In the Lone and Level Sands

by David Lovato

  Evan and Eugene sat Butch at a table. His breathing was ragged, and he was crying, his head hanging low. Jason and Daisy helped with the door, and Vanessa stepped back and ran to Butch.

  “I-I’m done. This is it,” Butch said, wiping his nose. His head tilted up quickly, and he looked through the misty layer on the surface of his eyes at his wife. “Nessa.” She looked into Butch’s eyes, tears rushing down her face.

  “Butch, I’m here!” She took his hand.

  “I’m not going to make it, but I just wanted to say—” Butch groaned. Vanessa sobbed.

  “You don’t need to say anything, please.”

  “I do. I love you, Nessa, and I wish I could keep on being here for you.”

  “It’s not your fault. I love you.”

  Butch was silent for a moment, and then he looked from Vanessa to Stephanie, who was inspecting his wounds. He waved her off.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “No point. You all just get back to where you need to be.” He pointed in the direction of the door. Evan, Daisy, and Eugene had taken care of the remaining zombies by letting them through one at a time.

  “We’re ready to go,” Evan said, “and we need to leave now!”

  “Yes, the c-coast is clear,” Eugene said.

  “Nessa…”

  “What? What is it?”

  “You have to go with them,” Butch said. “You’re still good, no bites.” Vanessa’s eyes widened.

  “No,” she said. “No! I can’t leave you, Butch! I’m staying here, with you.” She turned to the rest of the group. “Go! All of you, go on!”

  Evan and Eugene stood guard at the doorway as the others grabbed their food. Evan looked back at the couple as he and the others were about to leave. He was looking at a marriage broken, but not by divorce. These two loved each other very much. They would never grow apart like he and Cynthia had.

  …for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

  It nearly brought tears to Evan’s eyes.

  “We’re on the 22nd floor, if you change your mind,” he said.

  He felt a deep reluctance as he left two human beings for dead. He felt guilty, but there was no forcing Vanessa to join them.

  For the five remaining survivors, the trip back to Art’s office suite was a blur. They passed the bodies and the blood splatters as quickly and quietly as they could.

  When they reached the office, they opened the door, piled in, and slammed it shut, sealing it off with the heavy oak desk. They topped it with the medium-sized file cabinet, then settled into the room and waited for their hearts to settle down.

  36

  With the Soldiers

  Laughter was the first thing Max heard. It started in a dream, one that faded upon waking up, though the last few seconds stayed clear as day. It was the laughter of his brother, in dreams. In the waking world, it was the laughter of one of the soldiers.

  It was dark out. The soldiers sat around a campfire, and Max was wrapped up in one of their sleeping bags. The Humvee was parked on the side of the road, and the group was a few feet into the woods.

  The soldier who had manned the gun on the Humvee noticed Max had woken up, and the smile faded from his face. His fellow soldiers noticed and turned to see Max, who was sitting up.

  “Where are we?” Max asked.

  “We just passed Spartanburg,” the soldier said. “You slept all day.”

  “Where’s the rest of the Army?”

  “No one knows, kid,” the soldier who had found Max said. “What’s your name?”

  “Max. Max Greenwald.”

  “Well, Max, I’m Private Ortiz. This is Private Johns,” Ortiz said as he gestured to the black soldier. “This is Lou.” He pointed to the man who had been driving.

  “Are you in charge?” Max asked. The man had a sort of “in charge” air about him.

  “Technically, I’m a Private,” Lou said.

  “We look up to him anyway,” Johns said. “He’s good at telling us what to do, so as far as we’re concerned, he calls the shots. And he saved our asses.”

  “You saved mine,” Max said.

  “For the time being,” Ortiz replied. The three soldiers looked at each other.

  “What happened?”

  “The shit hit the fan, that’s what happened,” Lou said.

  “We were called out from the reserves as soon as it became clear that the police force wasn’t enough,” Ortiz said.

  “We were told things were going crazy,” Johns said, “but shit. We showed up, and everyone was running around, everyone was screaming, everyone was being killed. Or killing. We didn’t even know what we were supposed to be doing.”

  “We never stood a chance,” Lou said. “What do you do when you can’t tell if the person heading toward you is asking you to save their life, or trying to end yours?”

  “So we got split up,” Ortiz said. “Then one of our own, Jackson, he started firing at random. He killed the highest-ranking officer present. Things just got worse from there.”

  “We realized people were going nuts,” Johns said. “We were given the order to fire. We weren’t told what to fire at. But we were good soldiers. So we fired.”

  “In a matter of hours, Arcadia Heights was almost completely wiped out,” Ortiz said. “We helped, but a lot of it happened on its own.”

  “But we helped,” Lou said.

  “We had no base to go back to, no one to contact. We couldn’t get in touch with anyone, radios just stopped working. We were as alone as the people we were sent to help. We set up a makeshift base of operations on the edge of town. We split into smaller groups, took turns going out and trying to help however we could, but fewer and fewer of us came back.”

  “When we woke up for our shift one day and the previous group hadn’t returned, we knew it was the end,” Johns said.

  “The end?” Max said.

  “Of the world. Of life as we know it,” Ortiz said. “There was no more law. There were no more orders. We couldn’t even find anyone to save anymore. Suddenly, it was just the three of us, and the hundreds of thousands of them.”

  “We did all we could, then we just got out of there,” Johns said. “Soon after, we found you.”

  “Who’s left?” Max asked.

  “The three of us,” Lou said. “You. Others, I’d hope. I haven’t seen anyone else since we did our sweeps, but I hope they’re out there.” There was a silence. Max tried to soak it all in. Then, he stood up.

  “We have to find someone! We have to fix it!”

  The soldiers just looked at him.

  “Come on! What are you waiting for? You’re the bravest of the brave! Get up, do something! What about your families? What about Americans? What about the President?”

  “The President’s dead,” Lou said.

  Max sat back down and grew very quiet. Then he began to cry. The reality of the situation came rushing to him all at once. He missed his family, he wanted them with him.

  Lou got up sat next to him. Max felt embarrassed, and he expected Lou or the other soldiers to make him stop crying, give him some speech about being a man, or being a soldier. But nobody said a word. They just waited until he was done.

  “I’m sorry,” Max said, finally.

  “Hey, man,” Johns said, “we all have our scars.”

  “I’ll give you this one,” Lou said. “Maybe a few more. But if you’re going to stay with us, you’re going to have to learn from us.”

  “Why would I stay with you? I need to find my family.”

  “Kid, they’re—” Lou said, but Ortiz stopped him with his eyes.

  “Look,” Ortiz said, “we don’t know where your family is. And we don’t know of any safe place. You’re the first survivor we’ve found since we left Arcadia Heights. So, at least for the time being, you’re going to have to stick with us.”

  After some time, Max said, “Where are
we going?” The soldiers looked at each other.

  “We’re not even sure,” Johns said. “For a while, we were just driving around, taking out as many as we could. We have no commanding officer. There’s no more commander-in-chief. I guess finding you kind of snapped us out of our funk.”

  “So… I guess we’ll have to try to find more survivors,” Ortiz said.

  “There has to be some place for survivors to go,” Lou said. “I heard some towns set up safe zones.”

  “Yeah, I heard that, too,” Johns said. “I heard some football stadium in Washington was set up for survivors. I also heard it all went to shit, there.”

  “We have to find some way of getting survivors to some place we can keep safe,” Ortiz said.

  “I’m not sure there is any place we can keep safe,” Lou replied.

  “The middle of nowhere,” Max said. The soldiers looked at him. “If we find some place away from the cities, it’ll be safer. It’ll be harder for people to get to, but in the long run, it’ll be safer. At least for a little while.”

  “The kid’s got a point,” Johns said.

  “Not bad thinking,” Lou said. “But where?”

  “There’s a community college nearby,” Johns said. “It ain’t exactly Buttfuck Nowhere, but it’s away from the city.”

  “So we get to the community college, clear it out, barricade it off,” Ortiz said. “How do we get people to go there without attracting the zombies?”

  “Radio?” Max said.

  “No good,” Lou said. “Like we said, radio went out. It never came back. We’re mute.”

  “So there isn’t any form of communication?”

  “Only the one God gave us,” Lou said.

  “You’re wrong,” Ortiz said. He walked over to the Humvee and pulled a bag out of the back. He brought it to the circle and opened it up.

  “Ortiz, you’re a genius,” Lou said. Max looked inside the bag. There were a few dozen cans of spray paint.

  “Graffiti?” Max said.

  “We’ll tag up the city,” Ortiz said. “Put directions up all over.”

  “I think we officially have a plan,” Lou said. “We’ll head for the college tomorrow. You know the way?”

  “I can get us there, yeah,” Johns said. “But that means…” He looked at Max.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, all right?”

  Max thought it was a bit strange, but he didn’t push the soldier further.

  As their talk strayed from the plan to everyday chatter, Max’s thoughts shifted back to his family. He didn’t want everyone to see him crying again, but he wasn’t sure if he could hold back the tears. He returned to his sleeping bag and faded from the waking world to the sound of soldiers laughing, the warm glow of the fire pit, and the taste of salt on his face.

  ****

  When Max woke up, the soldiers were getting ready to leave.

  “Are we ready?” Max said.

  “Yeah,” Ortiz said. “We need you to do something.”

  “Normally, I’m out here, running the gun,” Johns said.

  “But he’ll be giving me directions to the college,” Lou said.

  “And we figured it would be a good time to start training you,” Ortiz said.

  “We want you to man the minigun,” Johns said.

  Max stood there a moment. “Why can’t you do it?” he asked Ortiz.

  “I could,” Ortiz replied. “But like we said, if you’re going to be with us, you’re going to need to be one of us.”

  “You’ve gotta learn this sometime, kid,” Johns said.

  Max looked at the gun mounted on the Humvee. “Okay. Show me what to do.”

  ****

  Max was strapped into a chair. His feet barely touched the ground, just enough for him to be able to turn the minigun. There were two handles, and a small button he could reach with his thumb would fire the gun. It seemed simple enough.

  “I’ll keep you loaded,” Ortiz said. “I’ll also cover you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Johns asked.

  “Yeah,” Max said. He was nowhere near ready, but he thought he never would be. It wasn’t a long drive, and Ortiz would be there to take control if anything went wrong, but Max couldn’t help feeling nervous.

  “Hang on tight!” Lou said. The engine revved, and they were off.

  For the first few minutes, it was mostly trees and dirt road. Max felt like he was going to throw up (the fact that he was sitting atop a car and moving backward didn’t help), but he was trying his hardest to keep himself composed.

  They got out of the woods and onto the highway. The Humvee went slower as it weaved around groups of stopped vehicles.

  Then the first zombies showed up. They were able to run, and they appeared to be moving in groups. They took notice of the Humvee, and most of them headed for it.

  “What are you waiting for?” Ortiz said. Max pointed the minigun at an approaching group of zombies and pushed the button.

  The closest thing he could relate the feeling to was that of a lawnmower. His hands vibrated wildly, so much that he could barely see if he was hitting anything. Sure enough, the zombies fell in rows, also like mowing the lawn. This thought had a calming effect on him.

  Just mowing the lawn, Max. That’s all this is, just mowing the lawn.

  The minigun stopped firing. The zombies faded from view, but Max didn’t see any actually give up running. They just got farther and farther away.

  “Hang on,” Ortiz said. He reloaded the minigun, then tapped on the top of it.

  Max started firing again. The Humvee swerved, and so did Max. The bullets went off toward nothing, and Max forced himself to let go of the trigger.

  They took an exit and headed through a residential area. They were moving much slower. Max figured he was probably wasting hundreds of bullets, firing at least fifty for every zombie, but he had no way of knowing and Ortiz wasn’t telling him to stop, so he continued.

  As the Humvee slowed to navigate the streets, the zombies were getting much closer. Max fired away, and Ortiz took out his own gun and started shooting. The Humvee came to a near stop to squeeze between two cars, and a zombie climbed onto the back of it. Max pointed the minigun down at the zombie, but couldn’t reach. He hopped up and pushed the trigger. A flurry of bullets entered the zombie’s back, red mist sprayed into the air, and the zombie screeched and fell into the street.

  Another zombie leaped onto the side of the Humvee, behind Max. Max started to turn, but was restrained by the minigun.

  “I got it, keep shooting!” Ortiz said. He shot the zombie as it was struggling to get a better hold, and it fell away. Max focused on the road, he had to trust Ortiz to watch his back. Max kept firing.

  The Humvee entered an area with more trees and fewer houses. There were also far fewer zombies. Ortiz took care of most of the stragglers.

  Finally, the Humvee came to a halt. Max struggled to see what was going on. Ortiz noticed this, and turned to him. “We’re at the school.” He helped Max unstrap from the gunner seat.

  Max climbed out and saw a sprawling campus with several buildings. There were a few zombies afoot as well.

  “You did a great job, Greenwald,” Johns said as he hopped out of the Humvee. Lou was already out, and he tossed Max an assault rifle, which Max barely caught.

  “But the party’s just getting started,” Lou said.

  37

  In Al and Ruth’s House

  Angus sat in his warm woolen bed, licking himself by the fire. The flames danced, warming the people and the dog on this strangely chilly summer day. Angus stopped licking when he heard a slight tapping from a room somewhere in the back. His pointy ears twitched, and he cocked his head to the right. The tapping repeated, and Angus shot out a bark, jumped up, and scampered down the hall.

  “What’s that dog up to?” Al said. He stood up from the worn leather couch. Across from him a
nd Ruth sat Fred and Sarah. Fred took the pipe from his mouth and set it in the ashtray on the end table.

  “Not too sure,” he said. “I’m going to take a peek real fast, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” Al said.

  Fred stood up and headed for the shotgun he’d left on the long, narrow table in the hall. He picked it up, cocked it, then headed after Angus. The hardwood floor below creaked with every step Fred took. Angus was madly pawing at a brown, peeling door.

  When Fred arrived, Angus stopped pawing and looked up as if to say Do you hear that? Let’s go check it out! He turned his attention back to the door and hunkered down, pressing his snout against the bottom, almost as if he were trying to get under it. Fred chuckled at Angus’s vigor, and turned the knob. Angus pushed against the door and practically leaped into the room. His ninety-pound frame shot like a bullet to the cushioned seat in front of the window.

  Like most of the ones that faced the back yard with its high fence, the window was not barred. For safe measure, there was a thick blanket over the window. Fred moved the blanket out of the way. The sound that had spurred Angus from his tongue-bath was nothing more than a branch of a small flowering tree tapping against the glass. Angus barked once at it.

  Fred rested an aged hand on Angus’s back and whispered, “Quiet boy. It’s only a branch. It’s those things beyond the fence we need to worry about.”

  A big, sloppy, wet tongue hung from Angus’s jaws; the dog panted and attacked him with a hug. Fred laughed, and patted Angus.

  Sara stood up as Fred entered the living room, weapon in hand, loyal friend at his side.

  “Angus just heard a branch tapping the window in that room back there, nothing to worry about.” Fred set his weapon against the wall and rubbed between Angus’s ears. Angus’s tail thumped against the floor as he wagged it. “Just a tree, isn’t that right, boy? Just a tree!”

  “Are you sure there was nothing else?” Sara asked.