World Memorial

by Robert R. Best

  He fell backward in the snow, not sure if he should try to slow his fall or speed it up. He tried to steer his descent to angle out of the path of the bus. It was inches to his left, not nearly far enough away. For the first time in a long time, Park felt panic.

  He hit a bump in the ground and skidded to his left, into the path of the bus. He clawed at the snow, trying to change his path. He couldn't. He was falling too fast. He knew the bottom of the hill was rushing up behind him, but didn’t know how much further it was. He didn't dare look. Didn't dare take his eyes off the bus crashing toward him. Dead children pawed at the glass in the back window.

  Park hit a second, much bigger bump in the ground. He vaulted off it, flying through the air before his feet caught in the snow and he crashed onto his back. There was no time to get out of the way. He braced for impact as the bus sped toward him.

  The bus rammed into the bump that had sent Park flying. It stopped with a shudder, sending a mound of snow onto Park. He hurriedly brushed it away, sitting up as he clawed snow from his face.

  The bus was still, caught on the bump a few feet away. The children pressed up against the back window, still clawing at him.

  He heard a crack and knew he had to move. He started to roll as the window gave way, sending glass shards into the snow around him.

  Groaning, the dead children fell from the window, crashing into him as he tried to scramble out of the way. They groaned and pawed at his back, running their dead frozen fingers over his clothes. They grasped at his hair, trying to pull him into their waiting mouths.

  "Fucking kids," said Park, grunting as he tried to twist away from them. He kept from being bitten, but was unable to get out from under them. They groaned and clutched at him.

  The ground shifted above him. The bus groaned, scraping on the snow.

  Park dug his hands into the snow and pushed up as hard as he could, flipping onto his back. He children underneath him groaned and let go as he slammed down onto them.

  Above him, the bus gave way and fell. Snow rushed toward him.

  He spun out of the way as the bus slammed down onto the children, inches from him. He lay on his stomach, panting in the snow, for several moments. The bus was balanced on its back behind him, creaking and groaning. He looked over his shoulder and saw it tipping toward him.

  "Oh for the sake of ever-loving fuck," said Park. There was no time to get to his feet. He rolled over twice, landing on his stomach as the bus crashed down next to him.

  He lay there, panting hard, his heart thudding in his chest. He was too out of shape for this. Years of drinking and doing as little as possible had taken a toll. He breathed the bitter air in and out as deeply as he could stand.

  He heard a scraping next to him and turned to look. Behind one of the cracked bus windows, the dead driver clawed at him. His dead fingers scraped along the glass, leaving bits of frozen flesh in their path.

  "Go fuck yourself," said Park. Then he passed out.

  Four

  Four

  Maylee drew her coat around her, surveying World Memorial. Her mother had left her in charge, and she didn't feel right just going back to the house to escape the cold. She supposed she should be doing something, but for the life of her didn't know what. Life on the Guard was simple. Even life leading the Guard was simple. They either looked for threats or responded to them, and tried to keep danger as far away from the walls as possible. But managing things inside, even for a day, was something her mother did.

  And only at this moment did Maylee realize she had no idea what that entailed.

  The sun had come out, warming things slightly but not enough. Still, several people had ventured out of their rough homes lining the town square. They talked to each other or worked on reinforcing the structures they lived in. Some glanced to her and Maylee nodded back a greeting.

  She supposed the big event of the last few days was the arrival of another child. She guessed she should check on the children, see how the new arrival was doing. She turned, adjusting her bat on her back, and headed for the house.

  She had taken a few steps in the snow when she heard movement to her right. Carly stood in the doorway of the camper she lived in, clipboard in hand.

  "Hey Maylee?" she called out.

  Maylee stopped and turned to face her. "Yes?"

  "Could you come here a second? I need to ask you some questions about the food supply."

  Maylee shrugged. "I guess so."

  "It'll just be a moment," said Carly. Her reddish-brown hair was pulled back with a strip of cloth that had been re-purposed into a headband. She looked tired and annoyed.

  "Fine, fine," said Maylee, stepping over to the camper. It was the camper Carly and Elton had arrived at World Memorial in. None of the rest of Carly’s family had made it.

  Carly stepped back inside, leaving the door open. Maylee climbed up the flimsy metal step that led inside. The camper swayed under her weight, correcting as she stepped inside.

  She shut the door and before she could finish turning around, Carly had grabbed her. They kissed. Carly's lips were warm in the cold air of the camper. Maylee kissed her back greedily. She let Carly's lips and breath warm her for a few more seconds before pushing gently away.

  "I can't right now," she said, shaking her head but smiling. "I have important things to do."

  "What kind of things?" said Carly, leaning in close.

  Maylee put her forehead to Carly's. "I don't know. Important being-in-charge things. I can't screw things up for my mom. She doesn't even know about this. So how would it look if this caused me to miss something going on out there?"

  "She'll only be gone for a half-day, tops," said Carly, her eyes glittering from what little light came through the camper's dirty windows. "And what in the world can happen in that short a time?"

  Just then, a scream erupted from outside.

  * * *

  Angie climbed out of the truck and shut the door. A wall of junk and barbed wire stood before her. Old West's house sat on the other side, the roof visible from the road. The home itself was small, but a huge collection of vehicles, farm machinery and a hundred things Angie couldn't identify surrounded it. Worn and tangled barbed wire was strung across any gaps in the metal. The whole setup looked like a rusty fortress.

  High up on the house was a small window, probably looking out from an attic. She saw a figure sitting behind it, looking down at her. She waved up at it.

  The figure tilted its head at her and moved away from the window.

  Angie leaned against the truck and waited. Dunwoody and Walsh climbed out and stood idly in the snow. Angie drew her coat around her, shifting her weight off of her bad ankle.

  After a moment, the mass of rust and wire creaked and shifted. One section came apart from another and suddenly there was an opening. Small, but enough to get through. Angie pushed herself off the truck and stepped inside, followed by Dunwoody and Walsh.

  A small old man stood on the other side. West was his last name, but the only name Angie knew him by. He was wrinkled beyond any discernible age, his skin weathered and heavily creased. He moved slowly but Angie knew he could move quickly if he wanted. She also knew he had more muscle than one would think. He was wearing a battered ball cap. Whatever logo had once graced it was long faded. Angie suspected he slept in the cap.

  "Well now," he said, slowly walking back toward the house. He started up the steps, expertly navigating a path through the mounds of rusted junk covering them, and turned to face her. "What you be needing today, Angela?"

  "Oh you know," said Angie, walking across the lawn. "A little of this, a little of that."

  "Junk?" said West. "Or information?"

  "Both, actually."

  West shrugged, adjusting his ball cap as the two of them neared each other. "Well, I suppose I got plenty of the one. Not sure how much help I can be on the other."

  A distant moan rang out across the wind. Angie turned to look.

  "We got one," said W
alsh. He pointed across West's yard and through the small opening in the wall. A corpse stumbled in the field across the road.

  Walsh unslung his rifle and steadied himself. He pointed and fired. A puff of snow exploded next to the corpse's feet. The corpse kept coming.

  "One second," said Walsh, repositioning the rifle. He looked down it for several seconds, aiming. He fired again. A second puff of snow rose up next to the corpse, this time on the other side.

  West sighed. "Shit, son, you're making me cry." He pulled a large handgun from the back pocket of his worn and dirty jeans. The barrel was so long Angie wondered how he walked with the thing. He leveled it at the corpse and fired. The gunshot was loud and Angie winced.

  The corpse jerked backward, black muck flying out from the back of the its head, spreading out across the white snow. The corpse fell over backward and was still.

  West spit to one side and stuck the gun back into his pocket.

  Angie turned back to face him. She smiled, her ears still ringing from West's shot.

  "Now then," said West, hitching up his pants and adjusting his belt. "Where were we?"

  * * *

  Maylee flung open the camper door and ran out into the snow, Carly right behind her. They both almost collided with Dalton. Maylee slid a few inches in the snow before coming to a halt.

  "What are you doing out here?" said Maylee. Her cheeks were hot and she could still taste Carly.

  Dalton eyed her quizzically. "Looking for you. Something got in!"

  "Shit," said Maylee. She loosened the belt across her chest and slid the bat from her back. "Corpse or animal?"

  "Don't know yet," said Dalton. He pulled a large tire iron from the bumper of the camper.

  More screaming rang out from somewhere among the buildings to Maylee's right.

  "You guys stay here," she said, running toward where she guessed the sound had come from. Dalton ran behind her.

  "What where you doing in Carly and Elton's camper?" asked Dalton.

  "What?" she said, looking back at him as they ran. "Nothing. Mind your own damn business."

  "What's your problem?"

  "I said to stay there!"

  Dalton snorted. "Oh I'm sorry. I forgot you were the boss of me."

  Maylee stopped, turning to face him. Dalton skidded to a halt. "Mom left me in charge," Maylee said.

  "So tell on me when she gets back."

  "Dalton, I'm the adult here."

  "Just barely."

  Something crashed behind Maylee. Metal hitting metal. She pointed her bat at him and backed away.

  "Quit distracting me!" she yelled, turning and running. A quick glance back told her Dalton was staying put.

  She rounded a tower of rusty barrels and skidded to a stop. She whipped her head from side to side, trying to remember where the scream had come from. A trailer stood a few feet from her, with a narrow path through the buildings leading off to her left.

  The scream came again, from inside the trailer. A young woman named Rhia lived there. Rhia was kind and deserved better than what the end of the world had done to her. She'd come to World Memorial after losing her child to a mob of corpses that ripped his throat out in front of her. She and Mikella cared for the children in the house. Maylee recognized the screaming voice as Rhia’s.

  Maylee ran for the trailer, taking the metal steps in one bound. She slid to a stop on the porch, her momentum carrying her inside. She stopped when her snow-slick boots hit the carpet.

  It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Rhia was struggling with a corpse, a skinny man with a deep wound in his throat. Frozen blood caked his chest. He leaned into her face and bit into her cheek. She shrieked as the man tore a strip of flesh free. He pulled back, fresh blood coating his face. He groaned and chewed, and .

  "Shit!" said Maylee, rushing over with her bat ready.

  Rhia screamed again, pushing the corpse away with one hand and covering her wound with the other. Bright red blood pulsed past her fingers.

  "Shit shit shit," said Maylee. She brought her bat up over her head and slammed down into the corpse's skull. One of the nails in the bat thudded into the corpse's head. Maylee wrenched the bat back toward herself, twisting her wrist as she did. The corpse's skull split and a chunk of brain came free. He jerked and collapsed, scattering Rhia's meager possessions as he fell. Blood and gore covered everything nearby.

  "No no no no!" said Rhia, backing up and clutching her face.

  More screams came from outside, sharp but muffled by the walls of the trailer. Maylee looked at Rhia. Rhia stared back, her hand over the bloody cheek. Her eyes screamed shock and fear. Not like this, her eyes said. Not like this.

  "I'm sorry," said Maylee.

  The screams came again. Maylee turned and ducked back outside. She whipped her gaze everywhere at once, landing on an old woman, her white hair jutting out in frozen grey shocks. Her shirt was torn open and several deep gouges ran through her frozen and sagging breasts. She jerked and hissed. She hadn't seen Maylee and was rounding the corner, heading down the narrow path. Several people screamed and scrambled out of the way.

  A guard named Rooney rushed from between two large metal bins, pulling his rifle from his shoulder.

  "There!" yelled Maylee, pointing at the woman. Rooney rushed for the woman, cocking his rifle.

  Dalton rushed into view brandishing the tire iron. His eyes were fixed on the corpse and he rushed blindly past Rooney.

  "I got it!" yelled Dalton, headed for the corpse.

  "Dalton!" yelled Maylee. "What the fuck? Keep out of this!" She jumped from the trailer's stoop and rushed toward the old woman, bat ready.

  "Oh no!" said Rhia from the trailer behind her. "Oh please no!"

  "Rooney!" yelled Maylee as she ran. "Drop the chains! Keep it here!"

  Rooney changed directions without slowing down. He rushed to a lever that was set between two old shacks. He took one hand off his rifle and grabbed the lever. He wrenched downward.

  With a groan and a clatter, a thick curtain of rusted chains dropped from a long battered metal box hanging between two buildings. The chain dropped in front of the staggering corpse, blocking her way. The corpse stopped, confused. She clawed at the chains and groaned.

  "I've got you!" yelled Dalton, racing up behind the corpse.

  The corpse heard Dalton and turned. She groaned at him, deep cracks flexing in her frozen cheeks.

  A shot rang out from somewhere, echoing around the metal buildings. The woman jerked as a hole appeared in her cheek. Several guards, guns out and ready, rushed into view. One was cocking his rifle and preparing to fire again. Dalton and Maylee were still rushing toward the corpse.

  A guard knelt, aiming more carefully this time. A quick glance told Maylee he was oblivious to Dalton, who was about to rush into the path of the shot. The woman hissed and groaned, reaching for Dalton as he drew near.

  "Dammit to hell, Dalton!" yelled Maylee. She dove for his ankles, dropping her bat as she slammed into the ground. She caught his feet and he fell forward just as the crack of the rifle split the air.

  "Ow!" yelled Dalton as he crashed into the snow. "Shit, Maylee!"

  The old woman collapsed to the ground inches from them, sliding down the chains. A hole in her forehead oozed thick black liquid.

  "That was almost you, dumbass," said Maylee, letting go of Dalton and climbing to her feet.

  "You don't know that," said Dalton, standing and sullenly brushing snow from his chest.

  Maylee retrieved her bat. Guards stood around the area, looking about with rifles ready. Several nodded to Maylee.

  Rhia stepped out onto her stoop, looking around, dazed. "No no no," she whimpered, clutching her cheek. Blood oozed past her hand. She looked at Maylee, pale and terrified.

  Carly ran in from between two shacks, eyes wide. She stopped, looking first at Rhia, then the chain curtain and the corpse. "What the hell happened?"

  "For fuck's sake," said Maylee, looking at
Dalton and Carly. "Don't either of you listen?"

  A scream rang out from beyond a nearby tin shack.

  "Great," said Maylee, running toward the sound and gesturing for the other guards to follow her. "What now?"

  * * *

  "Medical equipment, you say?" said West, leading Angie into the house. She stepped inside, leaving the door open for the two guards behind her.

  West's house was dimly lit and packed floor to ceiling with stuff. Stuff was the only name Angie could give it. Empty bottles, knives, TV sets, radios, figurines, books - everywhere she looked there were a hundred things arranged seemingly at random. Paths were cleared throughout it all, and West navigated them as if the room was empty.

  Angie blinked in the darkness. She heard the two guards walk in behind her and swing the door shut. The door blocked out the cold but made it darker.

  "If you have it," she said. "Nothing too fancy, just some basic stuff."

  "Well, frankly I can't be sure what all I have anymore," said West, chuckling in the near-dark.

  Angie was certain this was a lie. She believed he had the whole mess catalogued and organized in his weathered brain.

  "Still, though," said West, "let's see what I got."

  West stepped further into the room, looking through mounds and stacks of things Angie couldn't distinguish in the dim light. Angie wondered how West could.

  "Just a bunch of bullshit out here," West muttered. "Let’s see what we got in the dining room."

  He moved further into the shadows, presumably toward the kitchen. Angie couldn't remember. The few times she'd been in West's house it was a blur of junk and shadows that somehow ended with her leaving with supplies.

  Angie looked back to the two guards behind her. Walsh looked nervous, scanning the dimly lit room. "To the dining room, I guess," she said.

  Dunwoody grunted his assent.

  Angie followed West's dark form out of the room and into the next. This room was darker and seemed even more densely packed. Dark towers of junk loomed over her.