Dead End Stories From the End of the World

by P. S. Power

  Like Jake. Still, Vickie was working on it, and could actually get something done there. Maybe. If anyone could.

  "Sandy just attacked Troy, inside. A knee to the groin, so nothing life ending. I told them all that from now on anyone that attacks another person will be tossed out." He wanted to wince, and make it seem like he was sorry for having said it, but he sighed instead, just feeling the weight of it all. "Which means that the next person that gets in a pushing match will have to be kicked out, or no one will believe that it's real."

  Rather than glare at him for being an idiot, the other man adjusted the barrel, and then nodded.

  "I can't think of a better way to let people know what the score is, unfortunately. I wish-" He rubbed at his white beard, which was a thing that had been worked on for a while. The man looked older, since they'd met, near the beginning. They all did though. He had lines on his face that made him seem more like a fit fifty year old, than the forty-four he actually was. Even the people in their twenties did. A few of the younger people were fine still, mainly. Ken and Sammi were, and Molly was still free of lines and wrinkles, but almost everyone else was showing wear.

  "Yeah. I hate it. I just don't know what else to do. We can't have people causing problems, because we don't have any way to allow anyone to let off steam. It makes sense to suck things up near the beginning and not let things grow, but emotions generally don't let people do that. So I have to threaten people with a death sentence for having a bad day."

  Burt surprised him then, the wooden mallet still in his right hand.

  "Sandy has a lot of bad days though. Most of them in fact. Fear is a powerful motivator, and with someone like her, there may not be a better option. Worse, by winter, I'm betting that the rule will have to be that if someone is causing problems, they have to be kicked out. Not just physical violence. Bickering and goading people into acting can't be allowed either. I don't know what to tell you though. Maybe we could build some stocks? Like the pilgrims used?" Hanging his head a bit, and bringing both hands up to illustrate made his point clear.

  They needed something. That probably wasn't going to work, but what would, he didn't know.

  It would be easier if they had someone stronger than he was in charge. Except if that happened, then a lot of people were going to die, he didn't doubt. It was why he'd stood up in the first place, in the first few weeks. Because most of the other people trying to lead thought that the world being over meant that they didn't have to play by any rules at all. It might be true, but it would also lead to the world becoming an even worse place than it had to be.

  Then, even back then, Jake had been one that everyone looked to when things got bad. They still did. Even the strong people did, most of the time. Dave and Tipper, for instance.

  Burt grinned.

  "We'll figure it all out. Maybe it will be enough to just stay on top of things and remind people that we need to get along? It should be enough, if we make the reasons clear. Now-" He patted the new barrel twice, "help me move this into the yard? I need to soak the boards so that they'll swell, and it might take a bit before it's really water tight."

  The carrying portion of the events wasn't hard, but the older man, looking a little stooped, was still healing up. The thing wasn't that heavy, but was a little awkward. Still, when they got it under the water tower, and filled the thing as it sat on the packed dirt under the spigot, it didn't seem to leak.

  Burt watched it carefully, and pointed at where a tiny drip or water tried to come out from between two of the slats.

  "There. That isn't a bad thing really, since the moisture will cause swelling, and should seal it all off after a bit. Once that's done, we just need to keep it partially full all the time, to prevent the wood from drying too much."

  Burt tended to lecture a bit when he spoke about his projects. Not that he wasn't interesting enough. Barrel making wasn't even a thing that Nathaniel would have considered, himself. Who looked around at all they needed and remembered something like that?

  When the man left to go to the forge, Nate followed, tucking his head inside the open door frame to watch for a bit. It was just Jake inside at the moment, with Burt standing there, as the younger man worked the bellows. Thinking only about the color of metal he'd need to work it correctly.

  Cherry red.

  It was dark inside, except for the glowing coals and the bit of metal that was picked up with large black tongs, placed on the anvil for working. Then it got loud, so he pulled back, heading inside. He really needed to wash up, but was too worried for it. That wasn't a good enough excuse, but it was the only one he had for the moment. Feeling more than a bit put upon, he went and did it anyway. Lunch wouldn't be for a while, after all.

  That was how he marked time, most days. By meals. Food had been scarce for long enough that most people really did. Waiting for meals was one of the prime hobbies in the place. There was a lot to do, but most of it really required people to go outside.

  Compared to most of the people there, he practically looked like a superhero Nate knew. He was one of the ones willing to leave the building. Then, the Cleaners were the real thing, weren't they? They fought the undead, on purpose. All they were lacking were some fancy costumes. Maybe a cape or two.

  No one was in the bathhouse, the one for men that they'd put in, for the entire time he was there. He didn't need to shave, since he was growing a beard for the winter. It was a good excuse not to shave every day, and really, people might just take him a bit more seriously if he looked more manly. Before the end Nate had taken pride in dressing well, and keeping his middle trim. Perfect grooming was just a part of his being. It had been. Now, after everything, he looked like a hobo most of the time.

  That really wasn't an excuse to smell like one, however.

  Nothing much happened, until after lunch.

  Jake was being silent, and watchful, but not outwardly depressed. Inside he kept thinking about eating his nine. Visions of his brains splattering the wall that night in the first bedroom kept coming, almost without end. Walking up to him, the man, smaller than he was by five inches, and lighter too, gave him a look that made his blood want to run cold.

  There was a hint of something in his cloudy thoughts that made Nate want to wince, but he managed to speak normally enough.

  "Going somewhere?" It was clear that he was, though the destination wasn't very specific.

  Given the content of his previous thoughts, it might just be to an early grave.

  "Yeah. I was thinking that I should go and check out that gun smith's shop. In Clyde? I should be gone for a while." The shrug of his shoulders was trying to claim that he didn't know when he'd be back, but under the surface, from deep inside, Nate heard something else.

  Jake kind of figured that he was going to die, on the trip. The thing there was that the man really didn't care anymore.

  Telling him no wouldn't work either. After all, Jake wanted to be out of there so badly that nothing Nathaniel did would be able to keep him around. Not against his will.

  That was so clear that Nate looked around, trying to see if anyone else was getting it. They weren't, of course. People didn't stare at Jake, most of the time. When they did, it was out of fear, watching him to test his mood, or what the rules were. Both were pretty consistent, outwardly. Stable and easy to understand. Being that he was kind most of the time, and the rules were the same as the day before. Basically, try to work, and don't make noise.

  It wasn't hard, but it kept things going.

  Now he wanted to risk himself on an errand that they all knew was foolish. The Police from Westwood would have emptied that place in the first days after the CDC announcement that Zombies were a thing. Maybe in the first hours. The odds that they'd left anything useful was small, but the chances of the area having a lot of undead was high.

  "Fine. You'll need a team. Let me see if I can dig some people up for that?" It would have to be Cleaners mainly. No one else would go.

  "I was kind of
thinking that I'd just head out on my own. I can move faster that way. It will be fine." The words were said like they always were. Low and soft, but kind of lost sounding, under that. Sad.

  Giving him a look, Nate huffed at him and tried to give him a telling look. One that said, don't be a moron. What came out sounded a little girlish to him, however.

  "No. That's bordering on foolish. You need to have a team with you. That's an uncleared area, and who knows who might be around over there? I'll set that up for you." Then, quickly, to prevent Jake from having time to make a good argument, he walked away.

  Not that there was any place to really go. The house would have been a great place to live, if it had just been him, and Miguel. His husband, before he'd been bitten, and turned three days later. Right at the beginning, before the CDC announcement.

  They'd gone away to get that done, that marriage, since their state was still a bit backward that way. They were wise enough to count marriages from other places as valid though.

  It was a thing that he'd never shared with anyone there. Jake knew part of the story, but Nate had left it vague. Not telling him how close they'd actually been. When they'd met, Jake and him, Miguel had been trying to eat a chunk off of his face. Like a fool, Nate had been trying to get him to calm down. To take back control of himself. Now he saw that as moronic, of course. Back then he really hadn't known any better.

  They were all too new to the world as it was back then. As his husband, the love of his life, looking gray and messy, but still wearing a nice suit, even in death, tried to kill him, Jake appeared. Then he emptied a large gun into the man's middle. Without hesitating he reloaded, and did it again. On the last bullet, he aimed for the head, taking him down. Eighteen shots.

  Even then, he'd been competent though. Not hard, or even quiet. Both of those things came later. At that time he really seemed... Nice. Scared, like Nate was, naturally. He learned fast though, almost like he'd done something like that before. Already thin. That was a mistake, as it turned out. Having an extra thirty pounds would have actually helped, in the months after that.

  Molly had started out chubby, and now she just looked about right, nine months later, nearly. Those that were heavier before were healthier now. Better able to take the wear and tear of the world.

  Making his way toward the back of the house, which was the original front, he sat down next to a clutch of people in the living room. It was Rita, Marat and Felicia. They did most of the sewing. Felicia was the pregnant one. The only good thing there was that her baby wasn't one of Derrick Holsom's. They looked to be making baby clothes, and blankets that day. From odds and ends, it seemed. Rita had gotten a large wagon load of cloth and sewing materials from in town, but she was sitting on most of it. Her idea was that eventually they'd have to make their own clothing, but for now, Jake got plenty of things from in town. Most everything they had now was something he'd collected. The birdlike woman had gone for that trip herself, along with Len, Alba and Molly.

  The woman, who was sharing a boyfriend with him, smiled.

  "Hi Nate. Have you come to help with the sewing?" She wasn't actually making fun of him, since he had made a point to try and do everything, at least part of the time. Including sewing. Not that he was good at it yet, but he could make decently tight straight lines.

  "Not right now, I'm afraid. I'm hiding from Jake." That got everyone to look at him, suddenly scared. He explained, before they thought that he was about to be killed for... He didn't know what that would be about, honestly. "He wants to go into Clyde, alone. To check out the no doubt empty gun shop there? I told him that I'd work up a team for it, then ran off, before he could tell me not to bother. We can't afford to lose him to something that stupid."

  Marat, who was working on something in a light blue, very soft looking material, brushed her red hair out of her eyes. They were a brilliant green, and she had a smattering of dark freckles across her nose. Her lips were pale, but she had a nice smile. White still, even though they were a good six months from having any whitening strips on the shelf.

  Looking up at him, she took a deep breath.

  "I..." There was raw fear in her words. Her mind shut off too, giving off only a strong sense that she was about to die. "I could go. I mean, if you need me to?"

  Nate almost cried. The woman wasn't a fighter. No more than most of them were. They'd all survived, but others had protected them, almost the whole time. Otherwise, they'd all be dead, no doubt about it. She knew that too, but was still willing to go and back Jake up. Even thinking she'd probably die. When her mind cleared, a few seconds later, he got it.

  She was afraid that if Jake died, she would too. So would the rest of them. It was nice to hear. It was true, but he hadn't really been certain that anyone else had really gotten that part of things yet.

  He smiled.

  "I'm trying for some cleaners first, but I'll keep that in mind? Unless you really need to go for some reason. If it's just about getting outside, I think you should get with Carley, and set up a wood gathering team for a day. We're always going to need more."

  The woman actually nodded.

  "Yeah. All right. I'll do that. Rita and I can set that up. Getting the wood, I mean." She was shaking slightly, even at the thought of that. The idea of just going half a mile away from the house. Still, there it was. Marat was willing to die for Jake.

  Not really thinking first, he winked.

  "You know, Jake's single. Have you considered looking there for a boyfriend?" She was always thinking about wanting a man. A lot of her time was spent fantasizing. Normally about Carl, true, and sometimes him, but he'd never caught Jake in her thoughts.

  The sudden wash of revulsion coming off of her was enough of an answer. The same was true of Rita as well. The only one of them that seemed even remotely interested was Felicia. She was already with Danny though, and so pregnant that she really doubted that anyone would be all that interested in her. She smiled anyway, thinking about it.

  Really, she was selling herself short. Oh, she was homely, even for the end of the world, and needed to fix her hygiene a bit, but other than that, it seemed to him that she might have a real shot.

  The other women had both gone silent, as if he'd just hurled insults at them, but they didn't want to risk being tossed out for calling him on it. Rita's mind was clearer about the whole thing than Marat. She thought that Jake was insane.

  To her, given how he changed from soft spoken and polite, to a killer, without stopping for anything else in between, he simply had to be. It wasn't true, but Marat was thinking something kind of similar. That he was unpredictable, and scary. Needed, that was in there too. Even someone that it was worth her life to protect, but that didn't mean she wanted to suck his cock in the dark. Not when he might decide to shoot her for some unknown reason.

  That was nearly silly, and she knew it too, but the fear was real enough. At least it wasn't based on something like looks. Jake really did kill people after all. They practically forced him to, half the time.

  Smiling, since it was hard to think of anything to say that wouldn't basically call the women out for being insane themselves, he waved a bit, and walked away. That was a big part of his day, anymore. Running from one awkward and ultimately futile conversation to the next. It was his lot. People called it leadership, but that was most often not the case. If he was leading anyone, he'd have insisted they do more.

  There were other people there, but no one that he really wanted to talk to. He'd have rather faced Jake again, to be honest. The ideal situation there was just to get the crew together, and dump them on Jake in the morning, before he was going to go. That way he'd be less likely to find good reasons to get away without them all.

  The first person that came to mind was Carl. He could drive the police van that they'd gotten. Rita could too, he thought, but if he wasn't going to accept Marat, who'd volunteered for the job, then the sewing lady probably wasn't on tap for first string either. Plus, she felt pretty negat
ively about Jake it seemed. Why really, he didn't get. What she'd been thinking in that regards was so out of keeping with what he did.

  When he got into the living room again, he noticed that Jake was gone, and the groups sitting around seemed to be mainly playing cards, or reading. In order to do that, you had to get a good spot near one of the windows. There were no lights inside. Also nothing else to do. People talked, and told stories, but there wasn't a lot of new content. It was a bad idea really. Again, there was almost nothing to do that would take place inside. Where it was safe.

  On the way through, he saw Dave, and waved him over. He was the youngest of their cleaners, and so rock steady inside that he nearly didn't react to a lot of things that had others in a panic. To him, the whole thing was a game. One long zombie adventure that allowed him to do things he was good at.

  When he walked over, the kid smiled. He didn't mean it, but it was clear he was trying to be a good guy, and not alienate Nate. Then, he also kind of thought that Nate wanted to screw him up the behind. He was gay after all, which meant to him that Nate wanted to have sex with any guy that would hold still long enough. Dave pretty much wanted most of the women, all the time, so it made sense. There was no blame in it, or fear. He just assumed that it was the case, and shrugged it off.

  As long as it wasn't mentioned, what did he care?

  "Jake is putting together a mission. Going to the gun shop in Clyde. I'm trying to find people to go with him, since he wants to go alone." Before Nate could ask where the other cleaners were, the boy nodded.

  "Good call. Me, Tipper and... I don't know. I'd rather not bring Molly in. She's gotten a lot better in the last month or two, but she still isn't up to something like that." He knew that he might die doing it, but Dave just figured it would be fun, anyway.

  Nate wanted to frown, but the truth of the matter was that the kid was good. Fearless, but smart enough to stay alive. After a moment he made a face, and nodded.

  "Carl. He can drive the Police van. It's a stick." Nate had never driven anything except an automatic. For the last six years his little vehicle had been an electric, after all. Miguel used to tease him about that, suggesting that it was a little girly, even for a gay man.