by P. S. Power
“Did you... get bitten?”
That question had to be asked, since a bite meant turning one hundred percent of the time. In this case though he wouldn't have come in if that had happened, just killed himself.
“No. They didn't close with me. No bites, no scratches. Twisted ankle from jumping off the porch, but probably not broken.”
The night watch had extra people after that, because no one wanted to sleep in particular. Jake did, and so did most of the wood cutting crew. It meant that only about two thirds of the normal bodies lay in the small bedroom with him as he slept. About twelve. The house had eight bedrooms, and this one wasn't the largest by far, but it had the stairs right out front. Convenient to find in the dark, so people crammed into it pretty tightly most nights.
Besides, Nate was in this room, and a lot of people wanted to be close to him, since it made them feel protected. That was a psychological thing, but who could blame them? A person was never more vulnerable than when they slept, so staying by the leader then made sense on a deep level. For all he knew that's why Jake did it too.
That night he slept like a brick, barely noticing when daylight came. He struggled up, because someone had to check on the zombies littering their yard, and that meant one of the cleaners. Well, at least someone with a gun.
Tiredly he wondered if getting Carley to go would be asking too much. The idea made him smile, if a bit grimly.
Since he'd done the shooting, it made sense that the risk be his. The reloading of clips got done sitting in bed though, using the dim light through the window. Everything went well until he stood up. Then his right leg nearly buckled beneath him. Well, that was nice. The rest of his body ached fiercely, just to remind him that he had more work to do that day and for a long time to come. He limped out as quietly as possible, since a few people were still trying to sleep. About half of the normal amount now. Everyone else sat by the doors on the first floor, looking afraid.
That seemed a good enough reaction. After all, six shamblers didn't feel right, did it? Not way out here away from the town, and not moving as a group. That had the feeling of a set up. Like someone had collected them all together and pointed them at the house. It had happened before, once, about the third month, right after they'd found the abandoned farm to live in. The group that followed that attack died though. All men. All losers that thought they could just steal what they needed instead of working for it.
Jake had killed most of them himself. Dave, Vickie and Tipper had gotten the other four. This had a similar set up, except that the zombies did a lot less damage. They didn't have any runners with them, which made a huge difference. Plus, luckily, he'd been sitting outside. If someone had simply opened the door on them in the morning things might have gone differently.
The undead lawn ornaments had moved in different directions, crawling and rolling slowly, without purpose. Five of them at least. Getting a machete from Burt's shed and a cloth to cover his mouth, just an old and oiled piece of gray t-shirt no one had wanted, Jake took their heads in place and started looking for the last one. It tried to “rush” him when he found it, hidden under the white lattice of the porch somehow. The lurching movement was slow though. It crawled in its attack, head horribly damaged but not enough it seemed.
Well, it had been dark. Still, that meant he could stand back and just shoot it once. Then he took that one's head off too and started making the rounds in a spiral pattern, limping the whole time. Getting wood was going to be a thrill a minute. His hands felt swollen and throbbed in time with his right ankle already.
It had to be done though, uncomfortable or not.
That took about three hours, which was a pain and meant he'd be late for breakfast, if he got any at all.
Whee.
Nothing like a full day's work ahead on an empty stomach. He'd done it before and probably would again. When he got back the headless things on the ground were gone and Jose was walking the fields, holding a shotgun.
“Hola Senor Jake!” He called out in a solid whisper. Jose didn't know a lot of English maybe, but the man knew not to yell, even when he sounded happy or excited. Right now he seemed pleased enough. The guy wasn't a fighter maybe, but it occurred to Jake that he was out already doing his work. Alone. No one else was.
It kind of spoke of a certain kind of mental toughness, didn't it?
“Hola, Mr. Jose.”
The man pointed to the field, something green with red shot through the center of the little plants, his right hand sweeping out over the field to the right.
“New morning?” The small brown man smiled and bent down to pull out a fat root. Smallish still, but Jake thought he understood. The first beets could be harvested the next day. They had a lot of them growing, so, like the potatoes, they'd be able to use these to supplement their diet.
Jake nodded. That meant they'd need pickers out, and that their farm boss would be needed to do that instead of get firewood. With some pantomime and holding up of fingers he found out the Jose wanted twenty people for the job. Well, they had the bodies, if they could just get them to work.
“All right, I'll see to it.” Jake nodded and tried to smile.
It wouldn't be the world's most fun job getting the homebodies out to work, especially after this last attack. They always got scared for days after anyone even saw something dead. Six of them on their doorstep... Gah.
In the house, Lois, bless her, had saved him a bowl of cereal, cream of wheat. If she hadn't been with Burt, Jake would have asked her to marry him on the spot. It had gone cold and sticky, but beat starving all day by far. He ate it a little greedily, just sitting in the kitchen with her and the kids as they did the morning dishes.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it. You know Lois, I've been meaning to mention...” Compliments were hard for him, because they always sounded phony to his ears. Social skills had never really been his big thing after all, had they? Still it was deserved here so he went forward with it anyway and hoped it wasn't just cheesy.
“Um, well, you and the kids all do a really good job, and I wanted to thank you for it. Not everyone works as hard and, well, it makes a huge difference to everyone's life here. People don't get it yet, not all the time, but I do. Um, thank you.” He looked at the kids too and nodded. Yeah food prep and washing dishes wasn't glamorous, but it mattered. Everything did now.
Lois, gray hair over her thin frame smiled at him and patted his back in a motherly fashion.
“Why... thank you Jake. We all appreciate your work too. It's hard sometimes to say the words, but most of us wouldn't be here without you.” She smiled at him and hesitated then, but Sammi didn't, outspoken little thing she was. No she just grinned.
“It true, Jake. It's hard with you killing people sometimes. A lot of people are afraid of you, because you might be the one that kills them too. You never do it just because though, not because you're mad or it's easier than putting up with some people, only because it needs to happen, only to protect everyone... That's more special and rare than most know. Let me see your hands?” She sounded really strange as she spoke, like an adult pretending to be a little kid. She'd had her childhood stolen away though, so maybe it wasn't that odd after all?
He held them out automatically. Wound checks were a part of life now. They didn't have anything but penicillin and washing for infections, so catching things early made a difference. She stared at them and nodded primly.
“No dish washing for you tonight, not if you do this to your hands again today...” The girl grimaced but didn't let go of his hands. “Didn't you wear gloves?”
He had, he informed her with a smile, it had just been that hard on his soft little hands. He'd live. Barring disease or other cause of more violent death. The girl giggled at that softly, and again when he told her he hadn't meant it as a joke.
When he finished the solid lump of cereal, Jake had to find everyone else on the wood team, expecting them to be set up outside or even off in the trees if they got tired
of waiting on him, knowing the work was so vitally important.
Maybe on the porch? That kind of made sense... People might not want to work, but this was important. Right?
Instead they were all scattered around the house, sitting and looking tired. Well, he got that, no one had slept much. He found Carley and smiled at her as warmly as he ever did anyone. She cringed. So maybe he didn't look all that happy?
“Are you all right?” She spoke quickly, sounding scared.
“Don't worry, no bites or anything. Lois even saved me something to eat, which will make the wood gathering easier. Is everyone ready?” They weren't, that didn't take a genius to figure out at all. Pretending they were might sway things though. Sometimes it did. Just make believe that it was all right and everyone went along with you.
Apparently not with Carley though. No, she was too strong willed for that. And afraid.
“No. No one is going out today. Almost no one slept and... Well, we're scared. What if there's another attack or more zombies in the woods?” Her voice had that special low tone people mainly remembered to use when they got so frightened they thought they might die.
Jake liked to think of it as their “Wednesday voice”. If you weren't using it at least once a week, you'd probably lost it and were about to get shot. That or try to rehabilitate zombies with hugs. That hadn't worked. He'd seen it a few times. Easier to just slash your wrists. Less painful at least. The undead weren't looking for more than a meal at any given time. Not hugs. Not a comforting chat. Not a reunion with loved ones.
Freaking land sharks.
The woman brushed blonde hair out of her face and looked down at her legs, boots on feet, blue jeans and a heavy long sleeved blue and black striped shirt. She'd certainly dressed for work at least, so not going hadn't been her idea?
Good.
Jake could work with that.
“Well, winter won't wait on our nerves. If there are more, you and I will shoot them, that's all. It's why we have guns. That, and killing Holsom. Aim for the head either way. Or if it's Derrick, let me know and well get Jose to help us hang him. That really is a good idea. It will save a bullet. Let's get everyone moving. We have to hold to a half day tomorrow most likely, since Jose is going to need the cart to move beets and we should probably help with that. We'll need to get most everyone out for that if we can too. We need the practice for the big harvest anyway.”
They went around together and rousted the scared people who'd gone the day before. They all tried to drag their feet, even Nate, until Sammi and Ken walked in, dressed in too warm, oversized adult work clothes and gloves. Dressed for zombies, but clearly also prepared for the day.
The girl spoke for them both, “We're going with you. To get wood. We-”
She sounded ready to argue her case, but Jake cut her off sharply, holding out his abused right hand a little toward them.
“Good. Two more then.” He didn't follow with the fact that if the little kids went, everyone else should without complaint. Even Dave just went along with them then, without being asked. He wasn't afraid after all. Jake also thought he kind of liked Sammi. True she was two years younger, but there weren't exactly any other girls that close to his age around, were there?
It did get the others moving. The one thing that still kind of worked when it came down to it was shame. Sometimes at least. Little kids showing you up did the trick when nothing else would for most people. Mainly because little kids were zombie snacks and everyone knew it. Not their young people who were basically little adults, all smart, all tough. All quiet and disciplined. That's why they were alive. The other kids though, the dead ones. So for children to be willing to go out, it meant something. People noticed.
The wood gathering went faster, since they only took full logs when they could, and they got twice the trips done. Fear of sudden attack getting everyone to move faster. When they got back a half dozen people took turns sawing the dry stuff. The greener wood got set aside by Burt, who kept them all going, actually being encouraging and seeming proud of all the people that had gone into the woods that day. Even Holsom, who didn't get a choice. The gray haired and bearded man was really good like that. It was probably as important as all the tech stuff he did. Jake knew he needed to do more of that himself, but it was hard.
It required talking to people and all that.
They managed seven full trips before they lost the light and a decent pile of split wood had started to form, a couple of the bigger men taking turns doing that. Big didn't mean brave, but it did mean strong, compared to a lot of the others. It really looked to be coming together at least.
Nothing happened in the woods, except Holsom trying to tease Carley and Jake about their “relationship”. Finally, after getting more than a little lewd Nate stepped in, speaking softly, warmly and with sincerity. Like he did most of the time.
Only now it sounded freaky, because what he said wasn't kind at all, even though it sounded that way.
“You're about fifteen seconds from death right now Derrick. You need to work and keep your mouth shut, or one of these people might just offer to remove you as a useless eater. I've had several offers so far, and from a wide variety of individuals, so you may want to temper your words for a while. Just to be clear, Jake wasn't even one of them. You've made a lot of people angry.”
It didn't get the man to stop, he just didn't do it around Nate.
Dave kept staring at the guy, as if waiting for an excuse to off him. One of the offers had probably come from there, Jake thought. It felt nice to know that he had backup if it came to it. Tipper didn't like the man much either, probably for the same reason Carley didn't. They'd slept together. Several times if Derrick could be trusted. Including anal in a room full of people. The jerkwad made a point of describing that event at length, even in front of the kids. The woman didn't even defend herself from the allegation, so it most likely happened as the man said. That kind of ruined her whole lesbian shtick though, didn't it?
Only a lesbo when old Jake came around, was it? He didn't say anything, but he frowned at her a few times and shook his head. It really wasn't fair.
None of this was fair.
After all, he really tried to be nice and help everyone and Holsom just sat around causing problems and being serviced like a king. It made him think a lot less of all the women in their group. Yeah, Tipper had his back in a fight, maybe, but this kind of showed how little she really thought of him as something other than another gun, didn't it?
Well, screw it. He'd probably die soon anyway and then it wouldn't matter. Right now they had to do wood before dinner. Jake just tried to focus on that and worked faster.
The last two hours after they got the cart back half full of long, mainly straight logs about eight foot long and from six to twelve inches around, got spent taking turns in the pit. Jake just worked quietly, everyone else talking to one another happily enough, if softly.
He didn't let Tipper sit near him at dinner, making a point of moving in by Dave, who just nodded at him. Thirteen or not, the kid had heard what was said and knew what it meant too. Carley took his other side, giving him space from Molly at least. She'd worked for two days in a row, a record for the chubby girl. Hard labor too.
Being fair, Jake realized, she was after hefty, not Back Before thick. Six months before she would have looked fine at her current weight. No worse than average at all. She even looked kind of cute, if you could excuse the cow eyed looks she kept giving everyone. It occurred to Jake the girl, about nineteen or so, might not just be depressed. She may also simply have not been that bright. Molly didn't talk a lot, and when she did, it mainly sounded whiny, not dumb. That could have made it harder to tell. Well, if she could learn to work and not get him killed, it didn't matter. A lot of smart people were dead now, because they'd tried to out-think brute force and failed. Some of the best survivors had just run and hid early on, hardly thinking at all.
He just went to bed without talking to anyone after that.
No light to read by again and they all needed to move faster in the morning the next day. Tipper tried to talk to him, looking embarrassed, but he just moved past her and went into the bedroom. No one talked there if they could help it. She had a place in a different room, so there'd be no whispers at him in the dark. Maybe she could find comfort sleeping with Holsom again? He'd sounded favorable about the experience earlier. Or one of the other guys. Or girls. Whatever.
The night went almost without interruption. Carley whimpered a little, but didn't scream and a guy on the other side of the room bellowed angrily, once, then gasped and shut up. Hopefully nothing heard him. A few cries came from other rooms, some actual weeping too, mainly women. They cried a lot as a group. One of their biggest flaws. Not all of them and not all the time, thankfully. The men probably did too, but kept it quiet, that being a long held man tradition. Suffer in silence. Well, that would work. As long as they didn't call the dead down on them, Jake would just deal.
He always did.
Chapter Three
Jake felt like crap the next day. Depressed.
Mainly because of Tipper and her lying, which, now that he knew for certain what had been going on, hurt a lot more than Molly's simple refusal because he “wasn't her type”. That was bitchy too, but not a lie at least. When it came to it, that was the real issue, he decided. That she'd lied to him about it. They were supposed to be on the same side right? Friends? Trust each other and all that kind of thing. Back each other up if they needed it. Not lie and treat him like crap while going off and helping the enemy. Or having sex with them.
It made him wonder if she'd been fucking the zombies, too.
He headed out at first light, to find Jose already getting the cart around and setting out buckets to collect the beets. Early still, the man smiled at him when he walked up pulling on gloves, ready to work. Pointing without speaking, each row got a container. Twenty of them. Hence the needed twenty people. There was movement in the house and people looking out the back door, but no one had bothered to come out yet. They needed to get to things before breakfast though, since they'd want the cart for wood later. Finally Jake walked into the living room.
