by Brown, TW
“So when they start to turn, you don’t think that they will be gunned down. You can’t hide the symptoms. The tracers in the eyes are a giveaway.”
“That is why it is only part of the plan,” Jake said with his Southern drawl sounding extra thick. “And the thing is, while everybody talks a good game when it comes down to the better good of the people, most people still put themselves as their top priority. I am almost willing to bet they both play sick and lock themselves in their rooms.”
It still sounded a bit sketchy. In fact, to me it seemed like more of an excuse for them to get laid than anything else. I had my doubts. I probably would have them still if I had not seen the plastic bottle. I didn’t know what Jon or Jake were going to do with it, but I knew with certainty what it contained.
Blood.
16
Vignettes XXXVI
Caleb stared at the table. He had never seen so much food…even before the dead rose and began to eat the living. There were jars of all sorts with things floating in syrupy liquid or herb-laced brines.
The woman had sat him at the table and spooned several things onto a plate. Then, she went to a wood-fired oven and produced a large circle of flat bread which she brushed with a green-hued oil.
He had eaten his fill, and then she showed him to a room that was larger than his home had been. Inside, he was greeted by a large tub filled with steaming water. The whole time, she spoke, sometimes in excited tones, and other times, he could hear sadness. He figured she was telling him her story.
Caleb had lost his modesty months ago and began stripping down as the woman spoke. He smiled when she blushed, made a little squeak of surprise and turned around. That did not stop her from speaking, and he was pretty sure that she was apologizing. Of course, he had no idea what she had to apologize for; he was overwhelmed with pleasure as he slid into the almost-too-hot water up to his neck.
Grabbing a large sponge that floated on the surface and a bar of what he guessed to be soap, although it smelled like flowers, he went to work. By the time he finished, there was a sickening scum floating on the surface of the water, and it was so clouded that he could not see his hand after just a few inches below the surface.
He stood, looking for a towel. The woman was now seated and obviously heard him. She pointed to a wooden rack where a stack of them were neatly folded. He quickly dried off and looked everywhere for his clothes. Instead, he found a selection of long tunics draped over a bar. Figuring that they were for him, he selected one. It was too big for his frame, but a variety of belts were waiting as well. Once he was dressed, he stepped in front of the woman who smiled and applauded.
The rest of the day, the woman showed him around the enormous house. It was a palace as far as he was concerned. And even better, it was surrounded by a wall that was even taller than Aaheru.
Aaheru! he thought with a surge of mixed emotions. The man who would be pharaoh was lying in a cold room in a ruined old castle. By now, the fire would have burned out, and while he was securely tucked away in a room, he was in no condition to fend for himself.
As he walked beside the woman, taking in what was obviously an enormous farm, Caleb began to wonder what he should do. When he had come to his decision, he felt the tension flow from his shoulders. The rest of the day, he followed the woman around as she talked endlessly in a language that he could not understand. When night began to cast long shadows, they sat at the table and shared a meal of fish and more of the strange things from the jars along with cups of water and a bottle of wine. Caleb did not care all that much for the wine, but he sipped politely and smiled any time she picked up her glass, raised it, and spoke.
Before long, she began to nod in and out. Caleb waited for an hour or so after her breathing changed to the regular and heavy rhythm of sleep. He covered her with a blanket and slipped out into the darkness after equipping himself with one of the fine blades that the lady kept in a bin beside the door.
His walk down the hill was a peaceful one, interrupted only once by a single zombie. Caleb did not even bother to kill the pathetic creature. Since it had only one leg, it was of little danger. He was thankful for the heavy, full moon overhead that cast the landscape in a bluish-silvery glow. For much of his walk, he could actually see far enough out into the harbor. The wreckage of the ship was a dark spot in the shimmering water.
Entering the castle, Caleb hummed a song that his mother had often hummed when she was cleaning the house or preparing the meal for her family.
He made his way up the ramp that led to where he had secured Aaheru. Clearing away all the debris that he had used to barricade the room just in case any stragglers came about, he opened the door to the tiny room.
The first thing he noticed was the awful smell. Peeking inside, he almost expected to see the man turned to one of those unholy abominations. Instead, what he saw was a man lying on the same bed he’d been left upon.
“Where have you been, boy?” Aaheru grumbled. “The fire went out hours ago and I have been freezing. Is this how you would serve your pharaoh? Have you brought food?”
Caleb stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him. “No, I have brought you nothing.”
“You dare return to me with nothing?” Aaheru tried to sit up, but his head swam and he was forced to lie back.
“Well,” Caleb moved closer to the prone man who had seemed like a giant at one time, “I did bring you one thing.”
Aaheru opened his eyes. He could see the silhouette of the boy framed in the glow coming in from the open door. He waited for several heartbeats before losing what little remained of his patience.
“Well, boy…what have you brought me?”
“Deliverance,” Caleb whispered.
Aaheru made out a blur of movement. He never actually saw the blade as it came down and severed his head from his body.
Caleb turned and left. On his way back, he resumed whistling the tune that filled him with all the warm memories of his mother. It helped ease those memories of the last time he had ever seen her…chained to a stake outside the tent of the man who would call himself pharaoh.
***
“I still can’t get over how much stuff you managed to cram in that thing,” Mackenzie was standing beside Juan as a long procession of people were grabbing boxes and carry bags from the boat.
“And believe it or not, there are at least two more trips worth,” Juan said with a satisfied smile.
It felt good to see Mackenzie up and walking around. He could admit it to himself now that he was back, but when he left, he had a real fear that she would not be there to see him return. Part of him wondered if maybe that was why he had insisted on going right back out. Fear of seeing Mackenzie die.
“And you said that April and two of the boys from earlier are back there hiding out in some warehouse waiting for you to return?” Jeannie said. The woman was standing at Juan’s other side making notes of everything that was being offloaded.
“Yep.”
“So I take it that young man and that poor girl didn’t make it?” Jeannie pressed.
“Yep.” Juan didn’t feel like talking about it. He certainly did not feel like talking about it right here and now with everybody wandering around. Plus, Mackenzie didn’t need any added stress. Hadn’t this Jeannie woman told him that not more than ten minutes ago?
“Shame about that,” Jeannie clucked and wandered closer to the boat to continue inventorying everything.
Mackenzie leaned in close to Juan and kissed him on the cheek. He was fine with that as long as she didn’t look him in the eye right at the moment. His mind drifted back to the incidents at the house involving Frank and Donna. He kept telling himself that he did what needed doing.
He heard April’s words repeating over and over in his head. “Do you want to survive? Do you want to get back to Mackenzie and be able to take care of her…protect her? Then you don’t have a choice. Do it…do it…DO IT!”
“How did you do it, Juan?” M
ackenzie’s voice snapped him back to the present. The screams faded, but they didn’t go completely silent. Juan didn’t think that they ever would.
“Huh?” Juan looked around to see what piece of incriminating evidence had given up his secret.
A crowd was gathered around the boat. Everybody was pointing. Some would lean forward and then jump back. But there was something “off” about their reaction. They were laughing. Were they hysterical? Had something broken their brains.
Then the throaty yip and bark jarred Juan’s mind free of the nightmare that had happened at the gated community. One of the people on the boat hoisted the plastic carrier crate and handed it to somebody standing on the beach.
The travel kennel was set down and opened. A few people leaned down in front of the entrance, but Jeannie shooed them away and had everybody fan out in a big arc giving the entrance of the crate about thirty feet of open space.
A hush settled over the crowd and Juan gently escorted Mackenzie to the front. She gripped his arm as she knelt down and Juan noticed that she was still a lot weaker than she was letting on.
“Come here, precious,” Mackenzie cooed.
A black muzzle poked out, followed by a head about the size of a bowling ball. The first oversized puppy paw touched the sand and a few people “ooh’d” and “ahh’d” causing the furry animal to duck back inside the kennel. This brought on another scolding from Jeannie.
The entire process repeated itself, but this time, everybody remained silent. Very slowly, the Newfoundland puppy came all the way out of the box. With a little coaxing, the puppy bounded across the sand to Mackenzie and promptly commenced licking her hand and then her face.
“One of the houses,” Juan said to all the eyes that were now looking at him with curious expressions. “I heard something that I thought was a whimper. I figured the damn deaders learned a new trick now that everybody knows about the baby cry. This little guy was inside.”
This received nods and smiles. Juan didn’t have the heart to tell them that this little guy survived at the expense of his siblings judging by the scene that he had encountered. Still, the puppy was young enough that he was still very trainable. Of course, Juan had first thought that it was a full grown dog until April set him straight.
“He’s perfect,” Mackenzie said through tears as she looked up at Juan with a huge smile. “And I know just what to name him?”
“Oh yeah?” Juan asked as he knelt down and gave the puppy a scratch behind one floppy ear.
“Tigah.”
***
“Uhhh…” Chad was at a loss. For one, he had never encountered a zombie that could talk. It took him a few seconds to realize that the person who addressed him was very much alive.
He took in the man who was busy shaking the water off of his poncho. He was not all that tall, maybe an inch or two under six feet. But what he lacked in height, he made up for in bulk. This man was built like a barrel with legs like tree trunks and arms to match.
“My name is Dustin Miller,” the man said with a smile that made his blue eyes sparkle just a bit. His curly blonde hair was wet, despite having worn a hood, and hung in rings framing his face.
“I would introduce myself, but you already seem to know my name,” Chad said hesitantly.
He was not about to drop his guard despite feeling somewhat at ease by the smile on the man’s face. Plus, as he took in the people who accompanied him, none of them had weapons pointed in their direction. They all stood back casually paying more attention to what might be outside than to Chad, Scott, and Ronni.
“Your friend Brett filled us in,” Dustin said. “We tried to catch up to you sooner, but we had to take down a few of the abominations.”
“We saw you take him,” Scott spoke up. “You plan on taking us the same way?”
Dustin laughed. It was a good laugh, no malice or mocking. He sighed and shook his head.
“Brett did some work for us about a year ago. Thing is, when he left, a bunch of stuff came up missing. That was the last I saw of him until today. I don’t know about you folks, but we have met some pretty bad folks since this whole thing began. My concern was that he might be runnin’ with that sort of crowd.”
Chad considered Dustin’s words. They made sense, but if that was the case…
“So are you here to welcome us or tell us to hit the road?” Ronni blurted.
“You must be Ronni,” Dustin said with a chuckle. “Got a daughter your age. Wish she came with a manual. With her mother gone…” Dustin paused and grimaced at an obviously painful memory. “She is gonna just love seein’ you. Of course you folks are welcome.”
Chad felt himself tense. He heard the ‘but’ in that sentence and waited to see what the conditions might be. Brett had warned them that these people were religious. He seemed to recall that most times, at least in the movies, those folks always were a bit crazy.
“There are some conditions,” Dustin said.
Here it comes, Chad thought.
“We all work around the farm. Everybody does his or her share. No exceptions. One of the problems with society before this happened was that too many folks got used to handouts…no strings. Here, we all pitch in. We have regular religious services, but those are optional. If you choose not to attend, that is fine, we would expect you to cover patrol shifts for those who do.”
“Can I ask what religion is practiced here?” Chad asked. Not that he had any sort of preference. He had been raised Catholic, but had ducked in to some of the other churches over the years…mostly at Christmas and Easter.
“God,” was Dustin’s one word response.
“I don’t get it.” Ronni stepped forward, but she wasn’t challenging the man, she seemed to be asking an honest question.
“Time for labels and doctrine is long past, missy.” Again Dustin had a smile that went all the way to his eyes. “We simply read from the Bible, sing a few songs, and then somebody usually begins the prayer. Any who have something on their hearts can speak up during that closing prayer.”
“I don’t get it,” Ronni said again with obvious confusion.
“We don’t call ourselves anything,” a female voice said, tossing the hood of her poncho back and stepping up beside Dustin. “We simply share in the word of God, have a belief that Christ died for our sins, and wait for his return.”
“And this is the End Times,” Scott muttered.
That received a ripple of good-natured laughter from Dustin and the rest of his people. Dustin shook his head. “There may be some that think so. Even some of the folks at the farm, but I don’t think this is exactly what God has in mind. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Not for me to say one way or the other.”
“Brett said you people were a little crazy and that me being a girl might be a problem.” Chad almost sprained his neck whipping his head to his daughter so fast.
“Yes,” Dustin nodded, “I imagine he might have said plenty. When he was working for us, I was running things the way I thought was biblical. There are certain passages about the roles for men and women.”
Now here it comes, Chad thought. He prepared himself for the crazy.
“But there is a lot more about love and forgiveness and doing good. Also, folks have a tendency to read the parts of the Good Book that suit their own ideas and keep the parts they like…ignoring what they may not care for. So, when somebody quotes a verse to me saying that the Bible says we should or should not do something, I ask them to read me the verse before and after the one they quoted.”
That seemed to satisfy Ronni. Chad found himself nodding. Only Scott looked to be holding on to some of his skepticism.
“So, if you all want to bundle up, I think we have a clear run to the farm,” Dustin offered.
Thirty minutes later, the trio were walking through the front door of a large two-story farm house. On the way in, they could see the beginnings of what looked like small houses. Even in the rain, there was a bustle of activity as people went about their ro
utine.
Chad was not sure what to be on the lookout for; he expected to see a bunch of people dressed in rough-cut conservative clothing with grim expressions. What he got were people who smiled and waved. The capper was when a small gaggle of children rushed out of the house to greet them with smiles and laughter.
Inside the house, the smells of baking bread and something savory drifted on the air. Warmth poured from a fireplace big enough for a person to stand upright inside of and still have room.
Heads turned as the door closed behind them. Dustin walked past and called out, “Everybody come and welcome our new guests! Make them feel at home.”
Chad looked down to see Ronni’s hand reach for his and hold it tight. They had been through so much. Could this really be their new home?
***
“Up the stairs…run!” Vix yelled.
Gemma yanked her blade free from the skull of the zombie she’d just finished off. Looking around, she saw Harold was shoving zombies back with one hand and lopping off heads with the long, slender sword that Vix had made such a big deal over when he showed it off just before they set out for the museum.
The trio reached the huge doors to the museum. They had long since been shattered, allowing looters and zombies alike to roam the corridors and open display rooms as they desired. As Vix rounded the corner, she raised the lit torch she carried in her non-weapon wielding hand. She glanced around, struggling to get her bearings in the place with it being so gloomy and full of shadows.
She passed a few side chambers until she reached the stairs, and then took the next hallway that led off to her right. It was even darker here as she left behind the final vestiges of ambient light for the long, narrow hallway that took her past a dozen doors on either side.
At last she reached the one she sought. Producing the keys, she began to flip through them, trying each one. Footsteps running down the hall caused her to glance up. A bobbing torch pointed her way made it impossible to actually see who it was, but guessing by the speed, it was probably Gemma. Vix felt bad for thinking it as soon as it came to her head, but she seriously doubted that Harold could run at all. In fact, she was still amazed that he was alive. It just did not seem likely that anybody who made it this far had not been required to run at least once.
