kills it, then the disease brings the person back as something else. How was that even possible? Her brain was on a continual loop, repeating this sentence.
If the host is dead, how can it get up and spread the disease to others?
Last she checked, dead was dead, and there was no coming back. Without a functioning respiratory or cardiovascular system it was impossible for a creature to run, walk or even stand still for that matter. Something about this disease was changing people on a cellular level. Hours ago it became clear there was no way she would crack this code and discover the truth behind the mystery. Not with this equipment anyway. Now she was only working to keep up appearances. Brother Paul told her she needed to keep people’s hopes up and that’s what she was doing. She would occasionally stop glaring at the same sample slide and write down a sentence. She had begun to run out of ways to creatively state the same sentence. If anyone in this room was really paying attention to her, they would have noticed right away she was doing bullshit science.
It wasn’t uncommon for her to work twenty-four hours straight at her job, but in those cases someone’s life was on the line. She had a goal and it needed to be accomplished as soon as possible. It allowed her to stay focused and on task, but this acting like she was busy was brutal. Pretending to solve the biggest issue the modern world had ever faced was mind numbing. It was like being handed an unsolvable Rubik’s cube. She imagined herself sitting in an all-white, padded room, cranking the sides of the cube into place, but never once getting the colors to match up.
The very definition of insanity, right?
Occasionally she would look up from the lenses and glance around the room to see if anyone was watching her. The church members were completely consumed with their own tasks and none of them were checking up on her. A few times she caught Pastor Michael looking her way.
He’s offering people grief counseling?
“That’s a tough job today,” Lindsey surprised herself and spoke her thoughts out loud. Fatigue was setting in. She wondered if people would be upset or think she was selfish if she stepped out. She needed to take a nap so, so badly. Four hours and a strong cup of coffee would keep her going for another day. She checked her watch. It was two-minutes to ten.
No matter what. I’m crashing at eleven.
She picked up her pen, exhaled and spoke as she scribbled on her notepad, “Tests are inconclusive.”
Rifle fire popped in the distance like a methodical drumbeat. The soothing tempo that let every resident in the church know they were safe. Brother Paul sipped from his glass of scotch. The drink went down smooth. He could taste wood notes from the oak barrel it was aged in. He checked his watch. It was ten A.M.
Darn!
It was too early to feel this buzzed. It was hours away from lunch, but Brother Paul needed something in his belly to soak up this booze.
How did I let this happen?
Why do I allow the stress to get to me?
There was so much day left. If he kept this pace up he would be passed out drunk by three. Paul smirked.
Just like Mom.
He attempted to study the scripture, but no passage brought him comfort. Thoughts about his little brother clouded his mind even more than the drink.
What was he doing out there?
He wouldn’t give in to his compulsion at a time like this, would he?
Brother Paul eyed the bottle of twenty-year-old scotch sitting across the table. The light brown liquid called to him.
I’m stronger than Eric and I gave in to mine.
Paul grabbed the bottle, added an extra finger to his glass and put the bottle away. He locked the booze inside a drawer and tucked the key into his pocket. It was all a show, a simple gesture that he was in charge and not the drink, but his subconscious knew the second the urge hit, he would have no problem unlocking his desk and pouring another round.
He closed the Bible and set it aside. Paperwork covered every inch of his desk. Reports on every member of the church made up the two largest piles. The stack for the people that made it to the church was the shorter of the two. There were lists of the supplies they had and lists of supplies they still needed. One folder was a list of the people they had interviewed. He wanted to do his part and make sure the streets of Vancouver were as safe as possible. Now he was starting to wonder why he even bothered. Maybe it was a waste of time and resources to grab people from the street, do a background check and ask them if they were good people.
That’s just the drink talking.
He knew it was a smart move. You can’t rebuild society with a bunch of psychopaths running around killing decent folk. His head spun from all of the decisions he needed to make in the next few days. They needed walls, bathrooms, showers, watch towers and more sleeping quarters, but they needed to find building materials to make all that happen. Once they had the supplies, then he had to coordinate the construction and that would take manpower. The need for a solid perimeter already had them stretched thin. So much planning and prep went into this operation, but with this new hindsight, Paul wished they had done more.
The genesis of this whole plan started just after 9/11. The fear of a foreign attack on U.S. soil was the start of it, but after Hurricane Katrina it grew into more of a ‘we need to be ready for every kind of emergency’ plan. A decade passed as he slowly put all of the people and pieces into place.
The church had so many supplies and personnel. But with the state of the world as it was, none of it seemed like enough. The summers and winters were mild there in the Northwest and that meant the infected people outside would take a long time, maybe years, to fully rot away. If the government wasn’t able to reestablish control with their army soon, and its recent track record with disasters wasn’t great, it could be four or five years before it was truly safe to walk outside the perimeter.
We just need to scavenge supplies and find more survivors.
No matter what, I have to produce some positive results before the people lose faith in me.
Maybe we can get Doctor Bryant more medical supplies, possibly even an outpost at the hospital, just maybe she could find a cure.
Paul interlaced his fingers to pray for Lindsey to have divine inspiration to discover a cure. He prayed for Dana to find a way to keep the shelves stocked and all of their bellies full. Paul whispered the words again and again until Scott cleared his throat and interrupted him.
“Dallas and the bus are close to 164th now,” Scott said loudly to hear himself over his headphones. “And I’ve got the name of every resident on that street.” Scott held a sheet of paper in his hand. He clicked a few more key strokes on his computer, pulled off his headphones and stepped across the room to Paul. “Here you go.”
Paul took the paper as Scott stayed put at the head of the desk. “Has Doctor Bryant had any discoveries about the infection?”
Brother Paul was slowly reading each name. He paused, leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “She’s only had twenty-four hours to study this disease, but I’m confident in her skills.”
“I’ve been monitoring the government, local police, army and National Guard’s websites. Radio frequencies and everythi
ng have gone silent.” Scott slid his thick glasses off and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I’m scared, I think we might be on our own here.”
Paul leaned back into his chair, he lifted his glass and gave Scott a powerful smile. “We are not alone. We have a church full of people.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Paul sipped from his glass. “I know, but I’m not really in the mood to give a pep rally right now.”
Scott put his glasses back on. “I don’t need a pep talk. I just wanted…”
Paul sat up quickly and jammed his strong index finger on the cover of his bible. “You’ve read this correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is God known for making it easy on his true believers?”
Scott released a heavy breath. “No.”
“There’s your answer.”
Scott’s head cocked to the side. “I don’t understand.”
Paul relaxed back into his chair and took another sip. A smile eased across his face. “We are supposed to be scared. That’s the point. It wouldn’t be Bible worthy if we weren’t.” An idea hit. “You took creative writing in college, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you write the weekly newsletter for the church?”
“Of course.”
Paul nodded at his plan. “Scott, I want you to start documenting everything.”
Scott’s eyebrows dropped. “I already do.”
Paul patted the lists on his desk. “Not like this. This is office paperwork. I’m talking about documenting our story.”
Scott huffed at the idea. “You want a novel?”
“No, no, no. I want you to write the gospel of Scott.”
“A new Bible?”
Paul finished off the last of his scotch and set the glass on his desk. “And what a fine story it will make. I’ll let you get to it then.” Paul picked up the list and swiveled his chair one-eighty.
That project should keep him busy.
