Zombie, Indiana

by Scott Kenemore

  Sheree scratched her shoulder, considering.

  “Kesha,” Sheree said. “You want to go with Steven? Keep him company? Keep him safe?”

  Kesha had not been expecting this, and shifted awkwardly in her seat. This displeased Furbus, who dug in her claws just enough to say, “Watch it!”

  “Umm, okay,” Kesha managed. “I only have a learner’s permit, though. I don’t have a full license yet. I’m just fifteen.”

  Sheree and her son looked at one another for a moment, smiling. Then Steven full-on laughed. Then his mom did too.

  “What?” Kesha said. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s just . . .” Sheree began. “I don’t think that they’re going to be checking anybody’s driver’s license for a while . . . That’s sweet though, that you’re so . . . what’s the word . . . conscientious.”

  Kesha blushed.

  “C’mon,” Steven said to her. “We can start with the ones along the road. We’ll move them back into the parking lot. Then we can do the ones out in the field.”

  “That sounds okay,” Kesha allowed. She stood slowly, allowing Furbus time to sense the inevitable and slide reluctantly into the grass at her feet.

  “Don’t go too far,” Sheree called as the two made their way toward the road leading away from the valley.

  Steven waved his hand in the air once to acknowledge he’d heard her, then smiled to Kesha. She smiled back.

  ***

  The dirt crunched under Kesha’s shoes as they walked to the nearest target, an aged Ford Aerostar with tinted windows.

  “This is better than sitting and waiting,” Steven said. “I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t just do nothing while this is going on.”

  Kesha nodded. She felt the same way.

  “Yeah. It feels good to move.”

  “This was definitely not what I saw myself doing this morning,” Steven said.

  “Tell me about it,” Kesha said. “Usually this time of day I’m sitting in Algebra II, bored out of my skull. I don’t even know if my school still exists now. If it does, it doesn’t have a sophomore class anymore.”

  “I’d be a junior, I think,” Steven said. “If I was in normal school, that is.”

  “Does your mom just home-school you?” Kesha said.

  Steven looked away, bashful.

  “Something like that,” he said.

  They arrived at the Aerostar. The windows were down and getting inside was not a problem, but the keys were nowhere to be found. The van was in park, and the parking brake was on. They gave the interior a cursory search, but discovered little more than fast food wrappers and a small fire extinguisher.

  “Should we take this?” Kesha wondered, holding up the extinguisher.

  Steven looked at it and shrugged. Were they merely storing things for the owners, or was the real plan to start foraging and stockpiling? Neither Kesha nor Steven knew.

  For the moment, Kesha replaced the fire extinguisher and they continued down the road toward the next vehicle.

  Kesha found herself intrigued by Steven. “Attracted” was definitely not the word. Not yet. But he was so different from the boys she knew from her private school—or, for that matter, the boys at her public junior high on the south side of Indianapolis. This boy was friendly, disarming, and somehow mysterious. Kesha felt there was more to him than there was to most his age . . .

  They had better luck with the next car, a pickup with its keys inside the visor. Kesha sat in the passenger seat as Steven helped the engine roar to life. Then they eased it up the drive and back to the parking lot. Steven put it into park, killed the engine, and left the keys where he had found them.

  They exited the truck to find Sheree watching cautiously from the edge of the carnival. She gave them a cautious smirk. Steven smiled, and Kesha waved. Sheree shook her head and turned away. The teens headed back up the road to get another vehicle.

  For the better part of an hour, it went on like this. Kesha and Steven moved however many cars they could from along the road. About one in four had keys inside. (An ancient Saturn had the keys still in the ignition, but the battery was dead. Kesha steered while Steven pushed it back to the lot.) Then they started on the cars that had been left out in the field. It was here that they began to discover the bodies.

  Some had tumbled to the knee-high grass and lain concealed all evening. Others were inside the cars, often still wearing seatbelts. Some were shot, while others were simply the victims of automobile accidents. Others still were simply dead . . . without a mark on them. Had internal organs given way under the stress of a zombie onslaught? It was beyond Steven’s or Kesha’s power to know. The bodies were disturbing, and Kesha tried not to look. For the moment, they stuck to the cars that were empty.

  Halfway across the field, they found a Chevy Impala that had crashed into a three-foot stump. The stump was thick and more than half-concealed by the grass. It was the kind of thing you would for-sure miss when fleeing from zombies at night through an unfamiliar field. The driver of the car—a portly man with long white hair—had been thrown through the front windshield and impaled on the hood ornament shaped like a fleeing African deer. He had been killed instantly. Yet now, as Kesha and Steven approached, they heard his earthy growl and gnashing teeth. It was all too clear that he had reanimated. He was one of those things now. And all that was keeping him rooted in place was the large hood ornament, lodged between two of his ribs.

  “Whoa,” Steven said as the attached man came into view.

  The zombie spotted the teenagers, and began trying to free himself. It was obvious that he would make no progress.

  “That’s lucky for us,” Kesha said. “Most cars don’t even have hood ornaments anymore.”

  “I don’t think he can get loose,” Steven said. “But we probably shouldn’t get too near.”

  “I’ll second that,” said Kesha.

  “Why don’t all of them turn . . . like him?” said Steven. “There were plenty back there that weren’t moving. They were just dead. What makes this one so special he comes back?”

  Kesha looked once more at the zombie attached to the hood. He looked so much like the other bodies, except he was alive. Kesha had no answers.

  Steven conducted them toward the next car, a junky green Toyota Celica. It was resting nose-forward in a ditch. Kesha wondered if it would even run.

  Suddenly, Steven said, “Well, would you look at that . . .”

  Kesha craned her neck up from the Celica, expecting zombies or worse. Steven was grinning and extending his finger toward a clump of trees at the top of the valley. Kesha followed his line of sight. Hidden in the foliage—though just visible from their perspective—was a cherry-red Hummer H2. It was immaculate, not so much as a speck of mud on the tires. And oh, how that surface gleamed in the morning sunshine. Someone had hit it with Turtle Wax the night before.

  “Whoa,” Kesha said. “Maybe that should be the next one we move.”

  Steven smiled, and they both took off toward the H2 at a jog.

  “Have you ever driven something like that?” Kesha asked.

  “No, have you?” Steven responded.

  Kesha shook her head. Their smiles broadened. They kept running.

  “Oh, please have left the keys,” Steven sang to himself. “Please, please, oh pretty-please have left the keys . . .”

  They drew closer. The wind whipped up and blew the trees around. The sunlight beaming off of the giant SUV began to dance and dazzle, like lights at a disco. The H2 glittered like a prize. More details came into view.

  “The window’s open!” Kesha announced. “Look! Somebody left the window open!”

  The two teenagers exchanged an excited glance and picked up their pace. Soon, they no longer traveled at a jog, but at a full-on sprint. By the time they reached the H2, it had become a race. Steven won, but just narrowly.

  “Omigod, this thing looks awesome,” Kesha panted as she skidded to a stop in front of the giant machine. Sh
e rested her hand on it for a moment. It was warm and inviting.

  There seemed to be nobody in the immediate vicinity. Neither were there any signs of a dead person. It was just a pristine H2, left to its own devices. Abandoned without explanation.

  Steven headed straight for the driver’s side door. The window had been left open. Steven climbed inside. Moments later he emerged with a glistening ring of keys. He held them aloft like a fisherman displaying a champion catch.

  “Holy crap!” said Kesha.

  “C’mon, get in!” called Steven. “This is going to be awesome.”

  Kesha jogged over to the passenger side and climbed in. The interior had been kept nearly as immaculate as the exterior. Steven put the key in the ignition, and the great metal beast churned to life. Steven began to edge it backward out of the copse, and down into the grassy valley.

  “Omigod, this is so cool!” Kesha said.

  In the moment, there was no undead and no uncertainty. There was only a big-ass Hummer and a beautiful wide field in which to drive it.

  Steven got the H2 out of the trees and put it in drive. The entire valley lay before them.

  “Maybe we don’t have to go straight back to the parking lot,” Steven said, testing the gas pedal. He grinned as the SUV responded.

  Kesha, who wanted her own turn to drive, liked where he was going with this.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Maybe we should take it over the ridge into the next valley. It would probably be safer.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Steven said with a grin. “For safety’s sake. Completely.”

  With growing excitement, Steven piloted the Hummer to the top of the nearest hill that rimmed the valley. It occurred to Kesha that she had not seen much beyond the carnival fairgrounds for the past twelve hours. Would the world have changed? Would the countryside be engulfed in flame and pestilence?

  Yet when the Hummer cleared the hill, they found only another valley beyond them, abutting a thick forest of red cedar. A small lake sat some miles off in the distance.

  Steven and Kesha looked at one another. Kesha nodded and held on tight to the side of the Hummer. Then Steven pressed the gas pedal down as far as it would go.

  For the better part of an hour, the teenagers took turns careening down the valley walls in the bright red Hummer. Time got away from them as they steered it again and again down the hillside, then used it to explore the surrounding fields. After the first fifteen minutes, Steven let Kesha into the driver’s seat. She took to it quickly, the great metal beast responding easily to her commands.

  Kesha explored the edges of the wooded area, enjoying the bumpy ride. Near the far edge of the wood, Kesha began to turn the Hummer around—possibly to head back to the carnival grounds, possibly for yet more off-roading—when she saw something that made her pull to a stop, and then put the H2 into reverse.

  “What’s up?” Steven asked.

  Kesha did not speak, but used the button on her door to lower the window.

  “Do you see something?” Steven tried again.

  Kesha stayed silent as her eyes scanned the quiet forest.

  What had she seen? Only the quickest flash of red and black. But it was the kind of red and black that had caught her attention. It was a special kind—especially the red. A subtle, unique shade of dark crimson that someone, somewhere, had probably tried to copyright. Exactly the kind that pricey, exclusive prep schools might select as their school colors.

  “There!” Kesha shouted triumphantly, gesturing out the window.

  “What?” Steven said, still not seeing anything.

  Kesha pulled the H2 to a halt and climbed out. She left the driver’s side door open behind her.

  “Kesha?” Steven tried one more time. The girl did not respond. She moved as if possessed . . . her eyes fixed upon the forest, as if afraid to look away.

  Steven hopped out of the H2—almost tripping on the running board—and caught up to her.

  “What are you on about, girl?” he asked.

  This time she answered.

  “I thought I saw a gym bag from my school,” Kesha said. “I think it’s down this way.”

  “A gym bag?” asked Steven.

  “Maybe somebody went this way, into the forest,” Kesha said.

  Steven nodded and resolved to help her look. It was not a lengthy search.

  After no more than two minutes, Steven produced a black and red nylon bag from underneath a thorny bush.

  “Aha!” he said brightly. It did not feel as though it contained much. He tossed it to Kesha, who caught it enthusiastically.

  “You saw that when you were driving?” Steven added. “Damn, girl. You got good eyes.”

  Kesha, who had been told this before by countless coaches in a variety of sports, nodded absently and began to inspect the nylon bag.

  It was definitely from her high school, but was not monogrammed. Inside was a bunch of trash and what looked like leftovers from lunch. Wrappers from granola bars. Sandwich bags with crumbs. A couple of empty soda cans. And blood.

  Steven spotted it first, examining his own hands after tossing the bag to Kesha.

  “Yeeash,” he said, making a nonsense noise indicating alarm and disgust. “That’s bloody.”

  “Uh huh,” Kesha said calmly, looking at the crimson smear down the side. “I saw it, too.”

  “What do you reckon happened?” Steven asked.

  Kesha dumped out the bag to see if anything else was hiding within. There was nothing of value.

  “James Nolan and I found a girl from my school—Melanie—in the field over there,” Kesha said. “She was hurt and dying. Maybe it was her bag. She could have dropped it when she was confused in the dark. I don’t know.”

  “Someone from your class was here, then?” Steven said. “Maybe it was someone else. Maybe they went into the forest.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Kesha said, staring deeper into the trees beyond.

  Suddenly, a gunshot echoed in the distance. Kesha looked at Steven, alarmed.

  “Omigod,” she said. “Was that a gun?”

  “That’s my mama’s gun,” Steven answered. “I’d recognize it anywhere.”

  Steven cupped his hands as if impersonating a catcher awaiting a pitch. Kesha fished in her pockets and tossed him the keys. He took off toward the Hummer. Kesha followed, still holding the bloody bag.

  “She’s probably just using it to get our attention,” Kesha said reassuringly as she climbed into the passenger seat. “We’ve been gone a long time. She wants to know where we are.”

  “Yeah . . .” Steven said noncommittally, putting the H2 into drive. “But that sure doesn’t sound like something Mama would do.”

  The giant SUV was now two valleys away from the carnival encampment. Steven piloted the Hummer straight through the tall grass and back toward their trailer. Kesha found herself being rocked about and quickly fastened her safety belt.

  The windows of the SUV were still open. When they got close to the valley containing the carnival, Kesha thought she heard the gun again.

  “Was that . . . ?” Kesha started to say, turning to Steven.

  To her surprise, he brought the Hummer to a crawl and then to a stop.

  “What’re you . . . ?” Kesha tried again.

  “Come with me,” Steven said, opening the door. “And stay low.”

  Kesha wrinkled her nose. Though not entirely clear on what was happening, she decided to stick with her new friend. She exited the Hummer and followed Steven as he stalked up the grassy hillside to the lip of the valley. She watched as he stooped down with his hands on his knees. Then he fell forward and began crawling.

  Steven looked back, intent that Kesha should do the same. His expression was all business. Wordlessly, Kesha copied him and they crawled until they could look down into the valley. Even before she was able to see a thing, Kesha heard the roar of engines.

  Down in the valley below them, a group of people were ransacking the carnival. Some drove cars, w
hile others piloted motorcycles or motorbikes. Some were obviously helping themselves to the automobiles that Steven and Kesha had moved into the lot. The invaders were in no way uniform, save that most of the men wore beards and some form of camouflage. There were perhaps twenty in total. All seemed to carry guns, with the exception of a pair who proudly sported expensive-looking composite bows. About a quarter of them were female. Many of them appeared to be drunk.

  In the open field near the carnival, they saw the body of Walter—the large carnival worker who had returned only that morning—face down in the grass. As if to leave no doubt as to the nature of his final seconds, three hunting arrows protruded from different parts of his back.

  There was no sign of Steven’s mother.

  Kesha looked over at Steven and stayed low in the grass. She could tell the young man was torn—wanting to race down the hillside, yet knowing it would mean certain death. Kesha looked back to the chaos below. The looters had overturned some of the carnival carts and were helping themselves to what was left of the food. A few climbed aboard the silent, dark rides. Though on top of the hill and looking down, Kesha’s angle of sight was not perfect. There were still many parts of the carnival that they could not see. Where was Sheree?

  “What the hell is this?” Steven eventually stammered. “Why would anybody do this?”

  Part of Kesha wanted to say: “You tell me. You’re the white-boy carnival worker who knows these downstate areas.”

  Instead, she said, “I don’t know. Maybe some people just wanted to ransack a carnival. These look like the kind of people who would want to do that.”

  “I can’t see my mom,” Steven managed. “Can you?”

  Kesha shook her head.

  “What the fuck . . .” Steven stammered. He beat his fists against the ground in frustration.

  Suddenly, Kesha’s eye caught one of the scruffy men below gesturing to his compatriots. A group of them started shielding their eyes from the sun as they pointed to Kesha’s position on the hill. Moments later, one of the looters on a motorbike took off across the field towards them.

  “Oh shit, they see us!” Kesha said.

  Steven continued to survey the scene.

  “Come on,” Kesha urged, rising to her feet. “They have guns, Steven. There’s a bunch of them. We have to go.”