Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory

by Cotton, Daniel

  12

  As instructed, Vida puts on her armor after making sure she used the bathroom first. There wasn’t much need, since her nerves haven’t allowed her to take in any food or drink since last night.

  The recruits must meet behind the store in the motor pool in full gear, with the exception of their helmets. With her roll of duct tape in one hand and her helmet in the other, she walks slowly, as if heading for execution.

  She is the first to arrive, other than Brass and Lady Luck, who both stand by the Gunship. Brass is in his armor, but curiously Lady Luck is not. She wears a one piece flight suit. The beige coveralls match the bus she leans on, and they’ve clearly been altered by her own hand. The waist has been taken in to accentuate her curves. She has it partially unzipped to reveal her cleavage. Ringlets fall from within the brown leather aviator helmet she wears.

  Abby emerges from the store’s back door with several men in tow, all dressed as Vida and all looking as nervous. She wonders if they are thinking the same thing she is, What the hell am I doing?

  She nods to her fellow recruits and to Abby as they line up and are told to put their helmets on. Vida stares at hers for a moment before doing so. Once she squeezes her head into the confining gear, there’s no turning back. She wishes Gabe had been awake this morning to try talking her out of it again. He may have succeeded this time. But her name scrawled in white above the face shield steels her conviction.

  “Morning, baby girl.” Lady Luck smiles once Vida has adorned her helmet. She takes the roll of tape and begins to wrap Vida’s ankles.

  As instructed, Vida tucked her pant legs into her boots before tying them tight. Where her pants meet the tops of her boots is sealed with a thick layer of grey tape. Her waist is next, and then her wrists where her cuffs overlap her gloves. Finally, the helmet itself is secured. The faceplate is sealed around the edges, then Lady Luck fishes a series of small chains from inside Vida’s blouse to attach to the helmet and prevent removal.

  “Can everybody hear me?” Brass asks the assembled volunteers. He receives a nod from all five. “Good. Thank you for volunteering. We can always use help out there. Today will be the hardest day of training. Do not feel bad if you don’t wish to continue after today. A lot of people opt out after the introduction. There’s no shame in it. We have many jobs that also need to be done, and we can find a more suitable use of your time.”

  He does sound different, Vida thinks. She recalls Abby’s discretion regarding Brass and his mood swings. This morning he was morose and his voice held such deep sadness. Now he’s downright chipper.

  Dissecting Brass’s tone has caused her to miss a few of his words. She focuses on the instructions being issued, “…let’s do it, then! Everyone on the bus!”

  “Just relax,” Lady Luck whispers to Vida as they head for the double decker. “Day one is the hardest, but it’s also the shortest. Just be yourself.”

  Many seats have been removed from the Gunship to make room for olive crates of ammo. It was too dark the night she rode in it to see she had actually been sitting upon the wooden boxes, the lids of which have been padded with upholstery that matches the remaining bolted benches. Vida surmises that the upper deck has been modified similarly as she looks out through the barred windows between two unmanned machine guns. She recalls the day she had to wield such firepower to cover Brad.

  Lady Luck drives the Gunship out through the simple maze. The .50 caliber weapons swing with every turn as if phantoms control of them. On the main street of Rubicon, they take a right and head through the devastated town. For the recruits, this is the first time they’ve gone beyond the walls since arriving.

  Some areas of Ruby haven’t been leveled in the name of protection. One street is blocked off and marked as ‘off-limits.’ Down the main drag, heavy artillery is positioned. Here, soldiers from camp walk along and in and out of the businesses. Each wears a different degree of protective gear, and some are as padded as Vida is, while others are completely exposed in civilian attire. Lady Luck had said it’s up to the individual’s confidence as to how much they wear, and how close they plan on getting to the dead. The armed figures wave to the bus as it cruises out of town.

  ###

  “Welcome to Jasper,” Brass says as the bus enters a new town, a bit smaller than Rubicon but with the same show of force. Ruby soldiers walk the streets. “Jasper is our nearest neighbor and one of our outposts. We keep it open for training purposes.”

  Another shift in tone has turned him from ‘downright chipper’ to a no nonsense drill instructor. He walks down the center aisle of the bus, his hands going from one vertical bar to the next to maintain his balance. The bus turns into a chain linked area that surrounds a high school. Vida can tell many of the fences have been erected after the plague struck. Their placements would make no practical sense before. The lot is enclosed, and the walls of crisscrossing steel wire prevent access to the sidewalks and roads that lead around the building.

  They come to a stop at the front door. The recruits follow Brass and Abby off. Lady Luck remains behind the wheel with her feet up, filing her nails. “Have fun kids,” she says as they disembark, without looking up from her cuticles.

  Through a set of glass doors and down dim halls, the five recruits follow Brass and Abby. Vida can’t believe how similar this school is to her old one, and it gives her a sense of misplaced deja vu. Not only does her mind play tricks on her, her bladder does as well. She nervously travels through the halls, wishing for another bathroom break. She and the other recruits jump at shadows.

  They come to a halt near the back of the building, outside the gym doors. A banner announcing a dance hangs above the entrance--Jasper High’s Peach Harvest Festival. Vida stares up at the bold, glittering words and tries to make sense of them. Gabe and her were picking peaches months ago. She has to assume the decoration was added by Brass’s army after the plague.

  “Who’s ready to party?” Brass asks, as he pushes the double doors open wide.

  The seven enter an empty gym and proceed to the half-court circle. Only the court is lit from the lights above, leaving heavy curtains of shadow along the walls. Above them, between the wide lights, jerseys of alumni hang from the rafters, along with banners depicting stats and records that, like the trophies displayed in the hall, are no longer relevant.

  “Welcome to Zombie Prom!” Brass says.

  Music issues from the gloom, light and slow. The tune builds as a door clangs opposite from where the recruits entered.

  “This is a test of confidence--in yourself, in your armor, in us. You must trust that we won’t allow any harm to come to you. Why else would we put you in the armor? More importantly, this is a test of how well you stand up under pressure.”

  His voice drifts farther and farther away until Vida and the others are left alone in the middle of the gym. Daylight spills in from an outer entrance and moaning figures enter, drawn to the sounds of life.

  “You are not to fight them. Just go with it. Anyone who can’t handle this can head for the bus now. For those who can, find a partner,” Brass calls from the shroud of darkness. “Let’s see how well you dance with the dead. 5,6,7,8!”

  Peaceful chamber music shifts into a fast paced techno beat as the zombies draw closer. The recruits brace themselves, with the exception of one who bolts for the door. Vida finds it hard to breathe in her helmet, but she’s happy to wear it when one of her fellow recruits is taken down by a pair of corpses.

  A cadaver in overalls approaches. He reaches for her, but she counters, seizing his forearms and locking on to his stiff limbs.

  “Good, Vida! Don’t fight him. Let that good ole boy lead,” Brass says. “Malcolm, don’t be a wallflower!” he tells another recruit who backs away from an undead woman that’s zeroed in. “The moment that pretty thing set her eyes on you it was love at first sight. Don’t go breaking her heart.”

  “Learn how they move,” Brass instructs his group as the zombies manhandle them.<
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  Vida keeps her partner at bay, circling the floor with him. The dead man’s face is a mess. His lips are tattered rags of flesh that wiggle as he attempts to lean close enough to bite her. Vida gets the hang of it until another recruit bails and his zombie comes at her.

  These two ghouls overpower Vida and she hits the floor hard. The dead wrench and roll her in their frantic search for flesh. Their jaws clamp around her arm, an ankle, and one nuzzles her neck like a lover.

  The three remaining recruits also fall to the floor as they battle with corpses, but the harder they fight the less headway they gain. Helmets are repeatedly cracked against the hard floor as they gasp for breath. Their suits of armor are saturated with sweat.

  Brass and Abby watch and wait.

  “This part of training always reminds me of those dancing shows on TV,” Abby says.

  “Gross! Reality shows were the worst!” Brass says. “I remember when television was about rich people we could look up to, instead of the spoiled, useless offspring of the wealthy, or the skid marks of society that we made into false idols. All of ’em airing their filthy laundry on camera. I’m glad it ended.”

  “You know, you can’t make progress if you’re always looking back.”

  “The hell I can’t. Way I see it, we’re all hurtling blindly into the future. So I might as well enjoy the view.”

  A calm settles at half-court as the three recruits stop resisting the zombies and play dead themselves. The corpses lose interest in the motionless masses and search for the voices in the dark.

  “Back to one!” Brass calls out.

  Soldiers emerge from dark corners with long pool cleaning nets. They are the chaperones to the dance. These handlers capture the dead and escort most off the premises, leaving three. The three are held at bay so the recruits can get to their feet.

  “Good work!” Brass’s voice cuts in over the techno loop that fades out and changes to a slower, more danceable song. “Let’s go again. This time really dance with them. I want you to make me think you’re in love while still respecting the six-inch rule. 5,6,7,8.”

  The zombies are released, free to track the wobbly legged recruits that remain in the center circle. Uneasy footing aside, the remaining pupils find a partner for the slow song. The music reminds Vida of her fifteenth birthday, her quinceanera. As with the tradition of her culture, she became a woman at this elegant ball. She remembers feeling like a princess that night. She reflects back to the dances, waltzing with her father, grandfather, relatives and friends, as she takes the cold hands coming at her. Vida is more relaxed now than during the first onslaught, when heart beat so fast she thought it might explode through her chest.

  “That’s the spirit, Vida!” Brass sounds elated as his voice overpowers the gentle music.

  She holds her dead partner back so he bites only air. Every jolt of his body, every twist he attempts, is countered. She gracefully moves them over the painted lines and boot scuffs on the gym floor, letting her clumsy suitor lead. The other pupils follow her example, taking their living dead partners for a twirl.

  “Good work, Malcolm! You too, Kickapoo!” Brass says. “Oh, Kick, you may want to change your alias… You don’t need to take the name of your hometown like they do in the movies.”

  Abby says something to Brass that distracts him.

  “…I’m just offering him some advice,” Brass says. “Yeah, it’s his choice, but it’s a horrible name. Oh! Look what you made me say!” Brass realizes these private thoughts are amplified over the speakers. “No, Abby, you’re a child!”

  The couples are allowed to waltz for a while as these recruits move with the advances of the dead rather than against them. A macabre spectacle results as the mismatched pairs rotate within the circle of light.

  Brass wipes a tear from his eye. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”

  “We should wrap this up,” Abby says.

  ###

  Back on the bus, the recruits are sent to the top level with Abby so Brass can console those who quit. They sit in the back in the bottom section, looking sullen. Brass never knows what he’s in for when he has these talks. Sometimes he is met with anger. People accuse him of hazing or being sadistic. The farther he walks down the bus aisle, the heavier the air feels. Brass gets a taste for the tension and realizes the anger these two hold is directed at themselves.

  “I’m sorry,” one of them apologizes. The other nods in agreement, unable to form words.

  “For what? You tried, we learned your limitations, and there’s always next time, right? We have other soldiering jobs: wall archers and snipers. Some of our outposts are completely contained so they don’t require the full training. We just can’t in good conscience send you out with a group. That’s all.” Brass sits next to them and signals Lady Luck to take the group back to Ruby.

  “I think I’d like to be a wall archer,” one of the men says. “I’ve always liked bow hunting.”

  “There’s another job you can do! Just don’t mix your hunting arrows with your zombie killing arrows, ’kay? Keep it kosher.”

  “Would it cause the change?”

  “Fucked if I know. I just think it’s gross.”

  While Brass does his best to cheer the pair with his humor, Abby helps the others out of their helmets so they can get some air. He lets the lessons they have learned sink in as he slowly unwraps thick layers of duct tape. The biggest lesson is the simplest to grasp, even without words: never abandon the team. The first to bug out left the numbers skewed in favor of the dead. The second’s departure lead to Vida’s downfall. A corpse left stag will just seek another partner.

  The wind cools Vida’s skin, and she smiles as her wrappings are unraveled. Abby checks various points on the armor and she realizes he’s inspecting for openings and the possibility of bites.

  “Nice work today. Pick up new tops, bottoms, and gloves before you head home, guys,” Abby says. “Bring these back to the armory to be cleaned. At this point, people sometimes decorate their helmets. There are art supplies in the market.”

  The three have a lot to be proud of after passing the first stage of training.

  On the way in and out of the school, Vida glimpsed a clock on the wall. What felt like an eternal dance with the dead hadn’t even lasted a full two hours. She and the others stink of their corpse partners, and she’s eager to change out of her camouflage uniform that’s smeared with bodily fluids and scraps of skin. Now exhausted, her muscles twitch from the intense workout. She doubts she’ll bother to paint her helmet tonight and just get some rest for tomorrow.

  13

  Waking to an alarm is a hard thing to get used to again. Vida arises with a groan, moving despite her stiff joints and soreness. Parts of her hurt that she wouldn’t have expected, since she spent most of yesterday’s training on the floor being mauled. She sits on the edge of her bed, preparing for the agony of heading to the kitchen for a breakfast of coffee and Motrin.

  Standing inflames her inner thighs, and it takes time to straighten her back but she forces herself. During the lesson, her body had reacted instinctively to protect itself, countering every twist and fighting for freedom. As she heads down the hall, Vida takes comfort in the fact she was told the first day is the hardest. Slow calculated steps are taken to minimize the burning every muscle contraction creates.

  “Good morning,” a voice greets her in the dining area, which is adjoined to the living room of her trailer. The quick look up to see Gabe at the table aggravates her neck. She expected him to be asleep this early in the morning.

  “Morning,” she says with a smile as she continues to the coffee pot, where her bottle of pain relief waits. She returned yesterday and found Gabe wasn’t home, so she laid down to rest and the next thing she knew her alarm went off.

  After she swallows her pills and prepares coffee, he asks, “Harder than you thought?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Today should be better.”

  “So, you’re going to continue?�
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  “Yup, I got through the hardest part. I even think I learned a few things.”

  “I do wish you’d reconsider. There are other ways to help out around here.”

  “This is what I want. I’ll be fine.” She touches his hand. “It’s all about teamwork. As long as the group stands their ground, there’s no way to get hurt out there.”

  ###

  “The armor you wear is bite and blade proof, but it is not bulletproof,” Brass tells the three recruits in the armory. They stand amid the weapons in full gear, except for their helmets and tape. “We can add Kevlar plates to reduce the risk of getting shot, but they aren’t always effective. A straight shot can penetrate it.”

  “Who would shoot at us?” the newbie formerly known as Kickapoo asks. The helmet he holds under his arm is painted blue with white lettering across the back.

  Before answering, Brass points to the headgear, indicating he wants to see the new name the recruit chose. “Player 1!” he reads with delight. “Like a video game. I love it! Much better, very clever. To answer your question, Player 1, other survivors.”

  He doesn’t go into detail about who these survivors are or why they’d open fire upon the people of Rubicon. Before they can question further, Brass moves on.

  “Who has taken out a zombie?” Brass waits to see who raises their hand.

  Player 1 readily admits to the act, while Malcolm shifts uncomfortably on his moleskin bandaged feet. Obviously his inexperience embarrasses him to the point he wishes he could just lie.

  “It will surprise you to know that quite a few folks have survived the apocalypse without taking down a single zombie, so don’t feel bad if you haven’t. That changes today.” Brass gives Malcolm a nod of assurance, and then another of approval over his helmet’s paintjob--a storm of blue lightning bolts along the crest.