Chapter 7: Bowling for Zed
The walls of the compound don’t look like much through the roving eye of my rifle scope. They are built of logs laid flat and notched like those of a giant log cabin with the bark left on. They look to be about 10 feet high and hastily thrown together. Heavy red wet clay fills some of the gaps between the logs as chinking. The roofs of several buildings that lie within the compound are visible over the tops of the log walls. Across the front is a set of aluminum cattle gates stacked one on top of the other and covered with thin sheet metal. The gate hangs open and swings back and forth slightly in the breeze.
“Knock, knock,” I whisper to myself. “Who’s there?” I answer. Goldilocks walks around the corner of the swinging gate cradling the pump scattergun in her arm. Behind her comes a tall thin man with glasses and long hair. They both look to be in their late twenties, about my age. “Orange,” I say to myself. “Orange who?” They are arguing about something. The man throws his hands open in frustration and talks to the sky. “Orange you the bitch who shot me the other day?”
I am nestled down in the honeysuckle across the road from the compound with my poncho hood up to camouflage my upper body. I’m sitting on an embankment checking things out, trying to decide what to do. I can still hear the gunfire from down the dirt road but things have quieted down considerably. I’m not in so much of a rush but there are bad things coming.
Goldilocks is staring at the ground. The long haired dude has gone back in. I catch a whiff of something cooking. Something with onions and broth, something hot. Hell, it might even have meat in it. Non humanus caro, hopefully.
Goldilocks spins on her heels and charges back into the compound leaving the gate open. I could walk right in, I figure. But considering one of the people inside has already tried to kill me, my arrival might yield a multitude of varying responses. “It doesn’t look like she’s terribly popular anyway.”
I jump as a small spindly maple tree about 20 yards to my left thrashes wildly. I can make out the shape of a Zed heading my way. Fuck it. I jump up from cover on the embankment and leap down across the clogged ditch into the road and make for the gate.
The Zed behind me is tangled in the brush but he’s winded me and starts to let out a long, low moan to call in his millions of friends. I stop at the front gate, swing the Ruger up to my eye and put one neatly through his right cheek. He drops in a heap as I swing the gate shut. I make it a point to not look behind me as I put the crossbar down across the gate and set the sliding bolts into the ground. I’d just as soon not see it coming if someone’s about to unload a round of buckshot into my back.
To my left, a stack of barrels has been set up to collect rainwater. As long as I’m locking the front door, I won’t get shot in the back. Hopefully. Once I’m done though, I’ll be fair game.
As the last long bolt slides downward into a piece of pipe set in the ground, I throw myself backwards in behind the barrels. I half expect a shot to follow my landing but no one shoots at me. I pop the clip on the Ruger and slide another shell in to replace the one I put in the Zed. “Hate to come up one shot short.”
I crouch behind the barrels for a while. And nothing happens. No voices, no footsteps, no shots. I’m vulnerable on two sides so I slide the big .45 out and put it in my left hand. I point it off to one side and the rifle out to the other. I might have only a split second to fire and live if they jump me from both sides at once.
A few feet away, I hear a click. My throat constricts, my breathing stops, my ears strain, and my eyes search the edges of my peripheral vision for the slightest movement. I bring both of my guns up slightly, ready to aerate the first thing that moves. It must have been someone clicking off a safety. Or cocking the hammer of a single action. Or…
I hear another click. And then two more. Something pops like a twig burning in a fire and someone mutters, “Jesus” under his breath. A familiar odor hits my nose but I can’t quite place it.
From only a few feet away, a low calm voice comes from over the barrels, “Hey man, you gonna hang out behind them barrels all day or do you wanna come out and smoke a bowl?” The clicking of the lighter snaps again and more twigs sizzle under a butane flame. “It’s crappy weed,” the voice tells me with held breath, “but we got a lot of it.” The skunk bud fumes roll over the top of me in an exhaled cloud.
I get up on my knees and turn to face the direction of the voice. I lean the rifle against a barrel and rise slowly with the big .45 leading the way. A broad man, almost Samoan looking with his dark complexion and wild wavy black hair stands with a pipe to his lips. He’s wearing a grey and black checked flannel shirt, jeans and work boots. He’s a few years older than I am, probably in his early thirties. A rifle is slung across his back and a machete hangs from his belt in a homemade sheath fashioned out of cardboard and duct tape. He smiles as he takes the pipe away from his lips. “Man, put that thing away. Tyler’s gonna freak out and…” a coughing fit interrupts his warning. I look behind him into the compound but I don’t see anyone else.
As the man coughs, I lower my pistol. As I do, an arrow falls from the sky spinning end over end. It clatters down on the rain barrels with all of the force it might have had it been thrown overhanded by an eight year old.
The large man in front of me stops coughing and shakes his head as he rolls his eyes. “That one ain’t right,” he says and points his thumb towards the house. “That’s Tyler. Boy ain’t got the sense God gave a sack of lettuce. Smarter’n all hell but just… ain’t got no sense,” he shrugs with a quiet laugh. “I’m Kevin,”
I holster the .45 and shake his hand, “I’m Billy.”
“Betty and Daisy are around here somewhere,” Kevin says as he pokes at the marijuana pipe with the end of his thumb. “And I hear you already met Karen.”
I rub my shoulder as I answer, “Yeah. She introduced herself the other day.” The light brown fabric of my jacket is torn and bloody.
“Yeah,” Kevin says. “She’s a little fucked up in the head, I reckon.” He looks at me and smiles, his eyes are completely bloodshot. “But I guess we’re all a little messed up these days.”
I walk back to the barrels and pick up my rifle. “Karen, huh? Didn’t get her name the other day. Seems like a bit of a misnomer. Seems like she might be the antithesis of caring.”
“That or just the antichrist,” Kevin says as he loads a fresh bowl into the pipe. “You wanna little… medicinal marijuana for your shoulder?”
“Nah,” I wave away his offer. “I sure could go for a cigarette if you got one though.”
He lights the bowl and takes another deep drag. “Nope,” he says holding the smoke in, “ain’t got no cigarettes. Tons of shitty dope though. You can smoke this shit all day and not get a buzz. Here.”
I take the pipe and lighter from his hand. “Well, hell,” Kevin says in a long drawl. We walk toward the gate. A scaffold is set up next to the wall, just beside the gate. As he climbs the ladder to look over the side, he turns to me and says, “Thanks for lock’n the front door. Can’t seem to impress upon some of the folks round here that they need to shut the goddamned gate behind them. It’s like raise’n a buncha goddamned kids half the time.”
I follow him up the ladder. The log wall hits about waist high as we look over the side. A shuffler is banging on the front gate. “Watch this,” Kevin says and whistles to the Zed. “Come’er, mellon head.” As the Zed moves to stand below us and howl his displeasure, Kevin reaches into a box sitting on the scaffold and takes out a bowling ball that has been drilled and attached to a length of chain. It is a bright orange kid’s bowling ball, probably only a nine pounder. The chain is attached to a short length of shovel handle forming an odd flail like weapon.
Kevin lets the ball drop over the side of the wall to the end of its chain. “Ever play Whack-a-Mole as a kid?” he asks. I shake my head yes. “This is way funner.” He swings the bowling ball in a full arc and three quarters of the way through the swing, he straighten
s his arm and bends over, bringing the ball through at high speed. The orange globe squares the Zed in the left ear, knocking him motionless to the ground.
“If you don’t put some oomph behind it, it just knocks them out for a little bit. But if you really crank on it, you can pretty much scramble everything above the eyebrows.”
“Bowling for Zed,” I say as I fire up the pipe.
“Bowling for Zed,” Kevin repeats. I don’t know him from Adam. He could be sucking me into a trap, keeping me still for a sniper shot… anything. But there’s a great calm around the big man. His flannel shirt flaps around in the light breeze along with the black wavy hair. On the makeshift machete scabbard are written the words, “Pig Sticker”. Everything feels relaxed and low stress. I guess if I’m going to buy it today, there are worse ways to go.
“I thought I smelled something cooking earlier. I’d be happy to trade some intel for some grub.”
“Intel?” he repeats as he pulls the ball up and drops it in the box. “What? About the shoot’n up the road? We already know a little about them guys.”
“I know a lot. Not about those guys, though. More about what’s coming. And when.”
“Yeah, well… hell. We’ll feed ya regardless. We brought some stuff, found some stuff. I think the girls are make’n some kind of soup. Tyler managed to kill a groundhog or someth’n in some kinda… Wile E Coyote live trap he made. But yeah man, we’ll eat.”
I look over the side of the wall an exhale. “Think you could do me one more favor?”
Kevin laughs and looks out over the road leading into the compound. “You can sort that psycho bitch out yourself.”
“Fair enough,” I smile and pass him back the pipe. “As long as I’m not stepping on anyone else’s toes.”
“Sheeeit,” Kevin says as we climb off the scaffold, “I’m surprised my old lady hasn’t knocked the shit out of her yet. You just don’t fuck with Betty.”
“I’ll keep that in mind too.”
The long haired guy I saw earlier, presumably Tyler, is standing at the door to the house smiling as Kevin and I approach. He’s holding another long arrow fashioned on to some kind of short wooden handle. “It was your lucky day,” he says as we enter the house. “I was hitting targets all day yesterday with this atlatl. You must have protection from high up.”
I let Kevin move up in front of me. “If I do have an angel,” I tell Tyler. “Ten bucks says she’s red with black wings and talons.”
Karen emerges from behind Tyler and fixes me with a stare that could punch holes through leather. She pushes past us without saying a word.
“But what could you do with ten dollars now?” Tyler asks. “Money is worthless. I mean, if you’re going to bet, we could bet like, a million dollars. And it’d be worth the same as ten dollars. In fact, a good roll of double-layered, quilted toilet paper would be worth as much as a million dollars. Unless of course, the million was in small denomination bills in which case you’d technically have more to wipe your ass with than you would a single roll of toilet paper. Although, there again, I’m not sure how well money would work on ass wiping. The double-layered quilted stuff…”
“Tyler,” Kevin snaps and holds up his hand. “Jesus Harold Christ, man.” Tyler stops talking and smiles broadly. His glasses are thick and his beard is spotty and uneven. He’s wearing a Ramones t-shirt and a wristwatch with a dozen different knobs and buttons. “This is Billy. Billy… Tyler.”
I watch Karen cross the courtyard to one of the outbuildings. She walks without looking back but knows that I am watching. Her head is held ever so slightly too high and her shoulders look uncomfortably thrown back. Her hips sway from side to side slightly as she moves.
“Butter,” Tyler says.
“Butter?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Tyler giggles, “you butter you brought’er.” He laughs at his own joke with a bobbing head and short gasping snorts.
I look at Kevin. Kevin shrugs. “I don’t know man. All I know is… Let’s go smoke some more.”
Karen disappears into an outbuilding. A soaking rain begins to fall as another Zed bangs on the thin metal covering the front gate. In the distance, the occasional shot still rings out. The smell of soup and weed and warmth and life comes from the house. As I enter the house, I see a small spider building his web in the corner of the door frame. I stop and watch it busily building his trap. “Hello, my little friend,” I say aloud. I make my thumb and index finger into a gun and point it at the spider. The spider stops. “Bang,” I say softly and smile. The spider leaves a single strand of silk behind him as he drops from the web to escape. I enter the house to have dinner with my new acquaintances.
Chapter 8: Pray After You Eat
“You want seconds?” Kevin asks from across the table. He is already lighting up a bowl. “Plenty of it, man. Might as well eat while ya can. May not have a goddamned thing for supper tomorrow.” He laughs a low throaty giggle before sucking another hit off the small brass pipe. “Hell, may not be a tomorrow.”
The first bowl of soup and rice had gone down fast. The ground hog had been poorly cooked and the little dark clumps of meat were tough as shoe leather. The bones had been boiled into a watery broth and seasoned with too much black pepper and some fairly raw wild onions. But I still can’t remember the last time I ate something hot and salty and flavorful and delicious. My stomach gurgles as the food fast tracks through my body.
“Yeah, I think I will. Thanks,” I say as I dish more rice into my bowl.
“Why the fuck are we feeding this guy?” the skinny blonde woman at the end of the table asks. This is Betty.
I look at Kevin as I reach for the soup ladle. “Don’t worry bout it, man,” he says in a long exhale of skunk. “She just takes a while to warm up to people.”
I look over at Betty who is staring me down with the craziest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Her long blonde hair is brushed and worn loose. It is much longer than Karen’s and somewhat wavy. The hint of an incredible body suggests itself from beneath her jacket. I return her stare with no emotion. I give her nothing to push against. Instead, I meet her head on in the void with a heart full of apathy. Her eyes shift away for a nanosecond. I let my own gaze fall away in victory. “Give me that fucking pipe,” she snaps to Kevin.
He is in mid-toke. Without missing a beat, he continues his inhale while shooting a sideways glance back at her. “Woman…” he croaks while holding his breath.
“I want some fucking chocolate,” the dark haired woman at the end of the table says in a long dreamy voice. This is Daisy. She has the beauty to match Betty but seemingly none of the hatred. They both look young but at least 21. She’s rolling some weed into a spliff using a piece of newspaper. Tyler moves over slightly and tries awkwardly to put his arm around her. She throws his hand off with a shrug, “I didn’t say I wanted you crawling all over me. I said I wanted some goddamned motherfucking chocolate.”
Tyler puts his hand back in his lap as he smiles and shrugs. Daisy smiles across the table to Betty who winks back at her. Daisy’s eyes are green and hints of purple streak through her dark brown hair.
Karen sits next to Kevin caddy corner from me. She sits hunched over with her shoulders drawn in. She stares into the glass of water in front of her. She is a million miles away from this place.
Betty looks at her and flicks her tongue in the air. She turns back to Daisy and smiles and winks again. Daisy holds up her badly rolled joint and shrugs.
“So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” Tyler beams at me. “Did you live around here or did you get stuck here like us?”
I shovel in another mouthful of soup. “Stuck,” I say and swallow. “I was trying to get out West when I heard what was coming.”
“West from where?” Tyler asks.
I look around at my fellow diners. Even Karen is listening. “East of here,” I say and take another bite of soup.
Daisy rolls her eyes and lets her hands land on the table with a thud. “
No shit.” She turns the badly rolled joint over and over in her hands. Both she and Betty are hard around the edges. They have an air of jail and plastic surgery. They must be strippers. “Where’d you guys come from?”
“I’s over in Louisville,” Kevin yawns and leans back in his chair. “Went to the titty bars. My buddy Travis and me. Little smoke, little coke, go over and watch the girls here work.” Kevin smiles at Betty who gives him the finger. Kevin ignores her and continues. “Travis went outside to get something out of the van, came back in with this big bite on his shoulder. Said some big tall skinny guy just walked up and bit him.” Kevin looks around the table. Everyone is listening yet reliving their own story at the same time. “We was all gettin geared up to go outside and kick sumbuddies ass and trying to bandage him up and call the ambulance and the next thing you know man, Travis passes out cold. Just hits the floor like a sack of hammers. I took his pulse man, he was dead. It was some weird fuckin shit. Everybody was freak’n out, some dude put the television behind the bar on and there was nothin. No color bars, no emergency shit, it was just… fuck’n gone.”
“It couldn’t happen at the beginning of a shift,” Betty says. “I work my ass off all goddamn afternoon for money that’s worthless now.”
Kevin ignores her. “So man, you know… we go to call the fucking pigs to tell them what’s going on and the phones don’t work. Cell signals are gone too. We’re like, ‘what the hell?’ You know, we might as well have been on the fuck’n moon. We figure it was some kind of fuck up from the tsunami but everything was working just after it… last time I looked anyway.”
“It was already bad on the East Coast,” Tyler chimes in. “They knew what was happening. They figured there was no chance of containment so they decided to fuck everybody over. The rich people took off to wherever with as much stuff as they could carry. It’s easier to escape if there’s no general panic and people blocking the roads.”
The Zed Files Trilogy (Book 1): The Hanging Tree Page 5
