by Brown, TW
Graham shifted from foot to foot. I could tell that he was not used to being spoken to in this manner. If he thought this was bad, he would really hate it if he ticked the doc off. She was probably the scariest person I’d ever known.
After a very brief stare down, Graham glanced over his shoulder and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. The group seemed confused and looked at each other for a few seconds, but eventually they left…sort of. I saw them enter a house about a block away and across the street.
I stepped back and ushered the man in. I was just about to shut the door when a voice that sounded a little out of breath called out. “Wait for me!”
Carol Wills came scurrying up the path that led to our front porch. She was not alone. I could not remember the name, but the person she had in tow had been on that run with me. I was pretty sure he was one of the scientists.
I stepped back and allowed Carol and her tagalong to come in before shutting the door. This had all the makings of a very interesting afternoon.
3
Vignettes XLIX
The zombie turned its head one way and then the next. Letting loose with a low moan, it took a few slow and tentative steps. Only a short time ago, the creature had been encased in a snow bank. The morning sun had opened a fracture and almost like a broken mold, a huge chunk fell away to reveal the zombie. Others had been freed in similar fashion over the past several days as spring began to slowly reclaim the world from a harsh winter.
Home. Daddy…Steve?
The zombie cocked its head one way and then the other. The briefest flashes of what could almost be considered thought came and went just as quickly. They were not so much thoughts as images.
Emily-zombie turned one way and then another. Something pulled her towards the direction of the giant light in the sky that was about to slip behind a distant hill. Somewhere along the course of the winter, the snow pack that had encased Emily-zombie had moved down the side of the hill and deposited her just within the trees.
Moving through them, sometimes her once perfectly straight black hair would catch in a low branch and tear away in a clump. Emily-zombie never noticed. She did not notice when her left foot sunk in some mud and came away without the shoe.
Emily-zombie stopped when darkness came. There was a sense that bloomed in a dark and jelly-like portion of her mind that pulsed a feeling that Emily-zombie did not understand. She had no true concept of fear or danger, so those feelings did not register for her as they would for a living child, but they were enough to cause her to cease moving.
Standing stock still, her head would twitch from time to time as a sound would come from one of the many animals that were beginning to assert their ancient roles in the forest. A wolf stopped less than ten feet from Emily-zombie. She could see its warmth coming off in waves. That reminded her of the deep and unpleasant coldness that gnawed at her insides. She wanted that warmth, but that tiny pulse in her that sent images that kept her still was a warning that she would heed.
Eventually, the large animal made a low sound in its throat and then slunk away. The wolf knew the smell of death. It would seek food elsewhere.
As morning came, Emily-zombie resumed her trek through the woods. Once, she paused when her eyes locked on a heat source in some brush. She approached with caution when one of those sources raced away. However, it left behind several smaller ones that remained still as she moved in and plucked them up one at a time. On the second or third one, she paused, her mind briefly registering that what she held was soft, warm, and furry.
Bunny.
An image flashed and was gone so fast that it might never have happened. When there were no more, Emily zombie resumed her walking through the forest.
Days came and went. Sometimes she would change direction, but just as quickly forget why. At some point, that tiny piece of her mind that refused to succumb would fire off a reminder that she was seeking something.
Home.
Again, that word and image held no real meaning, yet it was enough to urge her to continue to move. One night, as Emily-zombie stopped in the shade of some tall pines, a noise caused her to turn. It was another. This one was smaller and also had once been a little girl.
Thalia.
Another image flashed and vanished, but it was enough to cause the Emily-zombie to mewl softly. Her sound was eventually answered. The tiny figure limped to where Emily-zombie stood. This little girl still had one filthy pigtail jutting almost mockingly from her head. It was practically all that remained of her fine, wispy blond hair.
The next day, the two ventured forth. A sound caused them to pause. Both had the same pulse that would be like fear had they been living. It did not trigger a flight response, simply a message to halt.
Eventually, a heat source appeared. It was big, it was noisy, but it was alone. Emily-zombie and her companion remained still. Eventually, the noisy heat vanished into a building. That had been enough to cause the two to stumble forth. They were almost at the broken door where the heat source had vanished when it suddenly reappeared.
“Oh crap!” the man gasped as he fumbled for the knife at his side. He yanked it free just as the smaller of the two little zombies latched on to his arm.
The man screamed in pain. He had been careless. He had ducked into this lone service station in the hopes that he might find a scrap of anything. It had been a few days since he’d eaten. That had been the day that the other five people he’d made it through the winter with had decided to leave him behind.
In hindsight, he had probably deserved it; all his life he’d been a bit of a bully. So maybe he’d taken more than his share of food and done less than his share of the work. And when he’d set down his pack to wander into the bushes and take a leak, his secret stash had apparently been found.
They hadn’t said a word, and he actually thought it had either been missed or they had chosen to ignore those two cans of soup that had rolled out and onto the ground. Yet, he’d awoken in the morning feeling unusually cold. His anger that they had been careless and let the fire die down had turned to confusion when he realized that he was alone. His fellow travelers knew full well that such things would usually result in one or all of his travelling companions being cuffed upside their heads,.
The fire was long dead and his pack with those two cans of soup, along with everything else, was gone with the five people he’d been travelling with.
He’d yelled, threatened, and swore. Eventually those rants turned to pleas and apologies. It was all in vain. He had been abandoned.
The next few days had been terrible. He had fallen down an embankment and twisted his ankle. He also discovered that all of the equipment that he’d made the others carry included the fire starting kit were sorely missed.
Surviving on the water from the plentiful streams had helped with his thirst, but it had done nothing for his hunger. Then he’d spied that ramshackle gas station. It gleamed like an oasis in the middle of a dune sea. He staggered inside and felt his spirit crumble when he realized that it had been long since emptied of anything useful.
Stepping back out into the bright, early morning sunlight, he’d been initially blinded. That is why he did not see the two tiny zombie girls until they were upon him.
“Oh crap!” had been all he had time to say as he fumbled for his knife. He seemed to recall that his former travel companions had always made sure that somebody remained outside to keep a lookout whenever they had ventured into a building.
Teeth bit into his arm and tore away a strip of flesh. He knew immediately that he was a dead man. A voice in his head screamed for him to kill himself and end the pain and suffering; but, most of all, it was telling him that he did not want to come back as one of them.
Another bite caused him to scream and flail his arm, but he was weak from lack of food and his ankle was throbbing. He fell to the ground and felt teeth at his neck. There was pain…
Emily-zombie tore and felt a surge of heat spray into her mouth. She
and the other ripped and tore until the heat vanished. Then, they rose and staggered off. Neither saw nor paid attention as the lump on the ground began to stir.
By the time darkness fell, another had joined them; this one a little boy. He had been celebrating his sixth birthday when a man staggered into the park during a game of hide-and-go-seek. He still wore the tattered remains of a blue shirt with a little yellow character sporting one single goggled eye. The pill-shaped character was smiling big and holding a banana.
***
Vix spun as three more of the undead came through the brush. These looked like they were almost ready to topple over without any help from her. Still, she changed her course just enough to cut them off and cut them down.
Pulling her small hand axe free from the last one, she winced at the pain in her shoulder. She had gotten in quite the nasty little quandary an hour or so ago when more than twenty of those things caught her just as she came out of a dilapidated old house that had a sagging roof.
The only reason that she’d gone in was because of the wisps of smoke that were drifting up from the cursed home. If it had been Gemma that had camped there, she was long gone. The fire was down to the most minute of embers. Of course it would be just like the fool girl to run off and leave a fire going, Vix was thinking as she exited through the back door. The door hinge let loose with a terrible shriek as she opened it.
That was when that small pack had appeared through the budding orchard of trees. Not having any desire to try and face that many on her own, Vix had turned tail and run for the front door…promptly colliding with two of the walking stacks of stink and filth just as she burst out the door and onto the top of the stoop.
She and the zombies had fallen in a tumble. A burst of hot pain came from her shoulder as her arm bent behind her awkwardly. Vix was rolling over and struggling to get her bearings when she realized that she was on top of one of those things! She heard the teeth click just as she flung herself away.
She managed to pull her belt knife as the thing rolled over and started to get to its knees. Driving the blade hilt-deep into the temple, she picked up her hand axe in her off-hand and swung it down into the forehead of the second one.
“You okay?” Harold panted as he came jogging up just in time for nothing.
“Tinged my shoulder a bit,” Vix said with a wince.
“You need to go back?” Harold had asked.
She had given it some serious thought. They were out in the bloody countryside searching for Gemma because she thought Harold had eyes for some or perhaps all of the ladies that occupied the house that Vix had brought them to after London turned out to be a disaster.
Vix still scolded herself for thinking such an idea had any chance of success. Suit of armor or not, there was no way to make a stand against millions of zombies. What so many countries had failed to do over the centuries…the zombie had done in less than a fortnight: conquered London.
“We keep searching,” Vix had insisted.
Of course it was just the two of them—her and Harold. Amanda and her mates had politely declined to go search for the girl who had run off into the night. Vix could hardly blame them; the girl had been a real thorn almost since the moment that they’d arrived.
The two stayed within sight of each other as they searched. If one went inside, the other stayed outside to keep watch. They would have no more surprises like at that first cottage.
Glancing skyward, Vix guessed that they had perhaps three good hours of daylight left. She was sore, tired, and starting to find herself wishing that the fool girl would just come stumbling through the weeds with the other zombies so that she could know for certain and be done with it.
Either way, this was the last day that she would come out and search. Harold could do what he wished, but she was done. As far as she saw it, if there were any debts to settle between them over one saving the other, they were square. She’d already searched much longer than she had originally planned.
Harold emerged from the house at the bottom of the hill and waved his hand in the signal they had decided would indicate that there had been nothing found. He pointed to the next house; this one just up the road a ways and on her side. This house looked like it had seen better days. Vix seriously doubted that the girl would be in there, but the first house they skipped would likely be the one Gemma would be hiding in.
Opening the gate, Vix winced at yet another rusty hinge. Bloody hell, she thought, we don’t need to search, we just need to sit still and wait to hear a hinge creak.
She dismissed any thoughts of being stealthy and simply strolled up to the house. The door was partway open and Vix peeked inside. There were no signs that anybody had been here. The cobwebs were thick and the dust looked undisturbed.
Her eyes lighted on something that sat on the sofa. A cricket bat. The thing looked well used.
She allowed herself a smile as she recalled one of her favorite movies, Shaun of the Dead. It was never good to let a weapon simply go unclaimed. Never knew when you might need it. Still, she did not feel particularly enthusiastic about wading through all of the cobwebs.
“Vix!” Harold called suddenly.
Vix spun to where the young man stood just up the road a little ways. He was waving his arms frantically. Dismissing any further thoughts about the cricket bat, Vix took off to where Harold stood waiting.
Was that a thin curl of smoke just beyond where the young man stood? Vix wondered. “I thought we said no yelling!” Vix hissed as she got close enough to be heard.
“Aye, but give a look down there.” Stepping aside, Harold pointed down into a little valley that cut between the hill they stood on and the next one over.
Vix crested the hill and gasped. An airplane—sort of—was buried deep in the lush, grassy valley. It had broken in to at least three pieces and the wings had been sheared off and were nowhere to be seen. Of course, as tall as the grass had grown, they could be very close by, but it didn’t really matter.
The silver body of the jetliner had made a deep furrow that only hollowed out the little valley more than normal. Most of the windows down the side were covered. However, it was not the jet itself that had gotten Harold’s attention.
Up on top of the rounded fuselage were three people. They had obviously spotted Harold and were waving frantically. Unfortunately, there was no way possible to reach them. Packed in around the broken remnants of the commercial liner were hundreds…perhaps thousands of the undead. They had even wedged in between the broken tail and front section to completely surround the poor souls
“How do you think they got up there?” Harold asked, shielding his eyes and scanning the area as if in search of any way that he could help the poor individuals.
“I have no idea, but they will die up there more than likely,” Vix replied with a sigh.
She had pulled out her binoculars. Zooming in on the poor souls, she gasped and dropped the glasses so that they thudded against her chest.
“What is it?” Harold asked with obvious concern. “Is one of them Gemma?”
“Don’t be daft,” Vix snorted. “Those fools have been up there for a long time. I would guess that those zombies have built up over weeks…maybe even months.”
Harold accepted the binoculars from Vix. What he saw made his stomach churn. There were definite signs that they had been there for a good long while. Several canisters were set out, obviously to catch any and all rain water. They had a fire going, and that is where the horror began. They were obviously using the undead to keep their fire stoked. The most telling were the gutted human bodies that were splayed out as if to dry in the sun.
“That is repulsive,” Harold gasped, handing the binoculars back to Vix.
“And more than a little unsanitary. Those poor fools are not long for this world. Only God knows what has happened to lead them to this point, but that is something I never want to find out.”
Vix turned and headed back down the hill away from the awful scene. How ma
ny had they started with? What had possessed them to climb up on top of that derelict aircraft?
She had reached the bottom of the hill when a series of low moans caused her to freeze. A heartbeat later, a very female and oddly familiar scream pierced the air.
***
“You can’t be serious!” Mackenzie raged. She struggled to free herself from Juan’s grip, but he held her firm.
“Put her in the boat,” Keith ordered.
“Juan!” Mackenzie yanked her head around to try and see his face. She knew that if she could just get him to look her in the eyes, that he would put a stop to this.
Two men hoisted the limp but securely bound form of April Cable up and into the waiting boat where another two men accepted her. Juan realized that it had been the one he rode in when he first arrived on this island. It had been modified considerably as had all the motor boats in their fleet now that the gasoline was useless. That day that he’d arrived seemed like an eternity ago.
The men in the boat turned, and Keith called out after them, “Make sure you put her someplace where she will at least have a chance.”
The large sail was hoisted and some other individuals that Juan could not see more than the tops of their heads of extended the oars. The boat started out for the middle of the Willamette River.
“They will have a nice breeze helping them on the way up, but coming back is gonna suck,” Keith was saying as he approached, but Juan wasn’t listening. His mind had drifted back to the events of just a few days ago…right after he’d woken from the drug-induced stupor he’d been put into by April Cable.
His first recollection had been Mackenzie’s hand holding his. There was a pounding in his head that he dismissed as an after-effect of whatever drugs April had had him on down in the basement.
As soon as he thought of the basement, everything came back in a rush. He turned his head to see Mackenzie stirring from where she’d obviously been napping. A slow smile dawned on her face, reminding Juan of a sunrise.
