World Memorial

by Robert R. Best

  Park scratched at his beard, looking as though he was considering something. "The other one. Beulah. She got to a point she couldn't cross, too."

  "Was it here?"

  Park shrugged. "That, or damned close." He thought more. "In fact, she said she'd done it."

  "Hmmm?"

  He scratched his beard again. "Beulah said she'd done something so the other one couldn't come in, but it also keeps her out."

  Dalton walked up and looked down with them.

  Angie thought for a second. "Everyone dig," she said.

  She worked down to her knees as best she could. Park and Dalton followed. The remaining guards came over and joined in, all of them digging in the snow.

  After a few moments of digging, Angie found something. A thin line dug in the dirt under the snow. She pulled the snow further back, ignoring the cold.

  "Found something," called Dalton.

  "Same here," said Park.

  Angie sat back on her heels and looked down. A narrow moat was dug into the ground, so narrow a person could step right on it and never know it was there. It ran clear across the area she, Dalton and Park had dug.

  It was filled with blood. Flowing, red blood. It wasn't frozen, it wasn't clotted. It flowed freely, filling the narrow moat.

  "Wow," said Dalton.

  "Huh," said Park.

  "How did this get here?" Angie asked.

  "Beulah said she put it here," said Park.

  Angie stood, balancing on her cane. "You think this goes all the way around the town?"

  "Make sense if it did," said Park, standing up next to her.

  Angie nodded. “Yeah, it would.”

  Dalton stood. "Who's do you think it is?"

  "Beulah's," said Angie.

  "Think so?" said Park.

  "Just guessing. She said she put it here. Whose else would it be?"

  "Shouldn't it have congealed by now?" asked Dalton.

  Angie nodded. "Another reason to think it's from one of those two. I don't know what they are, but they aren't human."

  "I can't believe any of this shit," said Park.

  "Yet there it is," said Angie.

  Angie stared down at the moat of blood a moment longer. "Get Dr. Graham. He'll want to see this."

  Sixteen

  Maylee stood in the room she’d shared with her mom and brother for the past few years, the heart of what she’d come to know as home. But she was done. No more. She wrenched things from her portion of the dresser and shoved them into a large bag. Every now and then she felt tears coming. She hated that, and cursed herself for being weepy.

  There was a knock at the door. She considered ignoring it. She grabbed more clothes and shoved them in the bag.

  The knock came again. She sighed, set the bag on the bed and walked to the door. She opened it.

  Carly stood there, about to knock again. She dropped her hand.

  "What?" said Maylee, keeping her voice as flat as she could.

  "Can I come in?"

  "If you want," said Maylee, stepping away from the door and heading back to the bed. She grabbed the bag and continued packing.

  Carly entered the room and scanned it nervously, like she was trying to work up the courage to speak.

  Maylee wanted to scream at her, but kept her voice even. "You shouldn't have come here. Everyone in this house saw it, and they'll tell your grandpa."

  "Maylee..." she started.

  Maylee cut her off, looking up from her packing. "Oh wait, that's right, you already told him!"

  For a few seconds they looked at each other in silence. Seeing Carly's eyes full-on softened her resolve. She looked away, steeling herself. She resumed packing.

  Carly seemed to notice Maylee’s actions for the first time. "What are you doing?"

  "Leaving."

  Carly stepped closer to the bed. "What?"

  "I'm leaving, Carly," said Maylee, trying to fit a second pair of boots into the bag.

  "In the middle of everything that's going on?"

  Maylee dropped the bag and looked up at her. "Don't you dare, Carly! Don't you fucking dare try to guilt me! I have seen more and done more than you ever fucking will. And I'm sick of it. I'm fucking sick of being the one who has to see and do the awful fucking shit!"

  "Maylee...."

  "Just shut up," said Maylee, looking back to her bag and trying to shove the boots inside. She'd fit a few food items in the bottom of the bag earlier. She scanned the clothes she'd put inside. She sighed, pulled some out, and shoved the boots in their place.

  For a few seconds both she and Carly were silent. Maylee rolled up the shirts she'd pulled out and shoved them in the openings of the boots.

  Finally, Maylee spoke, softer than before. "You shouldn't have told him."

  "I'm sorry," said Carly. "I thought it was time. I was ready and—"

  Maylee pulled the drawstring on the bag, closing it. "I wasn't ready! Does that mean anything?"

  "Maylee..."

  "Shut up. Just shut up," said Maylee. She slung the bag over her shoulder and stomped to the door. She opened it and paused, looked out into the hallway. She could feel Carly behind her, still near the bed. She wanted to turn back. She didn't.

  "But I love you," said Carly behind her.

  Maylee said nothing for a few moments. She looked down, then back up at the door.

  "Try to keep your mouth shut long enough for me to get out of town," she said and left, slamming the door behind her.

  * * *

  Angie looked through the microscope she'd gotten from West. The wind blew outside the medical shed. She blinked at the magnified slide, wondering what she was seeing.

  "I'm not sure what I'm looking at," she said, trying to remember what little she'd picked up as a nurse's aide all those years ago. She'd always meant to get more training.

  "That's just it," said Dr. Graham.

  Angie pulled away from the microscope to look at him. Park stood in a corner, his arms crossed. Dalton sat on a stool in front of the workbench.

  "That's just what?"

  "It looks like normal blood, doesn't it?" he said.

  "So far as I know. I emptied bedpans, remember?"

  "Surely they taught how blood looks under a microscope in high school?"

  "Believe it or not," said Angie, "no."

  "At any rate, every test I've run on it makes it seem like perfectly normal human blood."

  "There must be an ‘except’ coming," said Angie.

  "There is," said Dr. Graham, pawing through piles around his workstation. "I’ve got something else to show you. Where did I put it?"

  Dalton looked at Dr. Graham from his stool. "Is the blood anything like mine?"

  "Hmmm?" he said absently. "Oh, you mean with the corpse saliva. Yes and no. It is also immune to the effects, but more completely." He kept looking through the clutter.

  "Meaning?" Angie prodded.

  "Meaning the saliva does absolutely nothing to it," he said. "Ah, here we go." He reached into a drawer and pulled out a piece of cardboard with a streak of red across it.

  Angie leaned forward to inspect it. "And what is this?"

  "This," said Dr. Graham, "is a card I smeared with the blood hours ago. Notice anything about it?"

  "It's still wet," said Dalton.

  "Precisely, my dear boy," said Dr. Graham "You're so smart. Are you aware how smart your son is, Ms. Land?"

  "Yes, he is. But focus, Doctor."

  "Ah, yes," said Dr. Graham. "Any normal blood, even Dalton's here, would have dried on this card long ago. This blood simply refuses to congeal or dry."

  Angie considered this. "It would have to, being in that trench so long."

  "Weird," said Dalton, leaning closer to inspect the card.

  "Oh but wait," said Dr. Graham. "It gets better."

  * * *

  Carly sat on the bed, her insides deflated. The shock of everything that had happened today, the crushing weight of Maylee's anger—it was all too much.
She stared at the floor, wishing she could disappear into it.

  Part of her wished she had never come to World Memorial. That she and her grandfather had just driven on. She thought of those days, the two of them alone on the road. She thought of the camper. The camper she lived in had once been used for vacations. Trips with Elton, back when she was little and the world still worked as it should. Before the dead came groaning from the ground to rip and tear.

  She remembered the day it had started. Carly had been sixteen, nervous and excited to be driving the camper for the first time. Her mother, beautiful and calming, had been sitting in the passenger seat. She had her journal with her, keeping notes. Mom always did that. She recorded everything. When anyone asked her why, she’d say “Someone has to keep track.”

  Elton had been in the back. The camper was his and he loved it. Carly knew he was nervous as he watched her drive. She could tell he was making an effort not to show it. She appreciated that.

  At first she did well, navigating the streets of their town slowly but safely. Houses and well-kept lawns rolled by. A few neighbors even waved, seeing Carly in the driver’s seat and giving her the thumbs up.

  "You're doing well, Carly," said her mother. "And as big as this ridiculous thing is, you should have no problem with the car."

  "This isn't ridiculous," said Elton. "This is a thing of beauty."

  Elton had bought the camper shortly after his wife, Carly's grandmother, had died. The big boxy thing seemed to comfort him.

  "Let's head for the park," said Carly. She meant a small neighborhood park that had been a common playground for her as a child. Driving herself there would make her feel very grown up.

  Her mother considered this. "Okay. But be careful."

  "Always," said Carly, smiling as she turned the large, ungainly steering wheel.

  Her mom smiled back, then looked out the window. It made Carly feel very adult, joking with her mother as she herself drove. She had arrived.

  It happened shortly after they got there. Carly was proud of herself, controlling the camper she had ridden in as a child. The park passed by outside the window. The sun crept across the lake Carly had walked by as a child. Carly looked to her side, watching the sunlight slide along the rippling water. She watched for just a second too long.

  "Whoa!" said Elton.

  Wham! With a horrible grinding, crunching sound, the camper hit a curb. Carly stared through the windshield, shocked. A combination of fear and guilt washed over her.

  She realized her foot was still on the brake. She shifted into park for what seemed like minutes. Everything was in slow motion. She cursed herself for having an accident, and for being such a child in her reaction. Her adultness was instantly gone. Ruined.

  Time returned to normal. "Watch it!" said Elton. Carly winced internally, fighting not to show it. She stared out the window. A light pole was a few feet from the curb she'd hit. If she'd drifted a little further, she would have hit the pole. A man slumped against it, facing away from the van.

  Carly noticed the man hadn't moved the whole time.

  "Everyone stay calm," said Mom, unhooking her seat belt and letting it retract back into the holder. "I'll check it out."

  "It's my camper..." started Elton.

  Mom turned to look at him. "Precisely why you're too wound up to check." She turned back, putting her hand on the door handle. "I'll go see. It's probably nothing."

  Carly stared at the man. He still hadn't moved. "Do…do you think the man's hurt?" Her racing mind searched for ways hitting the curb could make him slump the way he was. He was still. Way too still.

  "Him?" said Mom. "Oh honey, no. You got nowhere near him. The curb saw to that." She smiled wryly. Carly smiled back, feeling slightly better.

  Mom pulled the handle and swung the door open. It creaked slightly. Carly wondered if she'd caused it. She told herself no, it had always done that, and hoped it was true. Mom climbed out and shut the door. She walked to the front and bent over, studying the camper. Elton shifted behind her. Carly could feel the tension coming off him.

  Mom straightened and smiled. "It's fine. No serious damage."

  Relief rushed over Carly. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She sat back in her seat. Outside the van, Mom turned to look at the man slumped against the pole. He still hadn't moved.

  Mom stepped over to the man. He gave no indication he heard. "Are you okay, sir?" said Mom, reaching out to touch his arm.

  The man turned, each step shaky and lurching. Carly gasped, sitting up straighter in her seat. The man's face was in ruins. Large blue-purple gashes ran forehead to chin, dark blood seeping from them. The man's eyes were clouded a milky white.

  "The fuck...?" said Elton. Mom took a step back, her face a mixture of surprise and concern.

  The man moaned, leaning toward Mom. Mom held up her hands defensively. The man's mouth closed on her fingers, biting down hard. Mom screamed as bright red blood ran down her arm.

  "Mom!" yelled Carly.

  Mom wrenched her hand free. Three of her fingers were gone, with only stubs of pulp and bone left. The man groaned and grabbed Mom's shoulders. He pulled her towards him despite her struggles. Mom shrieked as the gash-faced man bit into her neck. Dark red blood shot across the hood.

  Carly would hate herself for what happened next. She wanted to jump from the camper, wanted to rush to her mother and help. But fear froze her to her seat. Later, she would tell herself she was a kid. She was in shock. None of these explanations would matter.

  As she sat there frozen and staring, Elton wrenched open the side door and leapt from the camper.

  Elton ran up the sidewalk, toward Mom and the man. His hand was already in his jean pocket, where Carly knew he had a pistol. He always had that pistol. In Elton's mind the world consisted of roving gangs of hooligans, waiting for a moment to pounce on him and his family.

  He had the pistol out and pointed as he rounded the hood. He fired three shots into the man’s back. The man jerked with each shot, falling off Mom and sliding to the ground. Mom clutched at her throat, thick blood pulsing past her fingers. Her eyes were panicked, desperate. She staggered, falling against the hood.

  Elton ran to her, shoving the gun back into his pocket. He grabbed Mom and held her, clamping his palm over her throat, trying to stop the pulses of red. The blood kept coming, flowing out from the sides of his hand. Mom was pale, ashen, her eyes looking vacantly at the sky. She tried to speak, blood leaking from her mouth. Then she slumped, dead in Elton's arms.

  And Carly could finally move. She opened her door and ran outside, leaving the door open. Elton was crying. Carly had never seen him cry.

  "Mom..." said Carly, slowing as she neared Elton and Mom. Mom's body, she reminded herself. The truth of it was like a punch in the stomach.

  For a moment all was quiet. The shock of what had happened settled around them. Elton stared at Mom and Carly stared at them both.

  Then the man stood back up. Three large holes in his torso showed that Elton's shots had connected, had gone clean through. One of the holes was in the man's chest. Right where the heart should be. And still the man was up and moving. He moaned, reaching for Elton.

  "Grandpa!" yelled Carly.

  Elton turned and saw. He stepped back, letting Mom's body slump against the hood. The man staggered forward, reaching for him. The three holes in his torso oozed black. There was no way the man could be alive. No way, but he was groaning and reaching.

  Elton fumbled in his pocket. He pulled the pistol back out. He fired two more shots at the man. One hit the man in the neck and one punched through his forehead. The man jerked in response to the last shot. He fell to the ground.

  Elton stared at him. "What the ever loving fuck!"

  Mom leaned up from the hood, moaning just like the man had done. Blood leaked from the hole in her neck. It was only a trickle. Her skin was so pale it was almost white. Part of Carly's mind knew she was dead. Clearly dead. The rest o
f her mind didn't care.

  "Mom..." said Carly, moving toward her. Mom lunged at Carly, all empty eyes and gnashing teeth. There was no warmth in her eyes. No recognition.

  Carly held her back as best she could. "Mom, no!" Mom growled at her and bit at the air, straining to reach her.

  Elton turned, his face blank and staring. Then he shook himself out of it. He pointed the gun at Carly’s mother, his daughter, and fired.

  The bullet struck her in the shoulder and she fell back against the hood. Her hands slipped off of Carly and Carly stepped back. Mom flailed on the hood, trying to stand. She reached at Carly and groaned.

  "What the hell is going on!" yelled Carly, stepping back further. She couldn't take her eyes off of her mother.

  Elton ran to her, grabbing her elbow. "We gotta get out of here!"

  "But Mom!" said Carly, pointing at her dead but groaning mother.

  "I don't think that's her anymore," said Elton, in the voice of a man trying to be strong. "Now move! I'm driving."

  They ran to the camper. Elton climbed in the driver’s seat and Carly climbed in the passenger side. They slammed their doors as one. The engine was still running and Elton wrenched the shifter into reverse and sped away from the curb. Mom's body fell to the pavement, her bloody fingers clutching at it. Elton backed up quickly, stopping in the middle of the street. He slammed the shifter to drive and sped away.

  And that's how it started. For month after month, Elton drove the camper and Carly sat in the passenger seat. They tried driving to Carly's home, but the dead were there. They tried driving to Elton's home, but the dead were there. Then they tried anywhere that seemed habitable. The dead were either there or nearly there. Eventually they gave up and just kept driving. They hoarded gas wherever they found it. The camper became a mobile shelter. From outside its moving safety, the dead rose up and ate. The news on the radio became more and more grim. Then there was no radio. Then there were no people at all, only the dead. Then wild animals began attacking. And the weather grew worse and worse. The world descended into chaos.

  And one day, after nearly a year and a half of driving, they found themselves in the woods outside the small town of Lakewood. The town was ruined, torn to pieces and crawling with the dead. The back roads were safer, leading them further and further into the surrounding forests.