by A. R. Wise
“Grab his legs,” said Ben as he gripped the wrists of his dead friend.
This was a bad idea, and I wanted to say something, but I hesitated.
“Can you grab his legs?” asked Ben as he lifted his side, pulling Harrison’s face away from the pavement with a sickening, wet noise. The cavity in the man’s face produced a gush of liquid as his head hung low.
“Ben…” I stood on the other end of his dead friend, but didn’t bend to lift his legs.
Ben glanced over his shoulder at the Greys whose moans we could hear now as they inched ever closer. “Don’t worry about them. We’ve got time.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Everything about this was wrong. We were putting ourselves at risk for no good reason. I’d seen corpses that had been shot in the head still manage to become reanimated because their brain was intact just enough for them to function. I’d watched as massive swathes of this dry countryside burned away after a single spark had ignited what had seemed like an insignificant flame. I’d tried to start my fair share of vehicles that had no good reason to die, only to discover them uselessly clicking away as a mechanism within failed to do its job.
“Fine,” said Ben with as much anger as his weariness allowed him to muster. “I’ll do it myself.” He started to drag Harrison’s body, leaving a streak of red on the grey pavement.
“Ben, stop.” I grabbed his arm as he turned to pass by me.
“What?” He let go of Harrison’s hand and turned on me. His eyes were red and wet, and weariness defined his features. “What is it?”
I ached for him, and I knew where his rage stemmed from. As he stood there glaring at me, I knew exactly how he felt. I walked closer and put my arms around him to pull him into an embrace. He didn’t fight back, and instead put his arm around my back to hold me closer.
“He wouldn’t want us risking our lives like this,” I said as I kept a watchful eye on the horde creeping slowly closer.
“He deserved better than this,” said Ben, his voice strained by sorrow.
“You’re right,” I said as I held him. “But he wouldn’t want this either.”
Ben backed away from my embrace and looked down at the body in the road. “I can’t just leave him here like this.”
“That’s not him anymore, Ben.”
“I know that.” I could see his expression shift between anguish, frustration, and helplessness. “I know, but he…” Ben took his hand away from mine and wiped it across his face in a downward motion, pulling at his cheeks and cleaning away tears. “Back in Juniper he made me help him burn the bodies. He said it was to honor them. You know? As best we could. I just want to…”
“This isn’t how to do it,” I said as I put my hand on the side of his cheek to force him to look at me instead of at the body at our feet. “This isn’t what he’d want.”
“He was…” Ben tried to look down again, but I held his face so that he had to look at me instead. He closed his eyes and said, “He was the only friend I ever had.”
“No, you’re wrong.” I kissed his forehead. “You’re wrong.” I took his hand and led him away, back towards the Jeep.
The horde was falling into the ditch as we got into the Jeep. I took the driver’s seat and waited as Ben got in beside me. I started the Jeep and drove slowly, with Harrison’s corpse to my right. Ben looked down at his friend, and then gazed into the side mirror as we drove away, leaving the dead behind us.
* * *
We weren’t far from Harrison’s water tower when we decided to camp. We’d learned our lesson the night before, and weren’t going to risk waiting too late to find a good spot. Our decision to avoid the normal routes through the area had caused our trip to take far longer than it would normally. Had we stuck to the trade routes that the Rollers had cleared and maintained over the years, this trip would’ve taken less than a day. But we knew that Jerald and his men would be watching those routes, and we didn’t want to risk being caught.
I stuck to the outskirts of the bones of Red day civilization, preferring to keep as much open land in view as possible to avoid getting lost in another labyrinth of suburban streets. When the sun fell behind the mountains, we were already driving up to a lonely farmhouse that we would make our home for the night.
Ben and I explored the house, clearing each room methodically as we went. The quaint farmhouse was a time capsule, subject only to the dust and cobwebs of age. I deduced that the former owners had been old, probably grandparents, and had kept their home impeccably clean. The dishes were dulled by a thick layer of dust as they sat in the dryer rack beside the sink, exactly as they had been the day the apocalypse decimated the world.
I picked up a white coffee cup from the rack and looked at the delicate flower inlay on the side. The waning sunlight came in through the window over the sink to make the silver details sparkle. I could almost imagine this cup sitting atop a dainty white plate, steaming from the coffee or tea within, comforting an old woman on a chilly winter eve as she sat in the rocking chair beside the fire in the living room.
Ben startled me when he said, “Let’s check the stable and the garage.”
I set the cup back down, and it rattled as it spun and settled on the counter.
“The bag we lost last night had most of our tools. Hopefully we can find some here.” Ben was focused on the job of securing the home, and his former depression seemed a distant memory. He apparently saw something concerning in my demeanor as he stopped and asked, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said as I glanced around the kitchen. “It’s just that,” I smiled and shrugged as I tried to explain, “I always dreamed of having a place like this. A little farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. If I’d been alive in the Red days, this is the sort of place I’d want to end up in when I was old. Out here with someone I loved, just watching the sun come up over the fields in the morning, and snuggling up by the fire at night.”
Ben glanced around and nodded as he said, “Sounds like a good life.”
“What about you? If you’d been alive back before the world went to shit, where would you want to live?”
“I never really gave it much thought,” he said as he put his gun in his holster. “I guess I never planned to live long enough to worry about it.”
“Do you think we’ve got a shot at being old and happy?”
He shrugged and said, “We’ve made it this far. We’re doing better than most.” Then he waved me towards the back door. “Come on, let’s go check out the stable.”
I followed him as he went out the back door and down the porch to head out to the nearby stable. The wooden porch had been warped by weather, and had lost whatever color it once had, leaving it grey and splintery. There was a bench for two beside the back door, and the metal arms had rusted years earlier. The yard between the house and the stable had once been grassy, but was now mostly dirt and stones. Round step stones drew a path from the backdoor to the remnants of a wire fence that had been warped by storms and was nearly hidden beneath snakes of dead vines.
Ben followed the stones to the fence’s gate, and then struggled to push it open. He had to take out his knife to cut away the dead vines and pull the gate free. We walked down the slight incline that led to the long, enclosed stable. A wooden fence stretched out behind the stable, covering an impressive space that was meant for horses to wander, but it looked as if a flood had come through here at some point over the past decades, causing debris to press against the fence and warp the posts. The house on the hill behind us hadn’t been damaged this way, which was lucky for us.
The stable door was locked, and we’d lost the tool Ben had used before to break into the last house. This time, a swift kick gained us entry.
Ben went into the inky darkness first, and flicked on his flashlight to look around. It was a basic structure, meant for nothing other than as a home for the horses. To our left were shutters and gates to allow easy access for the animals, and the pens
were on our right. Ben lifted one of the shutters and used a rod to prop it open, bringing in enough light that we didn’t need to waste the flashlight’s batteries.
I walked down the aisle to inspect the pens, and then winced when I saw what was in the third one. A horse’s skeleton was laid out in the hay, a bridle still in its jaw and a rope attached to a nearby post.
“Poor thing,” I said as I imagined the majestic creature starving in here, waiting for its owners to return.
Ben walked past me, headed towards a workbench on the far end of the stable. “Maybe in here,” he said as he pulled an enclosed crate from beneath the bench. He flipped open the latches and lifted the lid of the chest, but then grumbled as he pulled out the contents. “Looks like there’s just a bunch of horse blankets in here.”
Something slipped out of the blanket and thudded on the bottom of the chest. Ben dropped the blanket and reached in to retrieve what had been hidden inside. It was a rectangular box that was wrapped in silver paper, with a sparkling bow and a card. He tore the card off and set it on the bench as he said, “Wonder what this is.”
I picked up the card off the workbench and tore it open as Ben started to unwrap the present. The front of the card featured a smiling old man, his face beset with wrinkles as his eyes squinted. The picture was black and white except for a red rose that the old man was holding. Inside was a simple printed message: ‘Happy Anniversary! From one old fart to another.’
On the opposite panel was a man’s messy handwriting.
My Dearest Andrea,
Can you believe it’s been 49 years? Every single day I count my lucky stars. You’re the light of my life. You gave me three beautiful children, a lifetime of laughs and love, and you don’t even get mad at me when I eat all the devil’s food cookies (sorry about that).
We had a tough couple years, and you gave me the scare of my life, but you made it through all of it. You’re tougher than I ever was. I can’t wait to celebrate a whole bunch more anniversaries with you. Just one more year to 50!
Love you more every day,
Wes
“It’s champagne,” said Ben as he opened the gift. The bottle was in a green box with white flowers that curled around the name, ‘Perrier Jouet.’
“Anniversary gift,” I said as I looked at the delicate wrapping paper that Ben had unceremoniously tossed to the dirty floor. The silver ribbon glimmered even in the dull light that reached this end of the stable.
“Does champagne age like wine does?”
Ben hadn’t read the card, and wasn’t affected by the significance of the gift like I was. The husband must’ve hidden the present away in this crate. I could tell by the home that his wife, Andrea, had been a neat person, and I guessed that Wes had tucked the champagne away beneath the blankets to prevent her from stumbling upon it.
“Do you know?” asked Ben, forcing me to realize that I’d been daydreaming and hadn’t answered him.
“No,” I said. “I can think of at least one way we can figure it out.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Ben as he inspected the bottle. “We’ve had a hell of a couple of days. We deserve a little relaxation.”
22 – Heaven in Hell
Ben Watanabe
We couldn’t risk lighting a fire because of the smoke it would produce, but I still had Sterno cups, and the pink jelly within did an admirable job inside the brick fireplace in the living room. I placed two of the round tins in the fireplace and let their blue flames heat the pan that would cook our dinner. It was always risky to cook food, but we felt confident that we were alone out here. As long as we avoided producing too much smoke, we could get away with eating a nice meal tonight.
Laura had sent us off with some bread, salted pork, and several cans of various vegetables. I did my best to make an appetizing meal out of what we had, but Annie insisted on taking over. She had a tin of beef fat that she used to add flavor, and the pan crackled when she laid the strips of pork in the grease. The home filled with a pleasant aroma as she sat beside our makeshift fire, prodding the meat with a spatula she’d found in the kitchen.
The box that the champagne had come in also had two tall, thin glasses, each with white flowers etched in the side. They were still sparkling and clean, soiled only by flecks of cardboard from the packing material. I dusted them off, and then carried them into the living room along with the champagne.
“Food’s ready,” said Annie as she pulled the iron skillet off its stand. She scooped the meat off and set equal portions on two plates along with a mound of beans.
I peeled off the golden foil that wrapped the neck of the champagne bottle, and then started to unscrew the wire that held the cork in place. I tossed the wire aside and the cork nearly popped out all by itself, as if the bottle had been waiting a lifetime for this moment. It didn’t take much prodding to send the cork firing off to the ceiling as a fountain of bubbles spewed forth, causing Annie to squeal as she pulled the plates away from the mess that had wet the floor.
“Oops,” I said as I struggled to get the champagne into the glasses. Annie held them for me, and I poured our effervescent drinks. “Is it supposed to do that?”
“Yeah,” said Annie. “Haven’t you ever had champagne before?”
I shook my head, embarrassed. “No. I’ve had wine, beer, whiskey, and all that stuff, but this is my first bottle of champagne.”
“Well, I’m honored to be here for your first,” said Annie as she raised her glass to toast me.
I licked wetness from my fingers before raising my glass and clinking it against hers. We tried the alcohol at the same time, and I was surprised by the way it tickled my tongue. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I cared for it, but Annie seemed to like it.
She drank half her glass and then said, “Fuck it,” before downing the rest. She sighed in relief once her glass was empty and smiled as she said, “I needed that.”
“More?” I asked.
“Not until you finish yours. I’m not going to be greedy.”
I drank mine, ignoring the way it stung my throat so that I could drink it fast. After I was finished, I poured us two more glasses and then swirled the half-empty bottle. “I think a good amount of it spilled on the carpet when I opened the bottle.”
“That’s okay,” said Annie. “We probably shouldn’t get too drunk.”
“Why not?”
She laughed as she ate, and then spoke with her mouth full, “I thought…” she paused to finish her bite. “I thought you didn’t drink much. Weren’t you the one telling me about how alcohol should be saved for emergencies?”
“Yeah, but that was the old me.”
“The old you?” she asked with a grin before taking another sip. “What’s the new you like?”
“I guess we’ll have to find out,” I said, not quite certain what I meant. This alcohol worked fast.
“I guess we will,” she said as she drank some more. “God, this is good.”
“Want another glass?”
“No, I should slow it down a bit.”
“Come on,” I said as I picked up the bottle and started to pour her some more. “Let’s toast to Harry.”
She obliged, and we raised our glasses a second time, clinking them together as I began to recount some of the times I’d shared with the old man. “He was crazy as the day is long, and made more enemies than friends, but I still loved that old guy.”
“Here, here,” said Annie before taking a drink.
I swirled my glass and watched as the bubbles seemed to form out of nowhere along its side, escaping to the surface where they snapped free. “He deserved better than he got.”
“We all do,” said Annie. After a moment of quiet, she leaned over and pointed at me with the same hand that was holding her glass. “You made a difference in him, Ben.”
“Nah. If anything, he made a difference in me.”
“No, trust me. I knew Harry back before he met you, and I can promise he was a better man after you came aro
und than he was before.”
“What did he used to do?” I asked. “Everyone seemed to hate him so much.”
“It wasn’t hate. We just knew not to trust him. He could be the sweetest guy in the world one minute, and then turn on you the next.”
“Yeah, I saw that side of him once. Wasn’t pretty.”
“No one but you was ever willing to put up with that side of him.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice. He was the only friend I had.”
We were sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, and Annie leaned back against the arm of a chair to relax as we chatted. The food wasn’t delicious, but it was better than I could’ve made out of what we had. And the champagne seemed to taste better with each sip. Before we knew it, the bottle was dry. Annie bemoaned the loss and held the bottle upside down, waiting with an outstretched tongue for the last few drops to fall.
“Oh no,” she said as she let the bottle fall to her side. “We didn’t toast Stubs. We should toast him too.”
“Too late,” I lamented as I upturned my empty glass.
“No, nope. No, no, no,” she said as she forced herself up, her dexterity clearly a victim of the alcohol. “You stay right here. I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” I asked as I watched her stumble her way into the kitchen. The alcohol had stripped me of any finesse as well, and I didn’t try to chase her.
“There has to be some more to drink here somewhere.” She started rifling through cabinets, and even the fridge, which was a place I rarely ever searched. Refrigerators were almost always a horrid mess of decades-old rot and mold. After searching for a few minutes, I heard her exclaim, “Aha!”
“What did you find?”
“Whiskey,” she answered with a tune as if the word was stolen from a song. “Gimme your glass. Gimme, gimme, gimme.” She fluttered her fingers at me as she held the bottle of brown liquid in her other hand.
