Grave New World

by S. P. Blackmore

  Tony struck my shoulder. “Vibeke. Why aren’t they gross?”

  “Uh…” Why aren’t they gross? What’s wrong with them? They sported no signs of decay—no sunken, glazed eyes, no slack jaw. All of the undead we’d seen before this had been agape. “I…I don’t know, maybe…might be…strange form of mummification…”

  “See?” Tony thumped his hand against the dashboard. “That’s exactly it. Mummification, aided by whatever evil stardust the meteor brought with it.”

  Evil stardust. Considering the circumstances, I was willing to believe it.

  “I think they’re moving,” Dax said. Evie whined again.

  “They’re not moving,” Tony said sharply. “You’re just imagining things.”

  “Dude, that one on the left is—”

  Clunk. We all screamed, and I jammed my foot down on the accelerator. The Honda fishtailed around the corner, and the zombie that had latched onto my trunk faded into the haze. “Fuck!” I squeaked, lashing out at Tony. “No more gawking at wreckage!”

  “I’m not the one who said they were moving…bike store’s on the…SHIT!”

  I slammed on the brakes for the second time that day, and just barely missed plowing into a pickup spread-eagled across the lanes. I flung the car into park and shoved open the door, stepping out into the debris-strewn street.

  My compartmentalized self realized that one of two things had occurred. Either some sort of warning had gotten out about the meteor and people had made a run for it…or people had fled immediately after the impact, only to be mired in the fallout. Either way, they’d all died trying.

  The soft part of me wanted to scream. If all these people couldn’t make it, how the hell were we supposed to do any better?

  I forced myself to think. Why had we come here? Bike store. What did we need? Parts for the Road King. It was bulky, but the old cruiser could get through tight, wreckage-choked areas far better than my car. We were doing the logical thing, or trying to.

  Logic? There is no logic in this world. This is the end of logic. This is where brute strength rules, and you don’t have brute strength.

  No. No. I backhanded that thought and all the others. Why are we here? We need parts. We need to get to the store, but it’s blocked off. “How far is the shop?” I asked Tony, who had climbed out of the car to regard the ravaged street with a sort of pained horror I’d never seen from him before.

  “About a block, I think.”

  I reached in to turn off the car. “We walk from here.”

  If anyone ever gets around to making rules for the real apocalypse, I’m guessing don’t go for a stroll amidst zombies and cars full of dead people would be pretty high up on the list. But we gathered the dog and our guns, agreed to stick close together, and let Tony take the lead. I’m pretty sure Dax was hoping he’d get bitten.

  We passed by cars that had crashed, cars that had stalled out, and cars that had just up and died and kept their occupants. Steel and plastic had melted in some places, entombing people. Considering the hellish inferno we’d seen that first night, even from several miles away, I was pretty sure how most of these people had died. Those that hadn’t boiled alive on the spot had probably asphyxiated in their vehicles.

  The few cars not covered with ash afforded us a look at the occupants. Most of the time, the occupants looked back.

  “Why aren’t they trying to get us?” Dax whispered.

  “Maybe they know they can’t.” I had once tried to pull a woman out of a burning car, but her hands had melted around the steering wheel. It was her lack of struggling that had struck me; once she realized what had happened, she had just slumped over and accepted her fate. Maybe these people had done the same thing, and somehow their corpses just…knew.

  “They’re too well-preserved,” Dax said, his voice getting higher. “They’re watching us, they look like us—”

  Tony swung around, his pistol abruptly pointed at Dax’s forehead. “Then stop looking at them. Dead men are up and walking, who knows what kind of other weird shit is going down? But if you have a goddamn meltdown over this, I’m gonna bust a cap in your ass.”

  I would have buried my face in my hands, if my hands weren’t covered in grime. Dax just gaped at him. “You are way too white to be saying that.”

  “It’s the end of the world, Boy Scout! Political correctness doesn’t exist anymore!” Tony stormed off again, leaving us to hurry after him. “Now move your white ass and quit staring at people.”

  I felt their clear eyes boring into us with each step we took. Evie whimpered and cowered away from the cars, which didn’t make me feel any better about things. She barked and growled at the undead, but if she was afraid of these guys...

  ...hell, what were they?

  ***

  Someone had beaten us to the Harley store. A lot of someones, by the look of it.

  The showroom was completely cleared out, as was the garage in the back. Tony turned in a slow circle, taking in the remains of the stock—a headlight, a couple saddlebags, and a few miscellaneous bits and pieces that I couldn’t identify. “Fuck.”

  I led the dog into the clothing area, which was largely untouched. “They left the riding leathers.”

  “Sweet,” Dax said, joining me in the room. “We can start our own post-apocalyptic biker gang.”

  “We don’t have time for shopping, Vibby,” Tony called.

  I sighed. “This stuff is all leather. Pretty sure it’s hard for those things to bite through leather. Unless you have Kevlar lying around somewhere...”

  A shadow moved past the window. Evie snarled at it, and I had to pull her leash up short. “Um, let’s get whatever we’re getting and get the hell out. There’s probably a shitload of them wandering around out there.”

  “And we’re dinner. Dax, help me in here. Vibeke…go…accessorize.”

  I preferred to call it armoring up, but I guess you could call it accessorizing. I picked out a pair of biker boots, chaps, and a jacket in my size. Most of their true accessories were gone—I guess there’s a huge demand for keychains and studded vests at the end of the world—but the prior looters had left a silver Harley-Davidson lighter. I pocketed that, thinking it might come in useful.

  I held up a studded collar that might just fit Evie. “Think it’s too cutesy?”

  Dax laughed. Tony did not look amused. “You are not putting that damned thing on our dog. It’s too cliché.”

  “I think it’s kind of cute.” Dax set down the parcel of bike parts he’d collected and looked over the pickings. “You know, she’s right. The boots especially—”

  “Fine, fine, let’s get them and go.” Tony looked out the window again. “Before we outstay our welcome.”

  Something nearby thumped. I fumbled for my rifle.

  Tony frowned. “Sounds like it’s coming from next door…hurry up.”

  I’d never seen him nervous before. The things in the cars had probably rattled him, too.

  The boys gathered up some clothing and picked up their bags. “No pipes,” Tony muttered. “No pipes in a damned Harley shop. Should’ve come earlier. I’m a terrible looter.”

  Thump. Closer now. Tony closed his hand around his pistol.

  “We didn’t have the bike earlier.”

  “Not the goddamn point!”

  Clunk. The dressing room door splintered outward, and no fewer than five undead citizens of South Harkin came tumbling out. I scrabbled around, not sure whether I ought to grab my rifle or my pistol, and ended up dropping the jacket I’d snagged.

  Pop-pop! Tony was fastest on the draw and put two down. I finally got a grip on my pistol and drew it, trying to line up one of the ragged gray faces. These guys looked a little more…well-done…than the ones we’d seen previously, and most of them sported holes with dried blood in the torsos. “Someone already tried to shoot them.”

  The three remaining shuffled ever-closer. I squeezed the trigger and was pleased to see one go down. I picked out another on
e, but my good fortune must’ve made me cocky; the shot went wild, chipping off a segment of the wall.

  “Aim, Vibeke, aim.”

  Aim for the head.

  Dax got the last two.

  Evie wagged her tail and danced back and forth, as if thrilled by the sudden bloodshed.

  I edged over to the nearest corpse and turned it over with my shoe. Dax made a strained sound. “Vibeke, what are you doing?”

  “Checking the blood splatters.” I crouched down and examined the ghoul’s front as much as I could without touching it. “This guy was shot before he died…quite a few times, too.”

  “Someone hit him with an automatic,” Tony said.

  “Going after the living?” Dax asked. “Shooting the living?”

  I looked up at the pair of them. Dax seemed horrified by it—hell, Dax seemed horrified by pretty much everything—but Tony just wore his typical I told you so expression, this one tinged by sadness. “Maybe they attacked. These guys seem a little…crispy. Might’ve been closer to the impact site.”

  Evie barked, then twitched her nose in the direction of the dressing room. I slipped closer to investigate, but instead of the narrow confines I’d expected, the room opened up to the alley behind the building. The wall had blown inward, scattering chunks of cement and rebar all over the place. “I don’t think this is up to code.”

  The dead men came lumbering around the corner, arms outstretched, mouths slackened. Shit.

  “Time to go,” Dax said.

  We probably looked pretty silly rushing out the door with our accoutrements banging against our sides and legs. Rotten gray fingers reached for me the instant I cleared the sidewalk, and I struck at the ghoul with the rifle. More of them had arrived while we were inside doing our shopping, and they closed ranks around our little group.

  Gray above, gray below, and gray on all sides. My head swam—where the hell had I left the car? Did we go right or left? The blank, staring eyes came closer, and flesh sagged from chins and hands. More gunshot victims, a few looked like they’d drowned, this one boiled away to bone and gristle, my God, why didn’t we bring the gas masks?

  “This way!” Dax took off to the right, and I slammed aside another ghoul and raced after him. A blur of golden fur shot past me, and I caught a glimpse of Evie flinging herself atop a dead man in a Hazmat suit. Bone crunched between her jaws; I shouted for her to hurry the hell up, tried to dodge between the groping hands and the pitiful moans.

  Gray. Just gray. All of it fucking gray.

  One of the boys kept firing off a pistol. I didn’t dare stop long enough to get a ghoul in my sights; my only advantage right now was my ability to dodge between cars, to stay two steps ahead of hell. There might well have been a zillion of them, but they were all slow. I still had my speed going for me.

  I ran into something big and solid, and the rifle clanked to the ground as I doubled over. “Vibeke!” Dax screeched. “Vibeke, open the fucking door!”

  The car. I ran into my own car. I fumbled for my keys and finally got them out of my pocket. I opened the passenger door first, then picked up my rifle and raced around to the driver’s door. I shoved my bundles at Dax, who had flung himself into the passenger seat.

  Tony banged on the aft window. “Let me in!”

  “Shit!” I unlocked the rear doors. Tony threw his parcels and clothing in, then dove headfirst onto the bench. I jammed the key into the ignition and twisted it clockwise, and the Honda’s engine started up with a stuttering whine. “Where’s the dog?”

  “Forget the dog,” Tony groused, sitting up and reaching for the door.

  “Call her!” I looked behind me to make sure the way was clear, then shifted into reverse.

  A cold, wizened hand closed around my upper neck.

  The stench drifted in with the ghoul—an old man, old enough to be my grandfather, leaning in to kiss me goodbye.

  Except my grandfather never approached me with blood smeared all over his lips and teeth.

  I screamed. Dax screamed. I heard Tony frantically slam a new magazine into his pistol.

  A mass of fur crashed into the ghoul, knocking him against the door. He sagged backward, giving me enough time to yank my pistol out of its holster, plant it against his chin, and squeeze the trigger.

  Blackened blood and brain matter sprayed out of the back of his head, and the dead man toppled to the ground. I didn’t get much time to savor my victory—too many others were on their way—but I did have the strength of mind to slam the fucking car door. “Tony. Let her in.”

  Wordlessly, he leaned over to open the left rear door. He couldn’t very well ditch the dog now, not after she’d just saved my worthless hide.

  Evie leaped in and smiled, her bloodied tongue rolling out of her mouth.

  I jammed my foot onto the accelerator and sent the Honda skimming backward. Once we cleared the traffic snarl, I threw it back into drive and turned us around. Then I floored it down Industrial Road, digging my hands into the steering wheel so no one would see how badly I was shaking.

  Fucking hell. Is this the way the rest of my life is going to be? Holy fuck. Holy FUCK. That’s the second time in a week a dead person has tried to eat me. Third time, if you count that idiot on the street. Holy fuck.

  “Holy fuck,” Tony finally said.

  I chanced a glance in the rearview mirror. The stumbling figures faded back into the ubiquitous haze, but they were definitely still there. “I don’t know how much time we’re going to have if they follow their usual pattern.”

  “So many of them,” Dax murmured. “Were they all just congregating there, or did they sense us, or…”

  “Don’t worry about the hows and whys, Boy Scout. Just figure they’re all on their way to make cherry cobbler out of us.”

  There went all my fond memories of cherry cobbler.

  We got within a quarter mile of the Fairway before the engine sputtered, choked, and stalled out.

  I sat there for a moment, trying to figure out what had just happened. The Honda had pulled a lot of shit in our eight years together, but it had never just died. I tried turning it on again, and the engine made a grinding, choking sound before going entirely still.

  “Um…”

  “Pop the hood.” Tony was already out of the car. I pulled the hood lever, then climbed out myself.

  The engine compartment was an unholy mess of ash and soot. Tony gingerly dusted off the motor, then shook his head. “I think it’s dead, Doc.”

  I sighed. “It survives my ex’s driving, and this brings it down?”

  “I don’t think flooring it back there helped.”

  We gathered up our bags and parcels, and I rummaged through the glove compartment and trunk to see if there was anything worth keeping. I did find a sparkly necklace from the ex, which I pocketed. Everything else—my clippings, issues of Rock Weekly, the short skirt I kept in case I had to interview someone on the fly—stayed. What use were they now?

  I was surprised to find myself choking up a little. I don’t think it was the car I wanted to cry over; I’d never attached myself to vehicles, much less crappy ones that barely ran. But the old Honda represented the life of Vibeke, associate editor of Rock Weekly—and this new world has no place for that version of me.

  That version of me was just going to have to stay in the past. I’d had nerves of steel at one point; maybe I could fake them until they were real again. The end of the world is no place for shrinking violets.

  “Come on, Vibeke.” I was glad it was Dax who came to prod me. He at least gave me a sympathetic look, and held out his hand.

  I rubbed my hand over the steering wheel once, and dimly remembered the rainy day I’d driven the car off the used lot in Ellisport.

  Then I took Dax’s hand and stood up, slinging my bags across my shoulders. The heavier bag of clothing on the right pinched the pistol against my thigh, but I wanted both hands on my rifle. It kept my hands steady.

  “Guess I better get that bike fi
xed,” Tony said.

  “Can you fix it?”

  “Yes,” he said defensively. “I had a Road King for awhile. Inherited it from my uncle. I think it was from ’96 or ’95…but I wrenched on it, and I can wrench on this one. Now let’s get moving before those undead fucks catch up with us.”

  What else could we do?

  We started walking.

  NINE

  By the time we got back to the Fairway, the sky had deepened to a heavy leaden shade. We dumped our collections on the floor next to the bike, and Tony gathered us into a small circle. “I don’t know what kind of time we’re going to have before they get here. Maybe a few hours. I’m gonna get the bike in running order, and try to fit that luggage rack on the back end. Dax, you sort out the ammo. Vibeke, you get together the food. We need to get more from less. Assume it’ll all have to fit in there.” He pointed at the rotten-looking leather saddlebags hanging off the Road King’s rear segment.

  I blanched. That wasn’t a lot of room to work with.

  We didn’t have any perishable items left, but I opened up our cabinets and stared into the mass of food Tony and I had brought back from the supermarket the day Tom tried to take a chunk out of me. I selected a few cans of the most filling soup, all the beef jerky, and anything we could eat straight out of the packaging. All the power was still on in the Fairway, so no one had thought to pick up a portable stove.

  I was dimly aware of a steady thumping noise, followed by the occasional screech of metal. I hoped that meant Tony was getting the bike together, rather than shredding it.

  I set my rifle and pistol down in front of Dax. “Load me up,” I said. “We should probably all carry our own ammo.”

  He didn’t look up at me. “That bike’s only meant to carry two, Vibeke.”

  “So?” When he didn’t move, I reached for a box of ammunition. “Dax?”

  “Two people will fit on that thing comfortably. Not three. Who do you think he’s gonna pick when it’s time to leave?” He finally looked up, and the fear in his eyes almost moved me to give him a hug. “Yeah, I can start a fire, but you’re a woman. And he’s straight.”