by Brown, TW
“Don’t say it!” Juan snapped. “Don’t you dare give up.”
“I lost hope when they took both my legs at the knee. I have one good hand, and one that eventually had to be removed at the wrist. What possible use can I serve?”
“But you have made it through each one of those events. Each time, you fought your way back. This is just another rough patch. Give it a little more time.”
Gerald held up his one good hand, indicating that Juan needed to calm down. “I don’t want the girls to see this, but you need to finish me. I am begging you. If you really want to square any debts that you think that you owe me, then do me this one favor and put me down.”
Juan sighed. He took a closer look at Gerald, removing his own blindness to the man’s real condition. While the legs had both been amputated, it looked like the right one was once again losing a battle with infection. There was a smell under the urine and feces that hinted at rot and decay. Gerald had survived the attack of a bear and a zombie herd, but his body simply could not recover from all of the trauma.
There was a knock at the door, and Juan felt shame at the sudden relief. He gave the man a pat on the arm and went to answer the door. A bundled figure stood on the porch, fur-lined hood pulled tight and a protective facemask preventing anybody from being able to tell the identity…unless you knew the person well.
Over the months, Juan had built a kinship with Kit. The man had been the only person to support Juan’s decision to try and continue caring for Gerald. One night after a considerable amount of hard cider had been consumed, the two had discovered that they had been on the opposite sides of things before the apocalypse.
Kit had been a prison warden and a staunch supporter of harsh punishment for convicted criminals. Twice he had flown to Arizona to see some of the stricter and more unique forms of utilizing and controlling the incarcerated population.
They had a good laugh over it and then agreed that what was past was past. Both were committed to the future. When Juan made it known that he would not accept having Gerald dosed with a lethal concoction that would put him down, Kit had offered to help in any way that Juan might need.
It seemed like a strange coincidence that the man was arriving at this exact moment. After he shed himself of his protective gear and had taken a seat in front of the fire with a cup of hot tea to sip, the man reached in his pocket and produced a sheet of paper.
“You did all that you could, Juan” Kit said, handing the piece of paper to Juan as he blew the steam from his cup and took a sip.
Juan scanned it. He had been braced for this to be some edict from the council telling him that they would no longer supplement his rations to include Gerald. He’d actually been prepared for that and had started stockpiling extra food over the weeks. Instead, what he had was a scrawled note that looked as if it had been written by…
“One of my girls?” Juan looked up at Kit with a raised eyebrow.
“Denita brought this to me this afternoon. She said that Gerald helped them write it.”
Juan was floored. He did not know whether to be hurt, angry, or some combination of the two. How could that man expose his daughters to something so horrible?
Then it hit him like a punch in the throat. This was the New World. The days of being able to protect the children from the harsh realities of life could be a fatal mistake.
Just like the one that took Mackenzie, a voice whispered in the dark corners of his mind.
“He asked me to end it for him,” Juan finally spoke.
“And are you going to honor his request?” Kit pressed. “Or are you going to continue to think of yourself at his expense.”
“But I owe—” Juan began, only to have Kit cut him off.
“You owe nothing. Those days are gone. The codes that you still cling to mean nothing. It is about survival. Pure and simple. Sure, we have built a community here. We do not want for food or anything else. Granted, we don’t spend the evenings staring at our computer or phones, frittering away our lives on the so-called social media. However, we are now seeing more babies survive than we lose. And that goes for the mothers as well.
We have a school designed for the world that we live in. The children are taught to hunt, farm, and to be able to recognize herbs and things we need for the natural medicines to try and combat infection. Hell, we even have a dentist. Granted, he has to use a foot-powered drill, and the anesthesia is for shit, but we are making our way.”
“What does this have to do with Gerald?” Juan said, refusing to allow the tears to reach his eyes by biting down on the inside of his cheek.
“We still live in a Spartan society. The strong survive and the weak or infirm perish. You had just arrived, so you missed it, but there was an old man named Sammy Singer. The dude was a Korean War vet. One day, he said goodbye to everybody and walked out into the woods. He knew it was his time. Hell, the Native Americans and Inuit have been doing things like that for years before civilization came in with the messed up idea that we needed to prolong life to the last second. Squeeze every bit out of it that we could.”
Kit sat back and took another sip of his tea. His voice had begun to harden and grow louder. Juan felt himself start to bristle, but deep down, he knew that everything Kit said had truth to it. Sure, it may not all be a truth that he would personally subscribe to, but he did see the logic of the man’s words.
They sat in silence as the fire crackled and popped. Juan finished his tea and then rose without a word. He walked into the room where Gerald was asleep (or at least pretending to be so). Juan stared down at the man for a while. He lost track of time as he considered what he needed to do.
Through it all, his mind continued to remind him that this same man had rescued him from the brink of death. He had risked his life to do so. Then, he had given freely of his belongings to care for Juan and his daughters when Juan had not been able.
And now the situation was reversed.
“It is not the same,” a voice whispered.
Juan looked down to see Gerald staring up at him. For the first time in weeks, the man’s eyes were clear and bright.
“When I took you in, you had a chance. And…you had those two little girls. I helped you because I knew that your injuries were not fatal. But…and make no mistake, if I’d felt for a moment that you would not pull through and be able to function, I would have either left you for dead, or I would have ended you right there.”
“But—” Juan started, but Gerald raised his one good hand.
“You came in here with a purpose. Finish this…for me.”
With that, the man shut his eyes. Juan stood quiet for several minutes. He was still standing there when he felt something tug at his left and then right hand. He looked down to see both his daughters at his side.
“The Grizzly Man is ready, Papi,” Denita whispered.
“I said a prayer for him already, so it is okay to send him to Mama and Jesus. He knows what to do when he gets there.” Della gave Juan’s hand a gentle squeeze.
The battle he’d waged all night to keep the tears at bay finally came to an end. Juan surrendered to his emotions. Only, as he began to let the tears flow, he was not sure who or what he was actually weeping for. He had been grateful to Gerald, but it was not as if they had grown close like brothers. They were both simply survivors. Maybe he was mourning the loss of one more survivor. He had no idea.
Juan drew the spike from his belt. He pulled the blanket up and covered the man’s face. Next, he pulled the pillow free. He did not think that he imagined the man lifting his head just a little to make the task easier.
Placing the spike right about where he imagined the center of Gerald’s forehead to be, Juan took a deep breath and held it.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven…” Della and Denita began to pray together. Juan said his own brief words to God, or whoever was out there.
“Please forgive me…”
With those words, Juan gripped the top of the spike with bo
th hands and pushed down as hard as he could. There was only a slight resistance, and then the piece of steel plunged down.
Gerald’s body convulsed and trembled a few seconds, and then was still. Juan let go of the spike and stepped away. As he did, the girls, who were still reciting their prayer, stepped in and grabbed the corners of the blanket, pulling it up and over to cover the body.
Juan let them finish. When they did, he took them by the hands and led them out of the room. At some point, two more men had arrived. With nothing more than polite nods, they proceeded to the room and emerged a moment later with the body. It would be taken to the large fire pit and burned. Above that pit was the next day’s venison stew.
Even after his death, Gerald would perform one more task for the community.
“Nothing is wasted,” Juan whispered.
***
“But we can’t stay here!” Vix exclaimed.
“It is too late to move anyplace else,” Mike insisted.
This circular argument had been going on for several minutes now. Paddy, Gable, Randi and Algernon were gathered around and there seemed to be a split in the consensus. Randi and Algernon were of the same opinion as Vix.
From the roof of the Shell Centre, Gable had the ability to point to his own reasons for them staying put and making their stand here. To the east, a dark smudge could be seen seeping towards their location. Scouts had returned a short time ago to inform them that Dolph was rolling their direction.
According to the small group of refugees that had arrived just before Vix and Randi had returned from the Waterloo complex with their own new and terrifying revelation, this group of people had come begging to be let in. They told the familiar tale of how Dolph’s people had brought what seemed like the entire undead population of the whole of the UK to their walls. The perimeter defenses had crumpled like paper in seconds, not minutes.
They told the same story that so many others had shared about the terrible buzzing sound that preceded the wave of undead. This group even managed to take down five of the zombies fitted with the noise making packs, but it had no effect as the undead were already almost upon them. Also, it was now clear that Dolph had no further interest in capturing people. This was now seemingly just about the conquering of all England.
“We have no place to run at this point. It is clear that, however he has managed to do so, this Dolph is aware of our presence and is actively seeking us,” Mike stated.
“But the children,” Vix insisted. It was her only real argument. It was bad enough to face this maniac and his undead army, but the children were an unknown variable. It was well known that they did not act like the normal zombie. There were…stories. Of course it was always impossible to ferret out the real ones from the fabrications, but anybody who had ever encountered one of the little blighters knew very well that they seemed to possess some limited form of reason or ability that came across very near to cognizance.
And to see so many of them obviously gathered in one spot; well, nothing good could come from that, of this Vix was certain. However, there was one detail that she was struggling with in her mind. While the discussion continued without her, she replayed the encounter. She’d registered something, but the fear had pushed it down as being unimportant at the moment. Just then, the only thing she could concentrate on was trying to escape the Waterloo intact.
“They don’t have any teeth!” Vix blurted.
Everybody turned to face her, and she actually took a step back in uncertainty. Paddy was the first to prompt her to explain.
“When Randi and I encountered the children, there was something about them that I thought to be a bit odd. However, we were worried more about getting out of there and I guess it just did not occur to me until now. While not true for all of them, many of the children have either no teeth at all, or very few.”
“Why?” Gable asked. “I mean, we all know they act different, and there are theories swirling around about the reasons…everything from the fact that a child’s mind is in such a high state of development, to it simply being a matter of normal zombie crap in how they act out of instinct or some such thing. But why on earth would they not have teeth?”
“Children lose their baby teeth. Those are not rooted and come out quite easily. Whereas, our permanent teeth have roots and are more…attached would be the best way to put it,” Vix explained.
“I still don’t see what any of this has to do with Dolph,” Mike said with a shake of his head.
“Those children have massed in the Waterloo,” Vix pointed in the general direction of the massive domed building. “There could be hundreds from what Randi and I saw. If that is the case, Dolph’s army could grow even larger, and the children, as we have already covered, are different. They might be able to exploit some weakness or another. If we run now, there has to be someplace else we can make our stand.”
“Perhaps we could open the gates of Buckingham and lure them around the body of Dolph’s undead army. They could come right at the flank and expose Dolph’s people to the radiation,” Paddy piped up.
“And in a few years, perhaps even a decade, once the cancer takes hold…all our problems would be solved.” Vix shot the man a nasty look and shook her head.
“But the rumor is that head shots don’t drop them,” Paddy pressed.
“We can’t base our defense on rumors. We need something solid,” Vix snapped.
“And that is exactly why we need to hold our ground here,” Mike exclaimed, pointing to Vix with a nod of the head. “You are making my point for me. Right now, we have the bottom three levels of stairs torn out. The zoms won’t be able to reach us. They certainly won’t be able to topple the building even if they do make it past the outer defense.”
The sound of a siren brought the conversation to a halt. Everybody ran to the side of the building where the alarm was coming from and looked out towards the east. The massive herd was still a fair distance away. The siren cranked up again, and they all realized that it had been from a northern post that it originated.
“Mother of God!” Paddy gasped.
“It is like something out of those Mad Max films,” Vix managed through her suddenly dry mouth.
Arrayed out in a massive semicircle was a collection of vehicles that looked like they were conceived in Hell. Many had implements of destruction mounted in front or jutting from the sides.
Mike was looking through a set of binoculars, his mouth open and moving without any sound coming out. He handed the binoculars to his left and now Gable took a look. One by one, each of them were given the opportunity to get a better look and confirm that it was even worse than they had imagined.
In the front of this mechanized army were a dozen squat and blocky looking machines with tall smoke stacks that belched black streamers into the air. They each had a long pole jutting from their front with a box—or at least something in the shape of one—at the end.
“Sound the full alarm,” Mike said with almost no emotion. He turned to Vix. “For what it is worth, I would have argued against leaving here to the very end, but now…” He turned and looked back out at the army of the living just to their north and then to the wave of undead coming from the east. “We should have run. This is a fool’s errand, and I fear we may have all suffered from delusions of grandeur.”
“Worst pep talk ever,” Gable muttered as he edged past them and into the stairwell.
Everybody headed down the stairs into the belly of the building. The clang of the warning bell could be heard through the concrete walls and sounded almost like a death knell to Vix as she tried to process all that she had seen.
Her mind quickly rushed to draw comparisons to the war machine that Hitler had sent with a fury to try and crush England. The man’s hatred for Churchill notwithstanding, the German dictator spent too much of his resources trying to do something close to impossible: break the English spirit.
There would be nothing of the sort this time around. The only real similarities
were that the invaders were led by a madman. The good old English spirit had been crushed by the living dead a long time ago. Now it was simply about human beings trying to survive. Only, it seemed that those intent on trying to rebuild a good life would now face those who had an insatiable need for power and control.
As in the Dark Ages, and the Medieval Era, it would be might that carried the day, and those who found themselves in power would grow drunk on it more often than not. Despite all the wonders wrought by technology in the Twentieth and Twenty-first centuries, there was one thing that science could not improve: humanity.
It was still a flawed and often ugly creature. It was prone to extremes; when leaning towards good, it brought the likes of Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela and Bob Geldof. However, there was the other side of that coin. Sadly, it looked like those bent on evil held a distinct advantage.
“I got you something,” a voice said from behind, causing Vix to start. She turned to see Paddy standing with a wrapped package held out in front of him.
“I don’t think now is the time for gifts,” Vix said absently as she watched everybody that had joined them file into the large conference auditorium.
These people had abandoned their little villages and walled communities in the hopes that they would be able to make some sort of valiant stand against Dolph. Most had come due to her influence. Now, each of them represented a life that she was responsible for seeing snuffed out; probably in a horrible manner if what they’d seen from the roof was any indication.
“I think it is the perfect time,” the little man said with a wink.
Vix opened the package, only half paying attention. Her mind was already imagining the horrors to come. It had arrived at the conclusion that running now would only delay the inevitable. She did not doubt that there were patrols set up all around their location. Dolph wanted them dead and he would not leave a hole in his net for anybody to slip through.
