Behind him the undead moaned gleefully as they’d found their breakfast. Not the breakfast they’d wanted, but it would have to do. The raccoon barked and growled before shrieking in terror.
“Well,” stated Zach. “that bought you some time.”
Time Cale didn’t intend to waste as he jogged on. Houses replaced the open fields. Every home was frozen in time. Santa statues hung from roofs or sat in yards. Plastic snowmen still loitered on yards and porches. Christmas lights and trees were exactly where they’d been left. A sign for the Princeton business district was amidst the tall dead grass.
“Don’t want to go that way,” Cale whispered to himself.
“Why?” Zach asked.
“Business districts are always downtown,” answered Cale.
“Makes sense,” submitted Zach,” zombies will be downtown.”
At the next junction Cale slowed to catch his breath. A quick glance back revealed that the small group was still following, but were far behind him. Zach nudged him and pointed to the east. Cale looked down the street. Pa and Bobby were walking away from him.
“Good,” sighed Cale. “I’m going that way then,” he pointed straight ahead to the north.
Cale resumed his jog. The streets were filled with downed trees and debris. Many of the yards now spilled into the streets. Further on, an entire block of homes were nothing but remnant supports and old ash. A fire had broken out and with no one to stop it, it easily decimated the block.
Sweat collected on Cale’s face in spite of the chilly weather. He slowed to a walk to allow himself to cool off. Again, he looked behind himself. The street was empty. He wondered what happened to his undead entourage. Distracted by Pa and Bobby perhaps. Or maybe even another animal. Either way, he’d lost them.
“Cale?” trailed Zach.
“Yeah,” Cale looked at him.
Zach analyzed their surroundings with a curious expression.
“What don’t you see here?” he asked.
Cale looked around.
“Zombies,” answered Cale smugly.
“No,” Zach stated. “What else?”
Cale thought for a second as he panned the street. “People?”
“Duh,” replied Zach. “Cars, man. Where the fuck are the cars?”
Cale realized he hadn’t seen any. Homes with garages, had their garage doors open. The streets and driveways were all vacant.
“What the fuck?” he whispered.
He made it his priority to look into every garage. Empty. Next one. Empty. Another. Empty again.
“Maybe it was an evacuation?” suggested Cale.
“So every household here had one and only one vehicle?” asked Zach rhetorically. “Some of these are two and three car garages, Cale.”
Zach’s logic was sound. He thought up an excuse for a moment.
“Looted,” he stated. “They could have all been looted.”
“That’s my point,” Zach explained. “But who would loot every single car?”
The side of a large house offered a potential answer. It was the calling card again. Someone had used black paint to create the shadowed face of an undead with an assault rifle. Behind the figure this time, was an army of infected. Each toting a weapon.
“This could be trouble,” Cale said to himself as he stood alone in the street.
Now he entertained the thought that Bobby’s story had some merit. But if the dead did somehow regain a portion of their intelligence, could they now be reasoned with? Unless of course they really loved the taste of humans despite all reason.
Cale concluded that running down the street was a bad idea. Especially if there was the chance these infected used firearms. He cut down the next side street but turned into an alley halfway down the block so that he could continue north. Many of the yards were blocked by high privacy fences. Cale bounded between whatever cover was available. He’d run for a few seconds to a dumpster to hide behind then pause there and figure out his next move. Once he’d planned out a path for the block he’d run. He noticed that even the garages in the alley were empty.
Somewhere to the west, a dog barked loudly. Moans of the dead called back to the canine. The closest of which, to Cale, was right on the other side of a wooden fence. Initially he was startled, but refrained from yelping. Between the planks he could see a rotting man. He was tightly clutching a pair of hedge trimmers. He moved toward Cale and gurgled. He fell silent and sniffed at the air.
“Oh shit,” thought Cale.
The man’s dead glossy eyes wandered to the source of the smell. Cale locked eyes with the man. There didn’t seem to be an intelligence behind them. Maybe he was wrong. Cale attempted to communicate with the man.
“Hello?” he said quietly.
The man howled and threw himself into the wooden fence. The whole section shook as he did. Cale backed away from the fence. Through the space between boards he could see the man’s eye searching for him again. He found his target again and growled. He raised his clippers over his head and thrust the point down at the fence. He was trying to chip his way through!
Cale broke into a dead sprint. He passed by a backyard with a waist-high chain link fence. A group of infected seemed to be mingling in the backyard, but all became excited at the sight of him. As he left them behind he could hear their cries. The feeble fence easily broke under their combined weight. Cale didn’t need to look back, he just knew they’d spilled into the alley behind him. The alley opened to another street, where a few infected roamed to the west. The one that caught Cale’s eye was a police woman who was only a few feet away. Her flesh was mottled grey. Her left eye hung loosely on the retina from her orbit. The woman’s jaw flapped and her dry tongue wagged as she shuffled around. Her hair, which had mostly fallen out, was pulled back into an untidy bun. What made her interesting were her clothes. They looked brand new. No worn holes, tears, or stains.
“She has a gun,” he gasped.
She screamed at him and raised her firearm. Cale ran across the street and into the next alley. She wailed behind him, gathering her infected comrades. He zigzagged down the narrow avenue to avoid getting shot, but no shot ever came. An open gate to his left provided him an escape from the alley. He quickly circled around the house and back into the street he’d been running down earlier. He sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him. Block after block. Street by street. He changed courses erratically to lose any infected that might be following him.
Cale ran until the homes became businesses. A florist and antique shop flanked the right, and a local grocer was on the left. The grocery store would be tempting if it weren’t for the large tag on their parking lot sign. The words “Keep Out” were painted on the side of the building. The infected on the sign had a menacing glare. He came to the quiet conclusion that he did not want to stop. Cale continued to walk down the deserted streets, catching his breath as he did. Cautiously, he listened to his surroundings. He could hear a crescendo of moans erupt to the northeast. Pa and Bobby were attracting some undead attention.
“Better them than me,” he said aloud.
He hiked down a few more blocks before pausing in front of an auto body shop. It was a weathered white brick building with red trim. Atop the aluminum pole that sat in front of the structure, was a large star that served as their business sign. “Kirkman’s Autobody and Customs.” An “Open” sign was still on display inside a large window. The three garage bay doors were closed. There might be a car inside. It would be worth checking out. Cale looked around to ensure he hadn’t been followed. Clear. He tactfully bounded toward the front door. He cupped his hands over his eyes and attempted to peer inside through the glass front door. A conservative waiting area and a front desk were all that he could make out. Magazines cluttered the coffee table that was surrounded by chairs. Cale prepared to smash the front door.
“Sign says, open,” Zach interrupted him mid-swing.
“Jesus!” Cale said startled. “What?”
“Sign sa
ys open,” he repeated. “Try opening it.”
Cale shrugged and complied. The door pulled open easily. He stepped in and the door closed behind him, ringing a bell that hung above him as it did. Cale waited to see if anything inside would stir. Silence. Grease and motor oil smells were thick in the air. A layer of dust coated the room. Cale immediately noticed that some of it had been disturbed. Light boot prints or swaths were on the floor and counters. These disturbed places were still lightly covered in dust. It had been a while since they’d been left.
Car posters and metal street signs hung on the walls. A water cooler with a paper cup dispenser mounted above it occupied a corner. Next to it was a coffee maker and a tin can that read “Free Coffee, Just $.50.” Cale chuckled. That was obviously a joke. Styrofoam cups were stacked next to it. A door was opened up into the shop. The faint bootprints went this way. Cale readied his rifle and walked in. Light struggled to filter through the filthy sky lights above. Each bay was separated from the other by a containing wall. This bay was empty. Heavy duty storage cabinets, tool chests, and workbenches lined the walls. Discarded canisters and tools were strewn about. Dirty rags were piled on top of the lid of a waste bin. Cale crossed the grating on the floor and passed through the open frame into the next garage.
This bay was also empty. Many of the same tools lay on similar cabinets and workbenches. Specialized paint guns were mounted on the wall. Rolls of plastic sheeting and tape were on a counter below them. Cale began crossing the bay but stopped at one of the small window slits in the bay door. Outside he could see a few infected wandering down the street. Most likely searching for him. He could see them desperately fighting the cold from settling into their bones. They were slower than usual as they twitched along.
“Poor bastards,” he thought.
He returned to the task at hand. Finding a vehicle. Cale was about to step through the next passageway but paused when he heard a scraping sound which suddenly stopped. He waited. There it was again. It came from the previous bay. Then it stopped. Cale took a step forward and it started again. It was like metal on pavement. Then it stopped. He aimed his rifle at the doorway. Its pattern was methodical and constant as it grew louder. It started again. A man’s silhouette emerged in the doorway. In his right hand he clutched a three foot wrench that dragged along the floor, the source of the scraping sound.
Cale prepared to fire, but as he squeezed the trigger, his aim was thrown off by an infected that attacked from behind. His round hit high up on the wall. The creature made an attempt to bite him, but was prevented by Cale’s pack. Cale was taken to the floor where he wrestled with the previously unseen infected. Quickly, Cale slipped off his bag and attempted to roll away. The man who attacked him wore black technician’s coveralls and brandished a screwdriver in his left hand. Cale seized the man’s hand as he plunged it toward him. His teeth snapped wildly inches from Cale’s face. Frantically Cale struggled to break the man’s grip on the screwdriver. For a dead man he held on with surprising strength. Cale used his left hand to hold up the man’s head as he pressed his full weight against him. Drool flowed out of his mouth and onto Cale’s face. With his right hand he grabbed the creature’s wrist. A sudden burst of adrenaline enabled Cale to break the man’s arm and force him to stab himself in the head through the ear canal. His hand still clung to the handle of the screwdriver.
Cale rolled the man off of him and scrambled for his rifle that had been kicked a few feet away. Cale pulled up the rifle, but the other man used his wrench to knock it away. He then tried to fall onto Cale. Cale caught him with his legs and rolled him to the side. The infected man waved his wrench wildly. Cale rolled to sit on the man’s chest. He pinned his arms down with his legs and placed his forearm on the man’s throat. He struggled to bite at Cale, who was reaching over to the other man. He pulled the dead creature’s hand from its own head and removed the screwdriver. Again Cale used the dead man’s hand to eliminate the threat. He pushed the screwdriver into his empty eye socket. The undead man let out a soft death rattle.
Cale gasped and began breathing rapidly. He’d been unknowingly holding his breath during the scuffle. Cale slid off the man, grabbed his rifle, and propped himself against a greasy workbench. He took the time to rest but remained on alert. Once his heart had stopped thumping in his ears, he could hear the silence of the shop. He looked over at the two dead men. They lay face up and close enough to one another that it looked like they’d killed each other. Both wore identical uniforms, which were in decent condition, given their levels of decomposition. The man who still clutched his three foot wrench had the name Rick etched into his jumpsuit. The other was Andy.
Cale looked at Rick’s hand. He noticed something odd about the man’s grip. Cale investigated further by attempting to open each finger individually, but the skin was stuck.
“The Hell?” he whispered as he pulled out his knife.
Cale inserted his knife between the man’s palm and his fingers.
“What are you doing?”
Cale yelped in fear at Zach’s question.
“Damn it,” cursed Cale. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. I could’ve fucking stabbed myself.”
“Sorry,” said Zach sincerely.
“I’m trying to see something,” answered Cale.
“See what?” Zach queried further.
“Not sure,” Cale whispered.
Cale pried at it. Pus and black ooze seeped out of the puncture in Rick’s hand. Cale was able to remove portions of flesh from the finger and the palm. He wiped the grotesque fluid off on the man’s coveralls and analyzed the two flaps of skin closer. A thick fiber weaved back and forth between them.
“What is that?” asked Zach.
“It looks like a leather strap,” speculated Cale.
Cale dropped the piece and looked closer at Rick’s hand. His hand was sewed around the wrench. He jumped up and reached for Andy’s hand. He pulled it from Rick’s face and looked. It too was sewn shut around the handle of the screwdriver. Why would someone do that? Had they done it while they were still alive? Or had someone done it to them? There was more going on here than it appeared.
Part II
Human Nature
“Poor humanity, crazed with fear, was fleeing in all directions on hearing the thundering pace of the Plague, War, Hunger, and Death.”
— Vincente Blasco Ibanez
Chapter 18
THE CREEPER
Cale stared at the two corpses before him. Had the infected with hedge trimmers had the same modification? And the police woman? No matter what the answer, Cale needed to get as far from the zombie murals as possible. He reclaimed his rifle and went to the doorway for the third bay.
“Figures,” he sighed, unsurprised its space was vacant.
Rolls of window tint and other various tools were scattered about. A trail of disturbed dust showed him where Andy had been lying. Frustrated he turned back, grabbed his bag, and walked back into the first bay. An open storage door had been where Rick was hiding. Cale hadn’t noticed the grey metallic door amongst the metal cabinets. A few weeks in a bunker had made him complacent. Had that been Huffman’s downfall as well? He pushed her from his thoughts.
“Get it together,” he told himself. “Vigilant.”
“Vigilant” had been Staff Sergeant McGregor’s watch word. He’d repeat it over and over whenever he felt he, Zach, or Cale had become lax during missions. And it always seemed to get their heads back in the game. The key to not being attacked by insurgents was an aggressive posture. If they appeared ready to fight at any moment the enemy wouldn’t engage them. In this case, the enemy wouldn’t care how aggressive he looked. Just how tasty he might be.
“Vigilant,” he repeated.
Had it really been almost a full year since he’d heard it?
“Vigilant.” Again he said it.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to keep moving. If they were smelling him, it would only be a matter of time befor
e they tracked him here. Cale opened his eyes and cut back through into the waiting area. Cautiously, he looked outside for any infected. The few he’d seen before had moved on. Slowly, he pushed open the door and checked both walls to the immediate left and right of the door. It was clear. Cale stepped back out into the autumn air. The cold suppressed the stench of the undead, but it was still there. He listened to birds chirp as they crossed the sky. Again he could hear a dog barking, but it was much farther to the east this time. Cale readjusted his pack and walked around the business to the north. From the corner of the building he could see an employee parking lot. Like all others before it, it too was empty. He stood a moment looking to the main street and back at the alley way, weighing his options. He could walk down the main street and risk walking into the group he’d seen heading north, or he could journey up the backsides of the businesses in the alley.
“This way,” he said to himself as he strolled across the employee parking spaces and into the alley.
Loose papers, trash, and fallen leaves littered the alley. Already he could see at least two bodies lying in the road about fifteen feet apart. He walked slowly and peered through his scope to get a better look at them. His sights bounced slightly with each step, but the closest corpse to him definitely had a chunk of its head missing. An electrical pole obscured his view of the other. Cale attempted to maneuver for a better vantage but it was no use. He’d just have to wait until he was right on top of it.
“Vigilant,” he whispered.
At a pace slower than a jog, but slightly faster than a walk, he closed the distance between them. He stepped around the first cadaver and maintained a cautious distance from the second. He could see that it was lying face up, but he still couldn’t see its head.
“Hey,” called Cale, keeping his weapon sights on it.
Z Plan (Book 3): Homecoming Page 18
