Dust of the Devil's Land

by Bryan Killian

  Papi looks at Roger seeing tears welling up in the boys eyes, “It’s ok, son. You’ll remember her in due time. You’ll remember everything when your time comes. We’ve come too far to be turned away from his door.”

  Sly wants to interject but remains silent, listening to Papi. She isn’t religious and had no idea Papi was, but they never had the time to get to know each other. Yonkey continues watching Brett pet his new dog, thinking it’s the most innocent act he has seen in some time and it’s wonderful. Off the passenger side of the truck the sun has broken through low clouds, sending streaks of light their way. Yonkey feels his eyes growing heavy watching Brett and listening to Papi and Roger’s conversation.

  “Do you think there’s room for us up there?” Roger asks.

  “Oh there will always be room. When your time comes son, and I hope it’s not for a great long while, there will be room. I don’t say this often because it’s not warranted, but the determination and loyalty you have displayed in keeping your friend safe will most definitely get you a pass to His kingdom.”

  “I’m afraid to die, Papi. I’m afraid Brett will die. We went to Sunday school a few times, but I didn’t pay attention and Brett was in another world or asleep most of the time. I promised his mom I would keep him safe.”

  Papi laughs for the first time in a long time, startling Sly and Yonkey who have never heard him laugh. Papi places a firm hand on Roger’s shoulder and says, “You’re my type of people, Roger. You speak your mind and let your action do the rest. You and Brett will have no problems getting into the club upstairs. You’ve put up one hell of a fight so far, but I’m afraid the fight isn’t over. Once we drop you off you know you’re on your own, right?”

  “Yeah I know. It’s ok. We know the neighborhood and we have some supplies that will keep us going for a while.”

  Sly interjects, “You can have the large green duffle. Plenty of energy bars, breakfast bars, candy bars, hell any type of bar you could ever want is in that bag. There’s some medicine and other essentials in there as well. Once we get to your place we’ll look through the other bags and make sure you guys are set, unless you want to stick with us and check out the ranch I told you about.”

  “We really just want to go home. This field trip has been fun and all…”

  Sly and Papi both chuckle at the same time.

  ‘What’s so funny?” Yonkey asks.

  “Roger’s complaining about his time away at camp,” Sly says, smiling at Roger.

  “Really. I hated camp when I was younger. Especially one time at band camp…,” Yonkey adds, ruefully shaking his head.

  Sly, Papi and Roger all laugh loudly. Papi continues maneuvering around debris and vehicles, while Brett sits in the bed of the truck, petting Sugar behind the ears. “You just wait, Sugar. We have a cool tree house and I’m sure we’ll be able to find you plenty of food. I hope you know some tricks, or we can teach you. This is going to be awesome.”

  CHAPTER 50.

  Computer

  Jack’s reluctance to attend therapy had almost cost him his relationship with Julia, his family as well as his career. He refused couples counseling early on in his relationship. He again refused counseling after Ronan was born, and Julia was fighting postpartum depression. He fought hardest against therapy after Julia and Ronan died, however this therapy was mandated by the school district and was his only avenue to return to teaching. His first two sessions were hour-long stretches of silence. The therapist, an older lady from the east coast, had the patience of a saint, or so Jack thought. In his third session, Jack finally spoke past the regular pleasantries, making one statement. “I find peace in between the lines of these blank pages. This is where I go to grieve, to remember and to rebuild.” Jack handed the therapist his journal and watched as she placed an open hand on the cover.

  “I have no intention of reading what’s inside. Thank you, though, for your trust. When you return to teaching next week, remember you’re not alone. My door is always open.”

  The memory of Jack’s last therapy session plays in his mind. “So this is therapy. I get it now.” Jack is standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, looking upon the newly organized and near spotless room. He sees his journal, his hat, and Ronan’s Hot Wheel sitting on top of the dresser. On the floor, next to the dresser, is a long line of weapons he knows how to use. At the end of the line of weapons rests his empty duffle bags. He has yet to pack a “Go bag”, and in some respect he has no intention of doing so. The only bag containing any items is Julia’s backpack.

  He walks back to the control center, pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, and stares at the stack of MRE’s, deciding coffee will suffice for the time being. The last MRE he ate caused some constipation, which he’d like to avoid if at all possible. The thought of dying due to bleeding hemorrhoids isn’t desirable, and far from heroic. How’d you make it to heaven Jack? I bled to death from my ass! He shakes his head at the fleeting thought and kicks his feet up, taking a second to look at the monitors. There is activity, definitely more than the day before. Once again they know he’s in the house. He blows on his coffee, rests his head back and closes his eyes. He shifts his feet slightly, bumping the wireless mouse precariously perched on the edge of the desk. The mouse falls to the floor and the battery door pops open, spilling one of the AAA batteries. Jack picks up the pieces and reassembles the mouse, though he doesn’t know why, the computer isn’t on or working. Or is it?

  The bottom of the mouse lights up red. Jack looks at the small flatscreen monitor sitting on the opposite side of the large desk. He moves the mouse back and forth. Nothing. “Oh well, thought I could at least play some solitaire,” Jack says before resting his head. His eyes closed, Jack listens to the sounds of the control center…hearing something new. He sits up, looking around the room. The light hum of the monitors hanging on the wall to the small motor in the mini fridge, are all comforts of home. Now there is definitely a new sound, an annoying sound. “What the fuck is that buzz?” He listens closely, then looks under the desk, as he has several times before. For the first time a green and red eye are staring back at him. He places his hand on top of the computer tower, feeling a slight vibration. He presses the power switch on the monitor; a few seconds later he’s reading, Go under if you can.

  CHAPTER 51.

  Note

  “What I’m saying is we’ve lost more of the west coast, more precisely, the Transportation Management System used in San Diego County. I had two groups of survivors I was communicating with regularly and now they’re gone, just like that. Poof.” Dix is sitting at his console, staring at the blank screens.

  “Well Mr. Dix, it appears the world is going to shit out there. Unless these survivors of yours are trained and combat ready, they will succumb to those walking abominations. Do your job, find major power grids, information centers and large groups of survivors and report back to me,” Butler commands, standing at the rear of the room.

  “You’re right. I…I thought they could help locate more survivors out there and help us into more systems in southern California,” Dix answers.

  “Your instincts are good, but you need to remain focused. We are the new beginning. You two will be held in the highest regard when we emerge.” Butler walks to the exit door, turns and faces the room. Phillip is pacing back and forth in front of the wall of monitors with his headset and wireless keyboard. Dix is sitting with his head down, reading something on his computer screen. Butler runs his hand along his red silk tie, straightening his silver tie clip, a gift from the President. Satisfied the tie is in order, he opens the door, heading out to the windowless hallway. Hearing a slight squeak while the door closes behind him, he makes a mental note.

  CHAPTER 52.

  Bite

  Sly and Yonkey sit in the backseat of the moving truck, prepping their weapons, while peering out at the dead world. Sly recognizes some of the streets they pass, but none of the dead. She’d developed a game in her head early in the event: H
ow Many Zombies Can I Recognize. The dead continue deteriorating, making the game difficult. Zombies don’t age well, Sly thinks. Cold weather has helped slow deterioration, but zombies turned at or near the beginning of the event are no longer recognizable. At times their clothes gave away their identity, and sometimes their gender, but the clothes have deteriorated as well. Extremely decomposed zombies are beginning to lose the ability to move, but remain dangerous nonetheless, becoming a new generation of land mines equipped with teeth.

  Roger feels both anticipation and trepidation as the black Chevy rounds the corner of his street. Though the neighborhood is dead, it is still home. He wants to climb back into the tree house and feel safe with his friend. He wants to look down upon his childhood home and find all the happy memories locked away. He wants to feel comfortable again, or as comfortable as one can in a world full of zombies. He leans forward, resting his arms on the dashboard.

  “You ok, son?” Papi asks slowing the truck to a crawl.

  “Yeah. I thought I’d never see this place again. Thank you for bringing us back.”

  “My pleasure. Everybody keep your eyes open and weapons ready. I don’t like stopping in neighborhoods like this. Too many variables, but we have a job to do, so let’s do it right,” Papi says, catching a glimpse of Sly smiling back at him. He feels good.

  “Which house, Rog?” Sly asks, checking her weapons once again.

  “The white one, fourth one down on the right. You can see our tree house from here.”

  “Wow, that’s bigger than I thought it’d be. No wonder you wanna come back here,” Yonkey says while reaching out the open rear window and nudging Brett on the side of the head. Brett fell asleep a few blocks back with Sugar’s head resting in his lap. He sits up grabbing the 20 gauge, startling Sugar in the process.

  “It’s cool, Brett, you’re home,” Yonkey says, patting him on the shoulder. “Get ready, we’re about to stop. You’re on lookout.” Yonkey scans the neighborhood as he lowers his window. Crisp air rushes in, cooling his cheeks. The faint smell of the dead lingers. The day has grown long and the sun is beginning its descent into the western horizon. High clouds remain, but the threat of rain has diminished, leaving streaks of pink and orange in the sky.

  “Stop here. We’ll have to check the next two driveways on this side. They’re deep and we’ve run into zombies before. They wander down and get stuck at locked gates. It’s weird,” Roger states readying his door.

  “Before we get out, what’s the real plan?” Papi asks, parking the truck in the middle of the street.

  “What?” Roger asks turning to look at Papi.

  “Good question, Papi. We leave you two here with a big bag of supplies and a dog. What’s next?” Sly asks.

  Roger thinks for a moment then answers, “I don’t know.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s get you boys home before dinner,” Papi says, opening the driver’s side door and stepping out. “This was a nice neighborhood wasn’t it?”

  “It was alright, I guess. It was cool having Roger next door,” Brett answers, standing in the bed of the truck. “We gonna check the driveways? Always zombies standing in them.”

  “Yeah, let’s start. Sly do you still have that silencer on your favorite gun?” Papi asks.

  “10-4. I’ll take lead, Pap. Yonkey, you follow me. The rest of you stay with the truck. Leave it off. If I give you the high sign, start it and get the fuck out of here,” Sly said before walking to the sidewalk.

  “What’s the high sign?” Roger asks, standing at the rear of the truck.

  “If you see her running this way waving her arms frantically, or she just yells out run, that’s the sign,” Papi answers without looking at Roger.

  “Brett, keep Sugar in the bed. We don’t need her running around just yet,” Sly orders.

  Brett pats Sugar on the head. “Stay in here with me. We’ll get out soon.”

  Roger steps to the side of the truck looking in on Sugar. Earlier he had nothing but contempt for the dog, but now sees her for what she really is. “She really is a good dog. She seems to like you a lot, Brett. We’ll have to find a way to get her up to the tree house and we’ll have to find dog food. There’s probably some left at the Save Mart. Maybe we’ll head over there tomorrow.”

  “That’d be cool. She also knows how to sit and stay. She’ll be a good watch dog, too.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Roger scratches Sugar behind the ear for a few seconds, looking into her big black eyes. He senses she knows the pain of losing someone she loves, feels she’s been through the shit, so to speak. He scratches her a few more times behind the ear before rejoining Papi at the rear of the truck.

  Sugar straightens her head after the affection she received, watching the boy walk away. She looks up at the boy standing next to her, nuzzling his hand for more contact. They both watch Sly and Yonkey venture down the first driveway.

  “After the Army dudes came through we went around and locked the doors and shut the windows. We did what we could to keep the houses locked up. You know, to keep them out in the open where we could see them. For the most part it’s worked. The only problem we run into is they always find us. They know we’re here,” Roger explains to Papi.

  “I’ve holed up in three places now and they always find me. That’s why I keep moving. Are you sure I can’t change your mind on this?” Papi asks without looking at Roger.

  Roger looks back at Brett who just shrugs his shoulders. “No, we’re good here. Thanks for the offer.”

  Papi moves to the front of the truck, gaining a better vantage point. Roger scans the street and yards for movement. Across the street he spots a faded tennis ball sitting just inside a short closed chain link gate. The fence sits a mere three feet high, but most of it is overgrown with half dead and dormant vines. Roger turns his attention back to Sly and Yonkey, watching them emerge from the first driveway, giving the “all clear” sign. Papi stands with his back turned and Brett is now standing on the roof of the truck.

  “Anything?” Roger asks Brett.

  “Nope. Maybe they all left when we left,” Brett answers.

  “Maybe. I need to take a leak. I’ll be right over there.” Roger doesn’t bother pointing towards the yard. He walks slowly, scanning the yard for any movement, then steps onto the sidewalk. He checks on Brett and the others once more. All seems well. He spots the tennis ball sitting just inside the gate. “At least we’ll have a toy for her to chew on,” Roger says aloud, reaching over the gate and grabbing the ball. A small, nearly paper-thin child zombie shoots out from under the overhanging vines, biting through the cuff of Roger’s jacket. The small broken teeth of the dead child sink deep, finding blood. Roger pulls back, bringing the small zombie with him. He instantly recognizes it as the Anderson kid, simply by the missing eye sockets and the now-missing nose. He spins the .38 he’s holding and pistol-whips the Anderson boy, cracking his fragile skull. The boy’s lifeless body slumps, hanging from Roger’s arm, until he strikes it in the head once more, freeing it.

  Roger pulls his right sleeve back, revealing the fresh bite wound. “NO, NO, NO! This can’t be happening.” Tears trail down his cheeks.

  “You done taking a leak?” Brett yells out from across the street.

  Roger jogs over to Brett, handing him the tennis ball. “Found this for Sugar. Man, my eyes are killing me. Must be allergy season.”

  Brett sets the ball in front of Sugar, who is suddenly on guard. “What is it, Sugar?”

  CHAPTER 53.

  Contact

  The cursor blinks. Jack stares. How did I miss this? He feels under the desk, pulling out a small sliding tray holding the keyboard. He lightly runs his fingers over the keys and types “hello”.

  Phillip Lodge stops his obsessive pacing, watching a thin red line change to green. “Looks like your pal in Redding, California is awake.”

  Dix looks up from his computer, scanning the huge monitor. He sees multiple red lines and one green spanning from
San Diego to Redding. Phillip types a command on his wireless keyboard, zooming in on a suburban community just south of Redding. Though Dix and Phillip can see the location from which the green line originates and the hub it enters, they still can’t determine their current location.

  Dix types feverishly. His screen switches multiple times as he searches for the correct path. Once he finds it, he uses a simple text message site. HELLO sits at the bottom of the screen with a blinking cursor next to it. “The link is back up. Let’s see what’s happening in Northern California.” Dix begins typing.

  -Your connection is back up. Good. What happened?

  -Power issue. I restored it.

  Dix stares at the response for a moment. “I don’t think this is the same guy. What’s his name?” Dix flips through a spiral Flash notepad sitting on the desk next to him.

  “His name is Bruce Effinger. Let’s see if this is Bruce.

  -Very good Bruce. has there been any new developments in redding?

  -wht did you mean by go under

  Jack bangs out the message quickly, realizing the program doesn’t have a spell checker. “Fuck, this guy probably thinks I’m retarded.”

  -are you ok Bruce?

  “Fuck it.” Bruce died a few days ago. My name is Jack. Where are you, who are you

  -Were you two close?

  -I was part of the family. Go under?

  -Bruce said he had a bomb shelter. You may need to use it.

  -Why

  -the military may be conducting some tests with elevated detonation bombs meant to clear cities. Don’t know for sure, just a hunch. Based on what Bruce said the house your in is close to a renaissance city so it stands clear to reason you are in the detonation zone. Again its just a hunch

  -when

  -don’t know. If this connection stays open I’ll try and give you a heads up.