Whatever It Takes To Survive

by Mike Staton

  “You’re avoiding my question.” Percival pulled the fridge door open and found the bottle of creamer. He pulled it out and sniffed the contents. It didn’t smell foul, in fact it had a hint of sweetness to it.

  “So are you.” Hope paused and rubbed her eyes. “Christ. I keep forgetting all of y’all are little more than kids. Kids standing where adults should. I talk to people, Percival. His brother, the kid on the radio, told me that Ian has directed the survival efforts from here, without stopping, since he and the handful of Watchmen left got here.”

  Percival sifted through the cupboards until he came up with a mug. He filled it to near halfway with the sweetened creamer and returned the container to the fridge.

  “You’ve still not answered my question.” Hope fixed him with a stare.

  “Foggy. But better. I’m thinking smoother, if that makes sense.” He filled the rest of his mug with liquid from the coffee pot. He took a moment to savor the acrid aroma of the coffee, and assessed his physical being. He felt ill still, foggy minded and sluggish with the aftermath of a cold, but it felt as though he’d beaten it. Not that that was possible. The zombie plague simply didn’t get beaten. “Aches are gone too. Mostly. I mean, it’s like I’ve kicked it and am on the upswing if that makes sense.”

  Hope turned around and flipped the last of the sausage patties. “I… I’d call you a liar, but you don’t seem to be. But the virus affects everyone different.”

  Percival nodded. “I’m not going to exercise my option early.”

  Hope nodded without turning around. “I think that might be for the best. There’s been a—“

  A sharp crack echoed through the house. A few seconds later, two more cracks resounded.

  Hope let out a shaky breath and steadied herself against the edge of the stove. Percival set his mug down and stepped across the kitchen and next to her. “Things’re going to be alright. It’ll all be okay.”

  She turned to him and embraced him. He slid his arms around her and hugged her in return. He held her for a few quiet moments before she pushed back and stepped away.

  “Thank you.” She wiped her eyes.

  He nodded. “Of course. I won’t even tell anyone you cried.”

  She slapped his chest and turned back to the stove.

  Percival took that as his cue to leave, swiped a couple of sausage patties and ducked out of the kitchen with his mug. He stopped in the hall as the back door opened.

  Kat stood opposite him, her features a touch on the ashen side. She looked up at him.

  “You okay?”

  “No. But I will be.” She slung her rifle. Her somber look froze over as professionalism settled into her. “Seriously, Percival. I’ll be fine.”

  Percival opened his mouth to reassure her and changed his mind. “It doesn’t get easier. But, that’s a good thing. Means you’re human and not one of them.”

  “Sure.” Kat pushed past him. “Where’s Ian?”

  “Upstairs.” Percival followed her as she climbed the stairs. “I assume that it’s pointless to tell you there’s breakfast in the kitchen?”

  “Ain’t hungry.” Kat rounded the top stair and moved down the hall without hesitation.

  “Figured.” Percival continued to follow her. He took a long pull from his mug as she pushed through the last door on the left.

  He followed after her. The room was an office. A computer sat disassembled on the floor by the door. The desk that had once sat beneath the large window that looked out over the back yard had been moved to the center of the room. Two bookshelves, on opposite walls, hid most of the wood paneled walls.

  “Colonel Pull, Dan’s dead. Turned this morning.” Kat lowered her hand from a salute. “Permission to speak freely?”

  “Not right now, Corporal.” Ian hadn’t looked up from map spread out on the desk situated in the middle of the room.

  “But…”

  “Kat, not right now.” Ian looked up, blinked twice at Percival, and settled his gaze on Kat. “I’m sorry for Dan. I’m sorry he asked you to be there for him. I can’t talk right now. Percival, a moment please.”

  “I—“ Kat opened her mouth to add more and was cut off.

  “Go. Have. Breakfast.” Ian shot the words at Kat. “We’ll organize a funeral pyre tonight. I want you on the silo for the day shift. Do I make myself clear?”

  Kat snapped a salute. Her teeth closed with a click. “Crystal, Sir.”

  “Good. Dismissed.”

  Kat spun on the spot and shouldered her way past Percival. Her small, bony shoulder left his aching, remnants of the bite he’d received… days ago. He shook his head. He should feel worse, not better.

  He’d watched someone bitten go from flu-like symptoms to death’s door. The longest had taken a month, but never once had they come back on the upswing.

  “Earth to Mister Polz.” Ian’s voice sliced through the cobwebs that still cluttered the corners of his brain.

  “Sorry.” Percival shook his head and stepped into the office. “Still fuzzy.”

  “That’s to be expected.” Ian straightened up and picked up his mug of coffee. “First, I wanted to apologize for my… brisk words downstairs.”

  Percival nodded. “Apology accepted. I didn’t take it personally.”

  “Regardless.” Ian spread his arms wide. “I apologize for them. I have a second request for you.”

  “What can I do for you?” Percival popped the last of his sausage patty into his mouth.

  “Back off.” Ian took a sip of coffee and leaned against the window sill. “I’ve led these people since we were attacked. Guided them into the place we’re in now. I don’t need someone else coming through with conflicting orders and mucking it up. Are we at an understanding?”

  Percival nodded without saying a word. He expected a flash of anger from his core, but it didn’t rise. What Ian had requested was, simply put, reasonable. And Percival was a dead man walking anyways.

  “I’ve got no intention of stepping on your toes.” Percival tossed back the last of his cream-laced coffee. “You’ve done amazing things here. I’d given up before Kat found me. And I’m a dead man walking right now. No one outruns the plague.”

  Ian opened his mouth for a moment, closed it. He scrubbed one tired eye. He seemed to have expected more of a fight.

  “How can I help you?” Percival slid his hands behind him and settled into an approximation of ‘at ease’ posture.

  “You can run over the best places to relocate to.” Ian set his coffee mug down and gestured to the map on the desk. It was a fresh map of the area with the notes from Percival’s AAA map copied over.

  “I’ll do what I can. If I may, advise as we do this, that a different relocation than Prosperity Wells should be temporary…” Percival stepped forward and pointed to a tiny town. “Empty. Completely deserted.”

  * * *

  Kat stalked into the kitchen as Hope pulled a baking tray of biscuits out of the oven. She took one look at the food, noted the lack of desire in herself to eat, and turned back toward the door.

  “You will not be leaving without something,” Hope called after her.

  Kat felt fairly confident she could outrun the woman, yet turned around and reentered the kitchen. “Not hungry.”

  “You need to eat anyways.”

  “So I can empty it onto the lawn when I walk outside?” Kat snapped. She still felt angry over having puked her guts out in front of Samuel. And the asshole had the audacity to rub her back while she caught her breath.

  That last part was harsher than she needed to be.

  “So you’re properly fueled when the time comes to defend yourself and us.” Hope carefully picked a gorgeous, golden brown biscuit from the tray, tossed it between her hands for a few moments, and thrust it at Kat. “Eat.”

  Kat snatched the still hot biscuit from Hope’s outstretched hand. “Fine. But I won’t enjoy it.” Now she was just being ornery for the sake of being ornery; taking out the anger and sadness of
having shot a friend moments after he’d turned on someone who insisted on helping.

  In a moment when she wanted to get back on the trail of the assholes who’d created this situation in the first place. She didn’t know how she’d find them, but she would. And when she did, she’d make sure they couldn’t do this to someone else.

  It wouldn’t need to be slow. Quick would work just as well.

  “What’s going through your head?” Hope’s question caught her off guard.

  “Shooting people,” Kat answered honestly.

  “Seemed awfully angry for shooting a friend.” Hope moved across the kitchen and pulled out a coffee mug, one of the last in the cupboard. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Huh? I don’t drink coffee.” Kat found herself distracted by Hope’s misdirection. “I’ve water in my canteen. I’ll be fine.”

  Hope started to say something, then cut herself off. She simply nodded, set the mug down and plucked another piping hot biscuit from the tray. She tossed it to Kat.

  Kat caught it. She felt disarmed by the woman. “I need to get to my post.”

  Hope nodded and waved her out of the kitchen. “Let people know that there’s some breakfast for grabbing if they want something hot.”

  “Sure.” Kat retreated from the kitchen. A weight had lifted from her shoulders. She didn’t feel better precisely, but not as angry and sad as before. She moved through the farmhouse and out the backdoor. She glanced at the quarantine shed.

  Dan’s body had been moved from the shed to just outside of it. Samuel still stood near it. He’d been joined by Jon.

  Jon had been a linebacker for the Prosperity Wells Jackals, the high school football team. He’d not lost any of his mass in the months since society went to shit. If anything, he’d toned what had once been flab into slab. He was wide, dark, and tall. Everything one could want out of a man supposed to be stopping other large, muscled men from driving forward.

  “Hey Kat.” Jon’s voice was surprisingly soft given his gigantic build. “I’m so—“

  “Shut it. Don’t want to hear it. And,” she cut Jon off and looked to Samuel, “if I hear you’ve spread rumors of my throwing up…”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.” Samuel raised both hands, lifting his bat at the same time.

  Kat took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The next words came out in a rush. “Sorry-you-were-just-trying-to-help. And I apologize for breaking you over my knee.”

  Samuel shook his head. “It’s fine. Really. We’re all stressed and you were blowing off some steam.”

  She nodded once. “Colonel Pull’s ordered a funeral pyre for tonight. There’s food in the kitchen.”

  “Sure… Thanks.” Samuel glanced at Dan’s body and back up to Kat.

  “I’ll stay with him until y’all get back.” Kat stepped closer to the shed, but stayed a couple feet from the body. It was SOP to not leave any body alone, even if it’d been put down properly.

  “Thanks.” Jon led the way into the farmhouse.

  She waited for the door to clatter shut and bent down next to the body. She stifled a sniffle. “I’m sorry it came to this, Dan. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I’m sorry you… you passed like this.”

  She closed her eyes. She wasn’t a religious young woman, but it felt right to mutter a couple of soft words for the departed. And Dan had been a friend. He deserved better, but this was the best she had to give.

  “You’ll be missed. I hope you find peaceful pastures wherever you’re at now.” She lightly touched his forehead, just to the side of trio of bullet holes. She stood, wiped her hand on her jeans, and waited for Jon and Samuel to return.

  A few minutes later and they came back out. Samuel carried a tarp with him. He spread it out over the top half of Dan’s body.

  “Thanks for watching him.” Samuel nodded to her as he adjusted the sheet.

  “Someone needed to. I need to get to my post. You got everything here?”

  “Yeah. We got it. Don’t you worry.” Jon glanced at Dan and back to her. “Jus’ remember. It ain’t easy for any of us.”

  *

  Kat sat atop the silo. Despite the chill in the air, she’d shed her hoodie and sat in just her long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. The sun reflecting off the metallic top of the silo helped to keep anyone on watch up there more than comfortable for now. She kept the watch rifle balanced on her knees.

  While she preferred her .22 for mid-range encounters, or even short range skirmishes, it faltered over longer ranges. The Remington 700 SRS .30-06 could easily pop a zed’s head a 500 yards. She could put the bullet through someone’s head at 1,000 yards. It was especially easy for her with the assistance of the optic scope.

  Not that today had called for her to shoot more than three times. The thought of putting Dan down still disquieted her. It also led to memories of Heidi. While it’d been less than a day, it felt as though she’d lived with the deed for a lifetime already.

  She shook her head, and refocused her attention on watching the fields and roadways. She flicked her tongue over her lips and drank in the solitude.

  The quiet rays of sunlight were precisely what she’d needed. While that morning, she’d been raring to go hunt down some mythical assholes, the day on watch had tempered the edge of her anger and grief into a fine, razor sharp thread.

  Occasionally she lifted the rifle and peered at something through the scope. Most of the time she saw nothing more than a moving twig, or fat squirrel preparing for winter. Only once did she see a person come out of the forest to the west.

  She spotted them walking out of the tree line. The person hefted a hockey stick reinforced with steel, wrapped with barbed wire, and sporting a wicked machete, over their head. Kat identified them as a member of the scouting Watchmen.

  Two more people followed the first out. The Watchmen wore a goalie’s mask, trademark of Mark, and the civilians wore diving masks.

  She wished she’d insisted on everyone following her had worn facemasks. She shook her head. It wasn’t a path of thinking she needed to go down.

  “Three tangos incoming west,” she radioed down. They’d already adopted the usage of Percival’s radio handsets. “One whiskey, two Charlie. Advise papa bird, over.”

  “Signal received, nest. Papa bird’ll be advised. Good spot, over.” Tony waved at her from the base of the silo before he dashed off.

  Kat rested the rifle back on her knees. More survivors was a good thing. She just hoped that they didn’t drift in in twos and threes. Hopefully they’d find another entrenched enclave, like she had. It’d be the best thing for morale.

  She watched the trio cross a field and turned her attention back to scanning the horizon.

  *

  “It is with a heavy heart that we commit our friend to the fire.” Ian looked better rested. He still looked tired, but the sleep that Hope had apparently forced on him had done wonders.

  Kat wondered if he’d let himself sleep tonight with the return of Mark and Gina. Both Watchmen had come in with more Prosperity Wells survivors. None of them had been injured. It still left two more scouts out there, however.

  “Our community, especially now, feels every blow. Every fatal impact hurts us for every one of us is a brother or sister now. We’re family.” Ian paced before the pyre that Dan’s body rested atop. “We feel each loss on a personal level. While the loss of the individual weakens us temporarily, his loss binds us together stronger as a whole. Dan’s death cuts us to the quick, but will not kill us. We’ll move past this and be stronger, far stronger, because of it.”

  Kat nodded.

  “If anyone would like to say a few words for our fallen friend, our fallen brother, please step forward and do so now.” Ian looked out among the gathered survivors. No one stepped forward. He took out a small, hand-sized torch and offered it to Kat. “As the person to see him out of this world, would you see him into the next?”

  Kat swallowed, suddenly unsure of herself. Was this what
he’d want? She licked her lips and stepped forward to accept the unlit torch from Ian.

  This was more for her than it was for Dan anyways. It was a source of closure for her; a source of closure for everyone there.

  They’d all lost people in the last week to the attack and this was the first body they’d been able to properly set to rest.

  It was a treatment they hoped to deliver to the former leaders of their community.

  This was a promise to everyone that they weren’t barbaric. They had rituals and an established grieving process.

  “You ready?” Ian asked quietly. His back to the group so only she could hear him.

  “Yeah. I think so.” Kat stuck the torch out to the side.

  Ian flicked open a Zippo and kicked to life a flame. He held it to the torch and bright yellow and orange light illuminated the area. Ian took a step back.

  Kat looked at the torch. The fire crackled softly in her hand, in the silence of the night. She heard someone break into a gentle sob behind her. She sucked in a breath and drew the torch back. She hesitated a moment, just long enough to banish the doubts of her actions, and chucked it forward.

  The torch sailed through the night air before landing with a soft clatter roughly middle of the pyre, just below Dan’s body. It smoldered for a moment, flames licking the wood, but not actually catching. Just when she was certain she’d botched the ignition of the funeral pyre, the torch found the accelerant and flames spread in a quick ‘whoom’ engulfing the body in one quick flash.

  She stood and watched the fire for long enough that the others started to break and leave. As Ian started to walk away, she moved after him.

  “Sir?”

  He paused, shook a hand with a passing survivor, then looked back to her. “Yes?”

  “I want to go after them.” Kat didn’t even preface her statement with a request to speak freely.