The Rabid (Book 1)

by J. V. Roberts

  “We move the bodies out, put them out back, and bury them if you want.”

  “I'm not moving dead bodies, kid, especially ones that are that ripe.”

  “Look, you said you want to take care of us? That you want to help look out for us, and keep us safe. This is how you do it. Moving those bodies out of the barn, and parking ourselves there, is what's going to keep us alive tonight.”

  ***

  Momma and Bethany tuck away inside of the main house after we okay it, so they don't have to witness us clearing the grisly scene from the barn. I pull the mother and child across the hay-strewn floor, while Lee scales the rafters with the fold out shovel in an attempt to cut the old man down. Dead bodies are heavier than I imagined, even the child feels cumbersome, like a displaced bag of grain. I don't look down, I don't spare a thought for the task at hand as I drag them behind the barn and discard them in the brush. I kick branches and leaves across their corpses in some half-assed attempt at a decent burial. But that's it. I keep myself as numb and indifferent as I can manage, in an attempt to remain functional so that I can do what's gotta be done.

  When I return, Lee is balancing himself against the beam and preparing to hack at the rope with the blade end of the shovel. His nose and mouth are tucked beneath the collar of his shirt, an improvised gas mask. I'm not sure how effective it really is, judging by the way his eyes are still squinted in disgust.

  “Come on, just do it.”

  Lee waves me away and rears back, rebounding off the rope, and leaving a gash in the taut fibers.

  “One more time man, you got this.”

  The second time is the charm. The rope separates with a loud pop and the man's body plummets towards earth like a rocket with thrusters pointed in the wrong direction. He lands loud and heavy, a small dust cloud rising in his wake.

  “Jesus,” Lee mutters above me.

  “You just come down carefully, I've got him.” I tuck my hands under his arms, keeping my back straight and my neck arched back, my face is as far from the bloated mass of flesh as I can manage. I place him right next to his family, giving him the same cast off foliage treatment. I tip my hat to them and brush my hands across my jeans, feeling oddly accomplished, like a man providing for his family.

  Lee is just clambering to the floor when I come back; his glasses are speckled with sweat. “So now what?” He asks breathily.

  “Now we pull the truck in, get a bite to eat, and hunker down till daylight.”

  ***

  We pull the truck into the barn along with all the mattresses we can find in the house, beats sleeping on the hardwood.

  “Why didn't we just stay in the house, it's so hot in here?”

  “One entrance, sis, no windows, easier to defend if we need to. Safety over convenience.”

  She just huffs and pops another chip into her mouth.

  The smell of death is still hanging heavy in the air when we finally bed down for the night. I can't shake the thought of the bodies resting mere feet from where we lay. I imagine their bones creaking to life, and then rising up out of the brush, bursting through the walls and reclaiming that which we've stolen. I'm tired, bordering on delirious. The thoughts soon fade, along with everything else as sleep washes over me. I'm not sure how much time has passed when Lee shakes me awake for watch. As he snuggles up next to Momma and closes his eyes, I take my place in the bed of the truck fighting heavy eyelids; my rifle rests cold and ready against my chest, as I stare up through the rooster window at vaporous silver clouds sailing over the face of a full moon.

  24

  We hit the road at sunrise. For breakfast, we pass around bags of chips and bottles of eco-friendly water. The crinkling of foil and the crunch of fried potatoes soaked in hydrogenated vegetable oil fills the air.

  “Chips and candy bars for breakfast, I could get used to this.” Bethany wipes crumbs across her pants before diving back into the bag.

  “Beats dry toast and fruit,” I say.

  “Yeah, well, don't get used to it, kiddos, once we get settled in somewhere, it's back to balanced breakfasts and restricted television time.”

  “Killjoy,” Lee winks back at us, one foot kicked up on the dash, chip bag of his own in hand.

  Spirits seem to have lifted after a decent night's sleep. I am still lagging a bit because of my watch shift, but the mixture of salt, sugar, and water, is quickly kicking my bodies gears into motion.

  “I need a bath. I feel like the dead smell has invaded my pores and won't come out.” Bethany rolls her bag into a ball and tosses it to the floor.

  “I think we're all a little ripe, sweetheart.” Momma slows to a crawl and begins nudging a two-door sports car aside with the bumper of the truck to clear a path. “Hopefully, we'll find a place with some power and running water soon, and then you can wash the dead smell right out, sound good?”

  “I suppose.”

  “I just want to find some canvases and get back to my painting. It's probably too much to hope that my Big Moves lineup is still in one piece.”

  “That's what you were calling those chess portraits? Your Big Moves lineup?” I can't contain the chuckle.

  “What? What's wrong with it?”

  “It's, I don't know.”

  “It's a little cheesy,” Bethany says.

  “Cheesy how? They are celebrities and politicians; they make big moves metaphorically speaking. They're on chess pieces that make literal moves around a board. It's a play on words.”

  “Oh no, we get it, Lee, it's just, it's a little cheesy, like she said. You should go with something less obvious.”

  “Whatever, you two don't paint.” He looks to Momma. “What about you, honey?”

  She keeps her gaze forward, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “Oh come on, you too. Whatever, forget ya'll.” He slumps back and stares out the window.

  “Aw, poor baby.” Momma reaches over and brushes her fingers through his hair. “What about you, Tim, what're you looking forward to when all of this passes us by?”

  Bethany cuts me at the pass. “Like that's not obvious.”

  “Well, before Bethany jumped in, I'm obviously looking forward to working on my routine again. I'd still like to do the recital.”

  “And what about you, sweetheart?”

  Bethany shrugs. “You know, the usual, not running from zombies, hot meals, a bath more than once every three days.”

  We all laugh.

  ***

  Today seems so much shorter than yesterday. We'd just set out. We'd just eaten breakfast and lunch. There had to be daylight left. I want to yell at the orange globe of light as it begins to set itself beyond the trees.

  “I don't see any other places that we can pull off, at least not given the time we have. By then, it'll be too dark to really clear it anyway.”

  “Well, you better figure it out, Lee, because the battery is running out.”

  “Elevation is what we need, you know, get these tires off the ground at the very least. Two-Step and I have seen these things go through windows.”

  “Concurred,” I say.

  “Well, unless you boys have some sort of levitation spell or have a crane tucked away in your pocket, I don’t really see how that’s going to be a possibility.” Momma has slowed to a crawl and flicks the high beams on as she skirts around a police cruiser and an overturned school bus.

  “There!” My voice takes on an unintentional pre-pubescent squeal.

  It’s a green jack-knifed double decker car carrier, just like the one dad used to drive. It’s empty and the ramp is down; it’s the next best thing to a levitation spell.

  “Whoa, cool,” Bethany leans forward with me to get a better look.

  “Very,” I bump her with a grin.

  She returns the gesture.

  Momma pumps the brakes. “What do you think, babe?”

  Lee smiles for the first time since the rest stop. “I agree with Bethany, very cool.”

  Le
e backs the truck up the ramp with Momma’s guidance, while I stand with my rifle shouldered and Bethany beside me scanning the roadway with a flashlight.

  “You think they’re out there?” She asks.

  “They’re definitely out there, somewhere.”

  “Maybe not here?”

  “Yeah, maybe not.”

  “I hope not, I don’t like seeing them die.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It hurts inside. I know we have to stop them. But it’s really ugly, I just felt this lump in my chest when I saw you…doing what you did. You saved my life, Tim, I am so thankful, but it’s a position I wish you didn’t ever have to be in.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “How’d it feel?”

  “How’d what feel?”

  “Killing, him…it…The Rabid…how’d it feel killing one like that.” As if she can feel my questioning gaze through the darkness, she explains herself further. “You just kept going, like you were enjoying it or something. You didn’t even notice Lee was down, you couldn’t hear Momma or me yelling; you were somewhere else.”

  “I didn’t enjoy it; you make me sound like some wild eyed sadist.”

  Chipped paint and the busted emergency lights of an abandoned police car are revealed beneath the gaze of the yellow eye extending from Bethany’s arm. “What was it then?”

  “It was a moment. I lost myself. I just saw it trying to hurt you and I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen. Like in the school.”

  I feel her head against my arm. “I love you, Tim.”

  “I love you too, sis.”

  ***

  The cab of the pickup smells like potato chips and old socks.

  The girls are behind us bedded down in the cabin of the car carrier, locked in tight, with a pistol and Lee’s rifle for added comfort.

  It’d been in immaculate condition; the previous owner had been a neat freak of sorts. There was a box of baby wipes, a bottle of window cleaner, a half used roll of paper towels in the glove compartment, and an air freshener shaped like a Maltese dangling from the gear shift. There was nary a dust particle in sight. The mattress in the sleeper area looked as if it’d just come off the display room floor, with the sheets and comforter still holding hints of detergent and softener in their pores. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood, nothing broken, whomever the driver had been, they’d simply tucked tail and run. Perhaps they’d desired maneuverability and had let down the ramps, and hit the road with whatever they’d been hauling leaving the rest to be picked clean by the first wave of desperate survivors.

  I was laid across the back seat of the pickup tracing the grooves and contours of the rifle resting against my chest, while Lee sat up front scanning frequencies on the CB.

  “It’s all crackle and pop Two-Step, this thing is useless.”

  “Bo said five miles is the radius, it’s not exactly the tie that binds now is it?”

  “Nah, I guess you’re right.” He turns the power off and sets it on the dash where it slides down and crams itself against the windshield. “That bed in there sure looked inviting.” He says through a loud yawn, bending his arms towards the ceiling in a feeble stretch.

  “Yep, ladies first though, right?”

  He laughs. “I guess chivalry is one of the few things that isn’t dead yet.”

  I’d never been all that smooth with the girls despite having essentially been raised by them. The words always came out wrong, or my style of dress spooked them as weird, or there was some other deep-seated feminine riddle I’d yet to solve. The closest I’d ever come to having a girlfriend, was when I was 13. Christina Gonzalez, her mom was from Portugal and her dad was from Mexico. I met her in this after school dance class Momma had enrolled me in. The hope was that I would get caught up in the competition circuit, and that I would go national with my talent; it never happened. Besides, it wasn’t really my style, it was more jazz and contemporary, and I’m much more unconventional and off the cuff.

  For two months, I was there, and for a month and twelve days, I spent twenty minutes after class sitting in front of the studio with Christina, while we waited for our parents to pick us up. That was the best month and twelve days of my life.

  Onyx hair,

  caramel skin,

  cherry red lips.

  She always smelled like vanilla.

  “You smell like a dessert or something.” I managed to stutter the second time we sat together street side on that rickety wooden bench. It was a classic old school bench for a classic old school lover story; black cast iron overlaid with hardwood slats.

  I suppose just coming right out with you smell pretty, would have been too much for my 13 year old self. So instead, I went with the dessert line. She glanced sideways at me, raised her eyebrows, and ignored me for the remaining fifteen minutes, doing her best to lead her eyes in every direction but the one that led towards me. I’m sure I looked ridiculous with my messy hair and my acne ridden cheeks. I felt naked without my hat and my boots. That was part of the reason I eventually quit the class, no hat, no boots, no Timmy.

  “It’s Vanilla lotion, my grandma got it for me last Christmas.” She said to me the next day.

  “What is?” After my awkward icebreaker, I’d completely written off the possibility of further conversation

  “You told me I smelled like dessert. It’s vanilla lotion.” She stared at me with an expectant smile, her legs dangling carelessly beside mine.

  “That’s cool. I don’t have a grandma. My mom got me a hat for Christmas though.”

  That was the beginning of our brief romance. We never kissed. We never held hands. We never so much as said that we liked each other. The last time that I saw her, I walked with her to her car and beat her to the door handle. As she swung her legs in and I bid her farewell, I could hear her mom behind the steering wheel say, “I suppose chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

  I had to research the word when I got home.

  I found the first definition I came across to be the best.

  noun.

  1. The sum of the ideal qualifications of a knight, including courtesy, generosity, valor, and dexterity in arms.

  A reluctant hero, but a hero nonetheless.

  Lee gasps as if he’s been gut punched. I startle up, my heart kicking into high gear. “What? What is it, man?”

  “You see that?”

  I follow his finger toward a distant bubble of orange light outlined against a canopy of trees. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Looks like someone has power.”

  “It does indeed.”

  “How far do you figure that is, twenty, maybe thirty miles?”

  “Yeah, at the most.”

  “Christmas comes early, Two-Step!”

  “Looks like a pretty good sized town.”

  “Let me see if anything shows on the maps.” He slides along the outside of the truck and rummages through the go-bags. He is back with the stack of maps in less than a minute. “Alright, should be on this one.” His finger trots along a criss-cross of bold faced and broken lines, around scrunched together type denoting highways and side roads, and across blue blobs of water, and green splotches of forest. “Here we go, Trumbull, it’s got to be Trumbull. Can’t be more than thirty or forty miles, we should head that way tomorrow. Try to keep west and hit an access road. We should have no problem making it so long as the roads stay relatively clear and we don’t run into any major trouble.”

  There is a ball of excitement growing in my belly. “A shower, a hot meal, some climate control; it’s got me salivating.”

  “Tell me about it. It’d be nice to have some others with us and maybe we can find out what the hell is going on. If their grid is still online, we could hold up there indefinitely and have a much better chance of making a go at this thing.”

  “What about Dallas though?”

  “We’ll get there. Think about it though, if the cards play right, this would give us time to really sit down and get o
ur shit together. We keep rushing from point to point and we’re going to screw up and end up in a pickle. We need perspective.”

  “You’re right, great, now I’m going to be too excited to sleep tonight.”

  Lee looks back at me. “Were you going to sleep anyway?”

  I shake my head. “Probably not.”

  24

  The next morning, Lee tells the girls about the light we saw and our plan to pursue it.

  “It’s worth a shot,” Momma agrees. “Some more supplies and some other likeminded individuals seems like a nice a change of pace.”

  Lee, now in the driver seat, checks the CB one last time while the rest of us are licking salt and chocolate from our fingertips. “Let’s rock ‘n’ roll.” He drops the gears into reverse and lets the truck bring itself back down onto the interstate; there is a small bump and the shrill grind of metal on metal as the front fender slides against the bottom of the ramps.

  Lee and I hadn’t slept. I’d closed my eyes, but never came close to drifting. The back of my lids merely acted as a screen on which horrors danced like disfigured puppets, the loss of Bo, the journey down hells highway, the attack at the rest stop. As I laid there trying to find a comfortable position for my legs, my heart sped up and slowed down and sped up again.

  Was I developing an anxiety disorder on top of everything else?

  There was a kid in my eighth grade class with a mom that had an anxiety disorder. Forget airplanes and shopping malls during the holiday season. Forget weekend movies and little league soccer games. Even with the meds, all of it was out of the question. He talked about the limitations wrought by her condition as if he were reciting a shopping list.

  It was normal.

  Their normal.

  As things currently stand, it sure beat the heck out of ours.

  Bethany and Momma had gotten along alright from the sound of it. “It was the best sleep I’ve had in days. The wind against the cab just sort of rocked us away. How did you boys fare?” Momma asks with a cheek full of water.

  “I whacked my knees against the steering wheel all night, and the windows don’t seal up right, so the wind that you so enjoyed took on the form of a neglected tea pot sitting over an open flame, it was lovely.” Lee glances sideways at her with a forced smile.