In the Lone and Level Sands

by David Lovato

Jordan opened the fridge and found the meatloaf his mother had made the night everything had changed. It was hardly touched. What was left was huge, more than enough to feed the six survivors. Jordan pulled it out and turned to the others as they finished unloading the Ferrington baskets.

  “How does meatloaf for dinner sound?”

  “Damn,” Christian said. “That looks good enough to eat! Sure beats sandwiches.”

  “Heat that baby up!” Aiden said.

  “I thought you’d approve,” Jordan replied. He unwrapped the meatloaf, took it off the plate it was on, and placed it in a pan. He preheated the oven, then went to the fridge for some ketchup. After he added some more to the top of the meatloaf, he placed their dinner inside the oven.

  When it was finished, everyone ate in the kitchen with the light on; they had nailed a thick comforter up over the French doors. Ashley was sitting close to Jordan. Christian sat where Jordan’s father normally would, and Jordan hoped his parents were okay.

  He put an arm around Ashley and hugged her against his side. He noticed Alex’s arm resting on the table as he gulped down some of his pop. Two rubber bracelets hung on his wrist. One was lined with green 1-Up Mushrooms, the other was white and in big block letters read: FNP.

  “Hey, Alex,” Jordan said.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s that bracelet mean? ‘FNP’?”

  “Oh, the letters stand for ‘Free Norman Peters’.”

  “Who’s that?” Ashley asked.

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “You had to have heard about the guy who was thrown in prison a while back for voodoo.”

  “Nope, never heard of that,” Jordan said.

  “Sounds like horseshit to me,” Christian said.

  “You don’t think people get put away unfairly?” Alex asked.

  “No, I didn’t say that, did I? Look, I know people get locked up without much cause. I know better than any of you, but this voodoo crap you mentioned? That’s all kinds of kooky, and I’m having myself a meatloaf while people out there are going batshit crazy and eating each other.”

  “I’m just saying what I’ve heard,” Alex said. “I didn’t know anything until a friend of mine made me aware of the situation anyway. His name’s Jonathan David. I knew him for a few years, but only on the internet. He’s been running this blog, freenormanpeters.wordpress.com. It was dedicated to this guy. JD worked on it for a while, trying to clear Norman’s name. I wish I could show it to you. I was actually working with JD, trying to help his cause. I wonder how he’s doing now.”

  “Well, whoever his judge was, or jury for that matter,” Evelyn said, “they must have been borrowed from the local loony bin.”

  “It’s funny actually. Norman apparently confessed. It wasn’t necessary. It doesn’t make sense. I just want to know why he’d confess.”

  “Well, maybe he wasn’t innocent,” Jordan said. “Who’s to say the guy didn’t just dump gasoline on those victims?”

  Alex shook his head. “There’s no way.”

  “How’s that?” Aiden said.

  “Kid, you seem just a bit conflicted,” Christian said. “You on this Norman guy’s side, or not?” Alex looked away, took a bite of his meatloaf.

  “Look, honestly, I don’t know what to believe anymore. I’ve read some pretty convincing shit in the past. Like voodoo zombies—”

  “Oh, now are you going to tell us those things out there are caused by a curse?” Christian said.

  “I was just going to say that was how real zombies were created, but they were nothing like this. They were mindless and used for labor by witch doctors or whatever. They were harmless. I don’t know if I believe it or not, but look at what we’ve got. Norman is put away for voodoo and then eight years later, we have zombies.”

  “Of all the cockamamie!” Christian’s cheeks were a brilliant shade of red. “Those things aren’t so harmless! I’m not drinking this damn Kool-Aid, kid. I’m telling you, this is crazy shit! There are no such things as curses. If I were to believe that, I might as well give ol’ Saint Nick a ring!” Christian made a phone receiver with his thumb and pinky, then he picked up his coffee and slurped the rest.

  “Well, how do you think they got here?”

  “Don’t know, don’t exactly care. Those things out there are real, and whatever makes ‘em tick is real, but frankly, doesn’t matter. What matters is how we deal with them. What matters is survival.”

  “My Aunt Flora would tell me about all the Egyptian curses that were said to fall on thieves for grave-robbing,” Evelyn said. “It’s all just silly, really. The ‘curse’ was either the guilt of stealing, or more likely just some story to discourage people from doing it. But I can tell you, some of the things she told me convinced me never to steal.” She chuckled.

  “What about the things you took from the Ferrington?” Jordan said with a smirk.

  “You got me there. But before that, I’ve never stolen.”

  “Don’t worry Evvy, I’ll protect you from any ‘curses’,” Christian said. He laughed.

  “Thanks.” Evelyn laughed as well.

  Conversation took a dive back to less heated waters after that. Pretty soon, Christian yawned, stood up, and went to clean his plate.

  “I’m sorry that I got all in your face earlier,” he said to Alex. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “It’s fine. You’re right. We need to worry more about what’s going on, not something we’ll probably never get the answer to.”

  “You know,” Jordan said, “I wouldn’t mind checking out that website anyway. I bet I still have internet. Want to show it to me?”

  “Sure,” Alex said.

  “After that, can I check my Facebook?” Ashley asked.

  “Yeah, me too,” Aiden said.

  “Sure, if it works,” Jordan replied. The teens all headed off. Christian smiled, and he and Evelyn gathered the plates from the table.

  “Are you going to go check it out with them?” she asked.

  “Nah. Never got too far into that internet business. Besides, I don’t know about you, but I think I’m gonna hit the hay. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days.”

  ****

  That night, Jordan was the only one who found himself unable to sleep. He and Ashley were lying in the bed in his room. Ashley was fast asleep. After a good half hour of no luck, Jordan climbed out of bed and headed to the living room. They hadn’t seen any zombies when they arrived, and he wanted fresh air, so he armed himself, then opened the sliding back door.

  The night air was surprisingly cool for June. It was not quite eleven when he sat on a chair outside. He leaned his head back and looked up at the night sky. No stars were visible, just heavy cloud cover. The moon was only there for a moment. Soon, it was enveloped by the clouds. Like dark gluttonous demons, they devoured it whole.

  Jordan sat alone at the table on the deck for almost ten minutes. Around him, the world was still. It wasn’t long until his eyelids grew heavy, and they shut for a moment. Open again, then shut. Then, Jordan heard Ashley’s voice.

  “Jordan, wake up! What are you doing out here?”

  Jordan’s eyes sprung open and saw the glass table before him. It was still night. He flipped around.

  “Wha… Oh, shit. I didn’t want to fall asleep out here.”

  “Yeah,” Ashley said. “It’s not like you’re in danger, or anything.”

  “Hey, why don’t you sit down for a minute or two?” Jordan said. “It’s really nice out here.”

  “Only for a minute, and then it’s time to go back inside.”

  “Okay.” They sat for a few moments in silence, and then Jordan broke it. “The air feels different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just different. Hard to explain.” Jordan paused, trying to piece his thoughts together properly. “I’m glad I’m alive. I never really have thought about it, but I’m lucky to be alive, we all are.”

  “That’s true,” Ashley said. “An
d we are lucky to be together.”

  “Definitely!”

  They hugged and then headed inside, to bed.

  ****

  The morning swept the night away, and not surprising to Jordan, the heavy clouds had given way to a storm. Jordan was on the window side of his mattress, the blanket partially covering his legs, not even reaching his torso. He sat up, stretching his arms. The blinds were drawn. He peeked through them, seeing the familiar branch of the big oak tree just outside his window. Water glistened on the leaves. He looked at the clock across the room and saw that it was nearly nine. Ashley was still sleeping. He decided not to wake her, but he wondered if the others were up.

  Jordan took a leak, then pulled a shirt over his white tank, put some deodorant on, and headed downstairs. Christian sat at the kitchen table, right where he’d been sitting the night before. He didn’t notice Jordan at first. When he did, he was startled.

  “Oh, shit!” He said. He nearly spilled his coffee, but as soon as it was stable, he laughed. “Don’t go sneakin’ up on me like that!”

  Jordan chuckled. “Sorry. What’s up?”

  “Just drinking my coffee. Well, your dad’s coffee. He’s got good taste. Mmm… hazelnut. The morning beverage of champions.”

  “He always did like that one the best,” Jordan said. “You know something?”

  “What’s that, Jordan?”

  “You’re a good guy.”

  “Well, thanks. Where’s this coming from?” Christian laughed once more, and rubbed the stubble on his cheek with the heel of his hand.

  “I don’t know, I mean, seeing you in the store, you seemed pretty cool, but I never really knew you. It’s just interesting how it takes a disaster to really know a guy. Not in a million years would I have imagined having you stay at my house.”

  “Funny how things work out, ain’t it?” Christian said. “You know, I couldn’t ask to be stuck with a better bunch here.”

  The rest of the group eventually came into the kitchen and joined them at the table. Ashley was the last to come down. Evelyn volunteered to make pancakes. The survivors sat around, stuffing their faces in enjoyment.

  “Really good, Evelyn!” Jordan said with a full mouth. There was resounding agreement, and Evelyn smiled, dripping some syrup over her stack.

  “I’m glad you all like them,” she said.

  They finished breakfast, but pretty soon, it was almost eleven in the morning. The rain had stopped long before, the day was getting away from them, and they needed to head to the safe zone in Big Springs. Everyone cleaned up, gathered the things they wanted to take, and set it all in the living room.

  “My dad left the keys to the Jeep,” Jordan said. “Christian, you can drive if you want.”

  “Good deal!” Christian said. He snatched the keys up in his hand.

  “You can just follow us, and we should be good.”

  Christian nodded. “So, who’s ridin’ with me?” Evelyn volunteered. Alex, Aiden, and Ashley went with Jordan. They all headed for the door, ready for the long ride to Big Springs, Kansas. Jordan felt a sick to his stomach for a moment, and he cringed.

  “You okay?” Ashley said.

  “Yeah, I’m just… excited is all. Worried, but excited.”

  62

  On the Fourth of July

  The sun was beginning to set. The sky was a light blue near the horizon, and across the vast space, on the other horizon, it was already black.

  “This would be so much easier if we had radios,” Lou said.

  They had already established that the four of them would have to split up. Some would be a few miles away with the flares, and at least one would need to remain at the school to usher in survivors.

  Max was surprised at what they had done to the school. The first wall had been set up, though he didn’t imagine the plywood was strong enough. Still, they weren’t expecting many zombies to head for the school, and if all went well, most of the zombies in the city would be dead by morning. In addition to taking the following weeks to fortify the walls better, they’d have more manpower and far fewer threats.

  The tornado shelter had been set up with cots, blankets, clothes, food, and water, with extras in every building. Max hoped they could establish some sense of order early on; he hoped there would be no stealing, no violence. This was, after all, meant to be a residence, not a place to pass through.

  There was one gap in the plywood, a makeshift gate also made of plywood. On this, big red arrows had been painted. At least there wouldn’t be much confusion. Still, Max wondered if one soldier could get the people inside to listen and remain calm.

  What surprised him the most, however, was the speed at which they had built it. He could remember setting up some of the plywood, he could remember target practice, he could remember a few of the outings he had gone on to gather supplies. And he didn’t feel nearly as exhausted as he had expected.

  “So,” Johns said, dropping a large duffel bag onto the Humvee, “who’s staying behind?”

  “You are,” Ortiz said. In the driver’s seat, Lou scratched his scrubby chin.

  “Won’t we need a sniper?” Max said.

  “Here.” Johns tossed a familiar briefcase to Max. “Have fun.”

  Max looked at the soldiers to see if they were serious. When none of them laughed, he started to sweat. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ortiz said. “You’ll do fine. You probably won’t be sniping much, anyway. Maybe a bit at first, but we’re inviting hell to our doorstep, here. We’re going to be sticking to the big guns, mostly.”

  For a moment, Max said nothing.

  “Greenwald. Please.”

  “Okay,” Max said. His words were like magic, just saying them made him feel up to the task.

  After they were done packing the Humvee, they sped off down the road. Max saw many of the signs and arrows they had painted, some warning to ignore the flares and follow the arrows. He hoped this would work. He hoped that his family was still alive, that they’d see the flares and the signs and come back into his life. He choked the feeling down; he knew he’d need to concentrate on reality.

  About two miles away, at a local park, most of the flares had already been set up. For kicks, Lou had even brought a box of actual fireworks. These were kept on the playground, behind the small barricades the soldiers had set up for cover. Before this was a grassy field, mostly open, and inclined. The zombies would have to run uphill to get to the soldiers.

  The base of the hill was surrounded by a brick wall. It was only a few feet high, and there were several entrances, but it would provide a lot of help against the oncoming horde, as would the thick woods that surrounded the other three sides of the park.

  Lou drove the Humvee through one of the openings and up the field, parking near the playground. The soldiers took a half hour to set up some mounts and guns, and laid out most of their ammo on the ground behind them, for easy access.

  The sun was almost gone. Finally, after a moment Max partially hoped would never end, Ortiz said, “It’s time.”

  Ortiz and Max stood behind some of the barricades, guns loaded. Lou walked the few yards ahead to where the first row of flares had been placed, lined across the green grass, the black tubes barely visible from where Max stood.

  “The fuses are different lengths,” Ortiz said. “They’ll go off in intervals. And we’ll light them in waves. This could take a while.”

  “Let’s get it done, then,” Max said. Ortiz smiled.

  Max saw the sparks, and then Lou was rushing back up the hill. The first flare went off before he reached the barricades. A bright red ball shot into the sky with a screech, and cast a red light over the trees and the field and the playground, as well as the soldiers. It reminded Max of his family’s Independence Day outings to the park. The flare went higher and higher, hung for a second, then began its slow descent.

  Lou reached the barricades and hopped over one, picked up his gun, turned, and fa
ced the bottom of the hill.

  For a while nothing happened, other than a few other flares going off. Max watched for movement, even checking the trees surrounding them, but those always looked like something was moving in them, so he focused on the bottom of the hill.

  “Here they come,” Ortiz said.

  They were running. Not too swiftly, and their steps were often misplaced and without care, but they were running. One emerged from the road, and then another. Then several more. Then they were an army.

  “We don’t want to waste ammo,” Lou said. “Wait until they get past the wall, at least.”

  “Roger,” Ortiz said. “Greenwald, open fire.”

  Max slung his assault rifle onto his back, then took to the sniper rifle he had mounted on a barricade. He searched down the scope.

  “What are you looking for, a pretty one?” Lou said. “Just shoot the bastards!” Max shot at the first thing he saw moving. Then at the second. Then at anything.

  Shot after shot rang out across the park. The sound was deafening. Max ignored it. The world became nothing more than the glassy, zoomed place through the little metal tube before his eye, and the creatures that fell with every squeeze of his finger.

  Then the shots rang out with a different sound, and Max felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun, but saw only Ortiz. “Switch to assault rifle!”

  Max abandoned the sniper rifle and drew the gun from his back. For the first time, he saw the open field all at once. It was full of swiftly approaching zombies, many of them falling to the grass, some rolling down the hill. Every now and then, another flare went up. One shot off as a zombie passed over it, knocking him down and sending the flare backward, toward the soldiers. It made a horrible screech as it passed, and all three of them instinctively ducked. It went off into the trees.

  Max got back up and started firing. He hardly had to aim; the oncoming crowd was thick and relentless. More approached from the road and from between the houses beyond.

  Lou threw a grenade at a cluster of zombies. There was an explosion of dirt and blood, and several zombies and pieces of zombies went rolling down the hill.