Revenence (Book 2): Dead of Winter

by M. E. Betts

"No, it's okay," Hugo said. "It doesn't bother me to talk about it. Yes, I'm on the autistic spectrum, but it's not as severe for me as it used to be. I didn't talk much 'til fifth grade, and loud noises and bright lights used to be too much for me to handle." He paused. "Even strong smells and flavors. I had to desensitize myself before I could function enough for normal speech."

  "How did you do that?" Phoebe asked.

  Hugo shrugged. "Bombard myself with loud noises, spicy flavors, stuff like that. I still have times where I can't handle it, though. That's why I always carry a pair of good-quality, noise-cancelling headphones and a good pair of sunglasses."

  "I see," Phoebe said, her expression of vague mockery going unnoticed by Hugo, but not by Shari and Daphne. "Forgive me for asking, but do we need to be worried? Do you actually have a normal level of self-control?"

  "Do you?" Shari blurted out before she realized she had opened her mouth, staring Phoebe down with a steel gaze. "Because you don't seem to understand that there's shit you just don't say to people." She and Phoebe stared one another in the eye for several more seconds before the younger woman broke her gaze away.

  "Jeez," she muttered. "Sorry. I was just asking. Don't I have a right to know about the people I'm traveling with?"

  "Getting to know a person is one thing," the Professor said. "What you were doing was more like interrogation. Unsubstantiated interrogation."

  "Keep in mind," Daphne said, "we don't know jack shit about you, either."

  "Not much to know," Phoebe said. "My family life is inconsequential. I'm a loner--I have associates, not friends. And I'm the best at what I do. End of story."

  "Yeah," Shari said, "but where did you pick up the shitty attitude and total lack of manners?"

  Phoebe's face lit up with a sarcastic grin. "Remember the inconsequential family life I mentioned? Well, I guess it turns out they were good for something."

  "Sorry to hear that," Shari said.

  They walked on in near silence for the next couple of miles, until Shari pointed out a farmhouse to their left. It was set about a half mile off the road, nestled between a cornfield and a soyfield, and partially obscured by a tall treeline.

  "That's a candidate right there," she told Phoebe and the Professor. "There are no power lines running to the property, but that's a good-sized, fairly luxurious place. They must have some kind of reliable power source."

  "Look at that oversized inground pool and all the outdoor lighting," the Professor pointed out. "Those people were using some electricity, that's for sure."

  "And you know they're not getting city water," Shari said, starting down the long gravel drive. She glanced back at the Professor and Phoebe. "You two got your weapons at the ready?"

  Phoebe smirked. "I've been around the apocalyptic block a few times," she said, lifting her leather duster away to reveal Anthony's revolver, cradled in its holster. "And yes, I know how to use this thing." She uttered a light sigh. "To be honest, this trip has been a lot more uneventful than I expected it to be."

  The Professor let out a sharp laugh. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

  Phoebe shrugged. "Just thought I'd be killing more stuff, is all."

  "She's right," Daphne said. "There have been fewer of them than usual."

  "Maybe they're dying off," Shari said, "or at least most of them. Think about it, most of the people on the planet probably died within the first week or so."

  "Maybe even the first few days," the Professor said, "judging by the circumstances."

  "I'm thinking that the bulk of them are dying off," Shari said. "They may not be alive like you and me, but damn sure enough, they have an expiration date."

  "Yeah," the Professor said, "and wandering Illinois for the past several months, come rain, shine or hail--I'd say that helped push a lot of them closer to that date."

  "So Shari," Phoebe said, "I know this is off-topic, but do you generally come across any drugs besides weed?"

  "Sometimes," Shari said. "Especially on sadists. They'll have cocaine, or what I'm pretty sure is crystal meth. I never touch any of that shit, though--just the green."

  "Shit," Phoebe said, "I'd take the blow, personally. Don't you want it for bartering, if nothing else?"

  Shari shook her head. "I wouldn't feel right," she said. "Anyone who would trade ammo, water, or food for coke has a problem, and I don't want to be the one to encourage that type of addiction in a rare survivor."

  "That's a hell of a call for you to make," Phoebe said. "Who are you to say what people should do with their own bodies, especially now? Besides," she said, rolling her eyes at Shari, "cocaine has medicinal applications."

  "That, it does," Shari conceded. "I'll grant you that. And yes, grown-ups are free to do what they want, especially nowadays. That being said, I draw the line at weed and maybe psilocybin mushrooms, the reason being that those two things can't kill you. That's why I won't put anything else in my own body, nor will I be the one to provide any other substance to anyone else. If anyone overdoses, at least it won't be my cross to bear. I don't cross certain lines."

  "I don't believe in lines," Phoebe said with a smirk. "Except the one kind."

  "And that," Shari said, "is where you and I differ."

  The group had gotten sufficiently close to the farmhouse to hear the rumbling buzz of large numbers of flies. The sound seemed to be coming from the open garage door, carried across the lawn on the gentle summer breeze.

  They reached the asphalt drive, climbing down from their various mounts. Shari opened the trunk of the ATV, taking out her titanium drywall hammer with a gleaming hatchet blade at one end. She stalked toward the garage, hammer in hand. She signaled to Daphne to hang back, and Daphne responded by slinking into a shadow, throwing stick in her hand.

  Shari crept into the threshold of the garage, raising the neck of her shirt to cover her nose and mouth in response to the odor spilling out the open door and assaulting her senses. She headed to the back, behind a shining, lumbering F-350 left abandoned, to where the flies were congregated.

  Lying on its back on the poured concrete floor was the corpse of a woman, roughly forty, lying slack-jawed with a halo of dried blood and gore spread on the floor around her head. Shari noted powder burns around her mouth. Although Shari noted that the corpse didn't seem too aged, perhaps a week at best, the face had a pallor and gauntness that suggested the woman had been in the process of turning. A nine-millimeter pistol lay near her right hand. She stood and searched the rest of the garage, including the extended-cab interior of the truck, where she noted a child's seat buckled into the back. She motioned to the rest of the group that it was safe for them to advance.

  "She died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound," she told her companions, nodding toward the corpse on the floor.

  "Are we still going to stay here?" the Professor asked, holding a handkerchief up to his nose and mouth.

  "Maybe," Shari said, crossing the garage to a door leading into the house. "We don't know what it's like inside."

  "How do you know there's no one else in there?" Phoebe asked in a low hiss.

  "I don't," Shari replied. "I'll go in first, but be ready." She turned the knob and swung the door open, clutching her drywall hammer as she entered a mudroom that lay between the garage and a tidy, modern kitchen. As she edged into the kitchen, she saw a pile of cheese slice wrappers and cherry pits on the floor in front of the refrigerator. A half-dozen small, colorful plastic cups were scattered across the tiles between the fridge and the middle island, some still partially full of liquid and others tipped over, their thick, spoiling contents spilled and trudged through. Tiny footprints tracked through the puddles, to the fridge, and out of the room.

  Shari nodded toward the puddles and their correponding footprints, ensuring that the rest of the group was seeing them, as well.

  "We've got to search every inch of this place," she said in a whisper that was just audible, "but I'll stay in the lead."

  They made sure the kitchen, pa
ntry and utility room were clear, then Shari led the way into the large dining area, a cavernous room with a vaulted ceiling and table and chairs for twelve. The solid oak table was filled with various forms of produce, some wilting and some of it dried and placed into plastic baggies or clear jars. Shari perused the containers, labeled with masking tape and black marker. There were dehydrated herbs and berries in heaps of individiual bags at one end of the table. At the other end, jars of preserves and various garden vegetables cluttered the tabletop.

  They moved on to the living room, bathroom, and foyer, where a wide, carpeted staircase led upstairs. Having cleared the ground floor, Shari ascended the stairs and approached the first of three doors on her left, opposite a banister to the right where the upper floor overlooked the living and dining area downstairs.

  Shari glanced through the doorway before entering the room, which appeared to be the master suite. Shari, Daphne, Hugo and the Professor checked the room and its adjoining bathroom while Phoebe watched the entrance, .38 in hand. They exited to the hallway and Shari led them to the next bedroom. It was a child's room with an outer space theme. A replica of the solar system hung from the ceiling, and the curtains, area rug and bedspread all featured the same night sky pattern. As Shari peered into the room, she saw a small form on the bed, huddled beneath the bedspread.

  Dear God, she thought, please don't let this be bad.

  As she approached the bed, she noticed the form begin to tremble, and she took the movement to be a good sign.

  "We're not here to hurt you," she said.

  After a few moments of silence, a small voice responded. "Did you hurt my mom?"

  "No," Shari replied. "Is it okay if I come over there, or if you come out from under the covers? I promise you, we're not bad guys."

  The child began to cry. "Okay."

  Shari crossed the room to the bed, pulling the cover down to reveal a young boy, a toddler with matted blonde hair and a face streaked with dirt and snot. He crawled into Shari's lap, burying his face between her dense curls and the skin of her neck as he sobbed, his arms around her neck.

  "What happened to my mom?" he asked, pulling back to implore Shari with his pale blue eyes, red from crying.

  "We didn't hurt her," she said gently, "but she is hurt."

  "She's dead," the young boy wailed, "just like everyone else!"

  Shari smoothed the greasy strands back and away from his face. "Hey, sweetie," she whispered. "What's your name?"

  "Finn," he responded, his voice trembling.

  "Finn, I'm Shari and these are my friends. We're going to take care of you, take you somewhere safe. Somewhere with other people."

  "Maybe even some other kids," the Professor chimed in.

  Finn, although displaying obvious interest in the prospect of other children, still seemed unsure. "What about my mom?" he asked.

  Shari drew in a deep breath, not quite sure what he was asking her. "Honey, she can't come with us."

  "I know," Finn said, his tone matter-of-fact, "because she's dead. I mean we have to bury her before we go."

  Shari nodded. "We can do that," she said. "But first, let's get you washed up. Does the water still work?" Finn nodded. "Alright," Shari said, "why don't you get undressed and get in? I'll be there in a minute to help you." She turned to address Daphne. "You wanna have a look around here, see if you can find him a few pairs of clothes to bring with?"

  Daphne nodded, taking a robot backpack from its hook on the closet door. "This'll do," she said, crossing the room to the dresser.

  "Don't skimp on the underpants," Phoebe said as she ducked out of the room and toward the stairs. "He's a little guy, after all."

  Shari headed to the master bath, where Finn waited to be bathed.

  "So Finn," she said as she turned on the tap, "how old are you?"

  "Four," he said, his high-pitched voice solemn. "My birthday is August 1st."

  Less than a month ago, Shari thought. She chatted with him while he received his washing and rinsing, revealing a face covered in light freckles.

  "There," she said, taking a clean towel from a basket and wrapping him in it. "I knew there was a handsome face under all that dirt."

  Back in his bedroom, Daphne had laid out an outfit on the bed.

  "You know how to dress yourself?" Shari asked. Finn nodded. "Okay, you go ahead and we'll be right out here--"

  "Don't close the door!" Finn blurted, literally shaking with fear.

  "Okay," Shari said, "we'll leave it open, don't worry." She and Daphne wandered into the third bedroom, which appeared to have been occupied by a teenage girl.

  "Ah, shit," Shari breathed, noting a corkboard, about four by eight feet, covered in photographs and award ribbons. A pretty, smiling girl of about 15 hugged a group of friends in front of Navy Pier, proudly displayed her 4-H ribbons to the camera, and pushed her little brother on a swing. In the middle of the board, large, glittery capital letters of assorted colors identified the girl. MADELINE.

  "So much lost," Shari whispered, gazing into Madeline's eyes for a moment before she moved on.

  Phoebe entered the room, pausing in the threshold. "Ooh, I think I'll be raiding the closet in here," she said.

  "Keep it discreet," Shari hushed her as Finn entered the room and approached the display of photos. He reached up to remove the pins from two of the lower photos, one with himself and his sister and the other with the whole family together at Christmas.

  "Can I take these with?" he asked.

  "Of course," Shari said. "Put them in the robot backpack, in an outside pocket so they don't get ruined."

  "What are Hugo and the Professor doing?" Daphne asked.

  "They're outside," Phoebe said from inside the closet, where she scoured the racks and shelves. "Doing what, I'm not sure."

  "I'll go out and see," Shari said. "You two keep an eye on little guy, okay?"

  "Will do," Daphne said, perusing a rack lined with belts.

  Shari headed downstairs, through the house and to the garage. She was startled to find the corpse missing, and she almost panicked before she regained her grasp on logic, recalling that Finn and Madeline's mother had destroyed her brain, more or less ensuring that she would never rise to walk as a zombie.

  She exited through the open door at the rear of the garage, finding herself in the backyard. She saw that the Professor and Hugo had wrapped the body in landscape fabric, rolling it tightly. They were in the process of digging a hole, roughly rectangular, in a relatively open patch of yard.

  "We found some shovels in the garage," the Professor said, breathing heavily as he continued to shovel. "Figured it was a reasonable enough request, burying his mom before we leave."

  Shari nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. "And you'll be happy to know that there's a hot shower and a clean towel waiting for you when you're done."

  "Oh, you know it!" the Professor said, chuckling lightly. "Once I'm done with this digging, I'd settle for a bucket of cold creek water and a paper towel, if I had to."

  Back inside the house, after a quick smoke, Shari found Daphne and Phoebe seated at the breakfast bar separating the kitchen and dining room. As Shari entered the kitchen, the two, seated at the far side of the counter in the dining room, regarded each other in a non-verbal exchange. Daphne stared, deadpan and unflinching, at Phoebe, who raised her eyebrows and smirked faintly. Shari, her expression questioning, made eye contact with Daphne, who shook her head very slightly.

  "Okay," Shari muttered. "Where's the little guy?"

  Phoebe pointed downward. Shari walked around to the other side of the counter, looking down at the floor. Finn lay on a child's size, fold-out foam couch, sleeping soundly.

  "He dragged that in from the living room," Phoebe explained. "Fell asleep right there, before half a minute had passed."

  "Poor guy," Shari said. "Probably the soundest sleep he's had in some days."

  "They get that body outta the garage yet?" Phoebe asked.

  Shari nodded. "Th
ey're digging the hole now."

  "I'll be in the garage, then," Phoebe said, hopping down from her barstool. "These people were loaded, they're bound to have some good stuff in there."

  "We're vultures," Shari sighed as Phoebe rummaged loudly through the garage.

  Daphne shrugged. "Dead people don't need their stuff as much as alive people do," she said. "Shit, come to think of it, I used to steal a lot of stuff from alive people back in the day."

  "I get the concept," Shari said. "I just can't help but feel invasive. This is their home, their stuff."

  "Was," Daphne said. "And what about you? If you knew someone had stayed at your house back in Kentucky and used your shower, maybe ate some of your food, you'd get bent outta shape about it?"

  "I don't know," Shari said. "I guess not, as long as they don't take anything personal, or anything they don't really need. If it's food, water, shelter, maybe some clothes--I can live with that, if it's helping someone out."

  "Then as long as you play by those same rules," Daphne said, "you should stay on karma's good side."

  Shari nodded, her eyes on the slumbering boy on the floor beneath her, his chest rising and falling rhythmically in his untroubled slumber. "So how are we going to get this tiny, fragile little man safely to McCormick Place?" she uttered, her tone more that of a statement than a question.

  Daphne shook her head, sharpening her knife.

  "There should be enough people there," Shari said, "enough to where he won't be our problem once we get there."

  "I don't know," Daphne said with a light smile. "He seems to have taken a liking to you."

  Shari nodded, lighting up a smoke. "And while I'm flattered, I'm no one to try to be a mother to anyone. We get to the convention center, I want to be doing the dirty work, the dangerous shit. It's only four months into this shit, and I'm a different person. I never thought I'd be desensitized to things like human carnage and mutilation and rot. Having to kill sadists. The dead walking the Earth and nothing making sense anymore, nothing taken for granted. I've made peace with these things, and I know I'm a monster, at least a little." She sighed as she concluded, "I'm just not 'mom' material, not at this point in my life."