Dust of the Devil's Land

by Bryan Killian

  “Are you ok?” Craig yells, running to her, followed closely by Papi and Brett. Yonkey and Roger remain in the bed of the truck focused on something else.

  Sly stands, and limps awkwardly back to the idling forklift resting against the wall. “Secure that goddamn door before more come out!”

  Craig changes direction and runs for the door. He raises his 9mm, firing his last round at a dog attempting to escape, missing. The dog runs for the parking structure. “Shit!” Craig slams against the heavy steel door just as three zombies reach it. Craig’s weight, all 170 lbs, is just enough to close the door. The only problem, the zombies are pressing against the push bar on the other side, not allowing the door to latch. Their combined weight begins pushing the door and Craig outward.

  “Help me!” Craig’s voice cracks and he suddenly sounds like a little girl. The scream draws everybody’s attention, except Sly’s. She is focused on moving the steel Conex box out of the mouth of the alley. She drops the forks to the ground, scraping as they slide under the box. Sly turns in her seat to look back at the group, ensuring they are in the truck ready to go. She winces from the pain in her leg and lower back and the sight before her. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Sly leaves the forklift running, making her way back to Craig’s position. “Hey, wanna give us a hand over here?” Sly yells to Yonkey and Roger, both of whom are fixated on something in the rear of the truck.

  Yonkey and Roger cautiously exit the bed.

  “Help them keep the doors closed. If those things somehow figure out how to pull the lock pins all hells gonna break loose. Yonkey!” Sly yells, grabbing Yonkey’s attention fully.

  “Got it!” Yonkey shoots past her, placing his weight against the door along with the others.

  Roger starts for the door as well but is stopped by Sly’s firm grip. “You’re with me.”

  “Uh…Ok.”

  “Can you hold them for 30 more seconds?” Sly yells to Papi.

  “Maybe. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m going to bring over the white van and close the door permanently.”

  “Got it. Roger has the keys,” Papi explains, still forcing his weight against the door.

  “And that’s why you’re with me,” Sly says with a wink as she leads Roger to the white van. “So what’s got you and Stanley all hot and bothered in the bed of the truck?”

  “There’s a dog in the bed. It’s hiding from the others.”

  Sly reaches the van with Roger right next to her. “Give me the keys with the white tag.”

  Roger looks through the multiple sets of keys and hands one to Sly.

  “Are its eyes grey?”

  “What?” Roger replies.

  “Are the dog’s eyes grey or foggy? You know, like the dog that killed Edward.”

  “No.”

  “Was it growling at you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Maybe a dog wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Did it have a collar?” Sly asks, sliding in behind the steering wheel. She slips the key into the ignition while speaking casually to Roger, in an effort to keep him from thinking of their impending deaths.

  “Hop in.”

  Roger skirts around to the passenger side of the van and pulls himself inside. He notices Sly grimacing in pain. “Are you ok?”

  “Just a bruise. Long way from my heart.” Sly starts the van, slips the gear lever into drive, and maneuvers around the escape truck. Her lower back is screaming, making her think the little accident with the forklift is worse than she originally thought. Nevertheless, she has a job to do. She lines the van up for a straight run at the doors and honks, gaining her comrades’ attention.

  Papi, with his back braced against the door, watches the slow approach. “One more shove, boys, and we can let Sly take over.”

  Craig turns, placing his back against the doors. He can feel the weight on the other side growing, fearing the doors will burst open at any moment. Craig and Papi look at each other. Yonkey still has both his hands placed flat against the door with his feet firmly braced against the pavement.

  “Think this will work?” Craig asks.

  “If we time this right,” Papi says, using his free hand to grab Brett’s arm, directing him away from the doors. “She’s going to get as close as she can to us. We’ll have to move out of the way at the last second. You should move now, Brett. Set up over there and shoot anything that gets through. If this fails, run.”

  “No. You need me,” Brett protests.

  “Brett, go. We got this. Do what Papi says,” Yonkey yells.

  Brett remains defiant.

  The van inches closer to the group. The grill of the van sits a few inches from Brett’s face. He can see his reflection in the dirty FORD emblem. Finally he gives up his position, moving to the side and raising the 20 gauge, readying himself for the worst. The loss of Brett’s 75 lbs allows the doors to open a few more inches. The weight of the zombies heaves against the doors. It isn’t a coordinated effort, rather simple luck on the zombie’s side. The doors push further open. Both Papi and Craig turn and place their palms flat against the door alongside Yonkey, doing everything they can to brace themselves.

  Craig feels his traction giving way. The van is still too far away to abandon the struggle. He knows if they let the doors go there will be a slight hesitation, more than enough to let more zombies out. It is the first time in a long while he is stuck between a rock and hard spot. The doors continue inching outward. Craig hangs his head and pushes with all his might while Yonkey lowers his body a few more inches, placing his back against the door. Papi, sensing they are losing the battle, changes his position as well, driving his right shoulder against the door.

  “There must be a hundred of them behind this fucking door,” Craig yells out.

  “We need to time this right. On the count of three,” Papi yells back, holding up one hand with three fingers extended.

  Sly sees Papi’s raised hand knowing exactly what the plan is. “There’s the signal. Do you know how to drive a forklift?”

  “What? No,” Roger states, confused.

  “Fine. Hop out and stand next to Brett. Get ready to shoot if this goes bad,” Sly says sliding a .38 revolver over the seat. “It kicks like a bitch. Be careful.”

  Roger hesitantly picks up the revolver, opens his door, and steps out. He doesn’t realize how safe he felt with Sly in the van, until he was standing outside of it. All around chaos is erupting. Zombies, zombie dogs, Giant, it’s nearly too much for Roger’s thirteen-year-old mind to process. His hands begin to shake and his chest tightens as he walks over to Brett.

  “We’re fucked aren’t we?” Brett asks, his head on a swivel.

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “I really wish we we’re back at the tree house. If we’re going to die, I want it to be there,” Brett states, now watching the van accelerate forward and slam into the Atrium’s west steel doors.

  “We’re going home, Brett.”

  CHAPTER 40.

  Lists

  The explosion rocks the house, rattling windows, causing shit to fall from the ceilings, and makes its bones creak. Jack finds himself leaning against a wall, thinking the house is going to fall in on itself. He can hear debris raining down on the roof, though it sounds small. He dashes for the control center, stopping at the monitors. He quickly finds what he is looking for on Cam 11. In the corner of the screen he can see the fire burning in what appears to be the front yard of a neighboring house. He checks the windows facing the street, seeing nothing. He moves into one of the kids’ bedrooms. Bingo, he can see flames licking at the sky one block over. “Ingenious fuck. Draw the zombies in and blow up as many of them as possible,” Jack said, feeling Julia was in the room.

  Jack is about to step away from the window when he spots two zombies on fire shambling into the open field. He watches as they continue deeper into the tall grass, fearing the entire field will go up in flames. A few bits of tall grass do burn,
but eventually the zombies collapse to the cold damp ground. Jack lets the blind fall back into place. He stops and returns to the window, pulling back the blind and looking across the field towards the old highway. No matter how many times he’s seen the same scene, no traffic moving on the roadways always sends a chill up his spine, reminding him just how deep in the shit he really is.

  Jack walks into the control center and stands for a moment, thinking of what to do next. An idea enters his head, and for an instant he thinks he’s brilliant. He begins rummaging around the top drawer of the large desk, searching for a note pad, and then realizes he isn’t as brilliant as he thought. He walks back into the bedroom to retrieve his journal. He scans through a few pages, speeding past entries containing his poetry, notes on poetry and the occasional original drawing by Ronan. He stops at the first blank page. He finds a decent pen in the desk drawer, leaving his mechanical pencil for another day. He feels brilliant again as he starts writing down another To Do List along with observations gathered about the house, the neighborhood and his current situation.

  To Do:

  Inventory food, water & other supplies including medical and drugs

  Check garage / other storage areas

  Check the truck next door. Why is there a cam pointed at it?

  Find paint. Paint numbers/letters on the garage door like the military

  **Full Inventory of weapons. Cleaned and ready to go.

  Escape plan.

  Remove the family from the dungeon

  Notes:

  The bottom floor appears well secured.

  2nd floor is the heart of the house. Remain here as long as possible.

  power / solar driven only?

  use the “BOOM” box sparingly

  Why the fuck am I still doing this?

  Food? Good food??

  Jack stops writing and reviews his notes. He shakes his head, feeling silly as his brilliance fades away. He sits the journal on the desk before reclining in the office chair. He stares at the ceiling for a few seconds then snatches up the journal again. He flips back to the To Do List and writes:

  Find my phone…NOW

  Jack walks back to the master bedroom and dumps the entire contents of his duffle bag out on the bed. His phone isn’t there. He returns to the closet where he found his duffle bag, searching high and low, pulling clothes from the shelves, emptying the few shoeboxes he finds tucked away, and empties every drawer. “What did you do with my phone?” Jack yells, thrashing around in the closet. His frustration is mounting, clouding his thought process. He wants to tear the house apart. He wants to make the world pay for the loss of his family, for the loss of his son. He clenches his fists. Where’d that crazy mother fucker stash my phone? Where where where …

  Realizing he will never see his son again, Jack’s new world screeches to a halt. He isn’t religious, and doesn’t have the luxury of believing in a glorious afterlife where he will see all his loved ones again. They are all gone, forever, and the one device he has that can show him his family, show him his son being a kid and having fun, is gone. He weeps, then he screams, “Where is my phone? Why did you…take…it from me? Why…” Jack strikes his own body with closed fists. The wounds on his left arm and hand open again, and blood seeps through the gauze. Soon small splatters of blood appear on his sweatshirt. He beats his chest with his right hand looking upward at the ceiling. He is looking for heaven, if there was such a place. He is looking for an answer to the same question he’s been asking since the beginning of the event. “Why am I still doing this? Let me die already.” Jack looks at the floor, and collapses onto his side, grieving for his son and wife for only the second time.

  CHAPTER 41.

  Move the box

  The front of the van has sustained some damage but is still idling roughly. Sly turns the ignition off, slips the keys into her pocket, thinking there is no reason for any person to want to take the van. She unbuckles her seatbelt and sets the parking brake as an added precaution, ensuring no matter how many zombies pushed from the other side, the doors would not budge. The van door creaks heavily, opening only half way, forcing Sly to slide her slender body through the space provided. She steps directly on the severed arm of a zombie. The grotesque rotting meat slides easily from the bone, causing Sly to stumble and fall.

  “Need some help, Sylvia?” Papi asks holding out his right hand.

  “Apparently I can’t walk anymore.” Sly grasps Papi’s extended hand, “can you call me Sly please?”

  “10-4, little one.”

  Sly rolls her eyes, but inside she appreciates the light banter between her and Papi.

  “Everybody to the black truck. Craig, you’re the wheelman as usual. I’ll move the box. Simple lift and out to the street. Be ready. Once you have clearance, go. I’ll be on the move and will catch a ride in the bed,” Sly explains, studying her ragtag team closely, knowing they’re all she has left in this world.

  Craig asks, “Which way do you want me to go, right or left?”

  “Go right. I’ll turn the box to the left and bail.”

  “Got it.”

  “Where are we going, Sly?” Papi asks.

  “Let’s take Roger and Brett home first, then we’ll figure it out from there,” Sly states over her shoulder, walking back to the forklift.

  Roger and Brett look at each other. Brett smiles slightly while Roger, in a hushed voice, says, “About time we get our way. We should have been home two days ago.”

  “Yeah, I hope my plants didn’t die,” Brett, amused by his sense of humor, chuckles.

  Roger ignores the comment, stopping short of climbing into the bed. He sticks his hand out, stopping Brett.

  “What gives, dude?”

  “Yonkey and I found a dog in the bed of the truck. Looks like a golden. Looks scared.”

  “Is it still there?”

  “Don’t know.” Roger tries to gain Yonkey’s attention, but he is in a deep discussion with Papi and Craig. Roger looks in the opposite direction seeing Sly mount the forklift, again. “Shit, we have to do this ourselves. Go on the other side and climb up on the wheel. I’ll do the same over here. It was right against the tailgate so be ready. If it moves drop down and run.”

  The boys walk to opposite sides of the truck and step up onto the large tires. They peered in on the dog huddling against the tailgate. She looks at both of them with woeful, yet healthy black eyes. They watch her for a second then look to one another.

  “She looks scared.” Brett states the obvious, as usual.

  Roger nods, turning his attention back to the dog. “You ok? You need some petting, maybe a good scratch behind the ears?” He speaks softly, watching for signs of infection. She raises her head at the sound of the kind voice, wagging her tail slightly. “That’s a good boy. Come here. Come.” Roger holds his hand out, palm down. Sugar begins scooting across the bed of the truck. “That’s it. Look at you. You’re a good dog aren’t you?”

  Sugar reaches Roger’s hand and sniffs it briefly, before bowing her head slightly for a scratch behind the ears.

  “There you go. You’re a good dog.” Roger continues talking while Brett climbs into the truck. Roger looks across the lot, seeing Yonkey and the rest coming. He peers over at Sly just as she begins climbing the side of the Conex box. “I guess you’re coming with us whatever your name is.” As the words slip from Roger’s mouth he notices a collar buried beneath the matted fur around Sugar’s neck. Her winter coat is in, but without her master around to brush her regularly, her mane has become a mess.

  “What’s this?” Papi asks, raising his shotgun.

  Without looking Roger states, “It’s my new dog. Her name is Sugar and she’s not infected like the others.”

  “Really. Let me take a look at her,” Papi says, peeking over Roger’s shoulder.

  Roger continues petting Sugar behind the ears, watching her tail wag.

  “Well her eyes look good. First sign she’s going to the dark side, you put her d
own,” Papi said, walking to the front of the truck. “You did see Old Yeller, didn’t you?”

  “What’s he talking about?” Brett asks petting Sugar as well.

  For a small moment in time, Roger and Brett are kids again. Their only care in the world is playing with their new dog.

  “Do you think she fetches or does tricks?” Brett asks enthusiastically.

  “Maybe. Maybe we can find out after we get home. We’ll have to figure out a way to get her up into the tree house,” Roger said, looking at Yonkey as he climbed into the bed of the truck.

  “So he’s good?” Yonkey asks before climbing into the truck’s bed.

  “It’s a she, and yes, she’s good. Her name is Sugar.”

  “Very well, Sugar. Better hang on, it’s about to get bumpy.”

  The truck starts and Sugar instantly hunkers down. Roger and Brett sit down in the bed as well. Craig maneuvers the truck close to the rear of the forklift. Sly hops down, skipping the last few rungs of the ladder, instantly regretting the decision. Lightning bolts of pain shoot straight to her lower back forcing her to grab her right side and limp over to Craig’s window.

  “You gonna make it?” Craig asks.

  “Yeah. I’ll live. We need to make this fast. They’re coming back out through the ice cream shop. Some are already walking down here. Same plan, I’ll go left with the box and you go right. Just watch for me in the mirror. You may need to come get me.” Sly manages to give Craig and Papi a big thumbs up.

  “You’re a big pussy, you know that?” Craig says with a grin.

  “You don’t know shit about pussy,” Sly states, showing Craig he was number one in her book.

  “You know that girl could kick both our asses if she wanted to,” Papi says.

  “Yep. She scares the shit out of me.”

  Sly moves the forklift forward, sliding the forks under the box. She pulls the lever back, raising the box slightly off the ground feeling the machine protest. The weight of the box is beyond the limits of the forklift, but the citizens of the Atrium found if they eased it along, keeping the box low to the ground, it did just fine, which is exactly what Sly does. The last thing Sly wants is to get stuck in the alley. The north side is blocked by stacked debris and barbwire and would take considerable time to clear, essentially spelling their doom.