Beyond the Barriers

by Timothy W. Long

  The box of MREs was stuffed in the extra room, the one we were going to make into a child’s room. Now it was filled with all of my accumulated junk. It looked just the way it had when we moved in, cluttered with boxes, but now there was a layer of dust on top of them because I had not been in the room in months.

  I took the boxes and moved them to the front of the house. Gunshots popped some distance away. There were just a few a while ago, but now they were coming more rapidly. I thought of Devon and his wife crammed in their home, and for a moment, I considered inviting them to the cabin again.

  I didn’t. He had made his decision to stay after all we had seen a few minutes ago. I didn’t have the supplies to become more convincing.

  What good would they be if we had to survive? He had no survival skills, and I doubted he even camped. He and his wife were the type to stay in and watch a movie on the weekend rather than go into the woods and pretend they were outdoorsy. They would get in the way, and that was how I made my cold decision to leave them. Stupid common sense.

  I had a big hunting knife—the kind of Rambo blade that had a bunch of tools screwed into the pommel. Part of it was serrated to use like a saw, and the rest was long and razor sharp. I tucked this into the back of my pants in lieu of a gun, and felt much more confident. There was nothing like a deadly weapon at your side to help calm nerves.

  More pops of gunfire, so I moved everything I needed to the front door. I took a few shotgun shells and loaded them under the weapon, then I pumped a round into the chamber and set it with barrel pointing up at the ceiling, leaning against the wall.

  I snatched up the Marlin, chambered a round, and set it next to the shotgun. I felt like I was more or less ready for war, but I would have felt better with my old handgun at my side. The .40 caliber was a powerful gun that would stop one of the zombies on a dime, turn his head inside out, leave him laid out and twice cold.

  I went into the tiny garage and looked around for some tools. I found a small pry bar and added it to my stash, along with a tool kit that was neatly organized.

  All of this planning was done on the fly. I had never really considered what it would be like to flee my home, knowing that I might never return. There was a deep gnawing in my gut that I knew was fear. Fear of going out there. Fear of leaving everything behind. Fear of never being able to come home again.

  I looked around my house at all the things I had accumulated over the years. Well, Allison and I. I glanced at the cheap paintings that adorned the wall; one in particular had a large schooner breaking through a spray of waves. It could have been a bright and gaudy picture like you would see at a library or museum, but the artist had chosen a subtle palette of colors that fit into just about any room. Another fixture to leave. Yet I found myself staring at it for some time before my mind kicked back into overdrive.

  I loaded the boxes in the car, and every time I went past Edwards, I tried not to look at his body. I tried to keep my mind on the task at hand, tried to ignore what my eyes would tell me if I gave them a chance. A dead friend. Killed by my own hand. I pushed my shame aside for the time being.

  I moved the shotgun to the front seat and put the rifle in the rear with my backpack. I returned to my house for another load of MREs, when I felt the eyes on me. I looked up toward Edwards’s house. His wife’s ghostly face, with its splash of blood, was staring at me through the front window, as she tried to walk through the glass over and over. She would walk forward, rebound, put her arms up for balance, and then do it again. She left splashes of blood all over the glass.

  Jesus, Cindy.

  I shuddered and grabbed the last few boxes and shoved them in the back of my little SUV. Then I went around the house, unplugged everything I could, and grabbed a charger for my cell phone and one for my laptop. I had chosen the smaller one, the netbook with its long-life battery, and added it to my treasure. It didn’t have a broadband connection built in, but it did have a large collection of porn. If nothing else, I guess I am a practical man.

  Devon was nowhere to be found. I imagined he and Lisa were back in their house relaxing, or making an attempt to. Hopefully they would keep their heads and think out the situation. If it were me staying, I would have started boarding up the house first, put something over the windows so none of those things could see in. Then reinforce the front and back sliding glass doors.

  With everything loaded, I returned to the house one last time and went into each room to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

  Then I secured each window and double-checked the sliding glass door. A cursory glance under the house assured me the stash of black bags would not show unless someone got right down in there. I wished I had some carpet to cover the spot with, although if someone discovered the carpet, they would probably be more apt to poke around in the space. Why was I even thinking I would come back?

  I went to the junk drawer I kept in the kitchen and dug around in the back. There was a picture in a simple frame, and I pulled it out. In the photo, Allison and I were smiling at each other. She was in profile, beautiful, and I remembered the day when we first met, when I swore I would always be a happy man if I could just wake up to her face. Long, blonde curls hung to her shoulders and framed her small face. She had on a bright green tank top that left her shoulders and slim neck exposed. How many times had I touched her there, ran my hand over her skin, and then kissed her neck as we lay together in bed.

  Too many to count, that’s for sure. Might as well try to keep a count on how many times we made love, which was crazy, especially in our first year.

  My face was nothing special next to her fine features. Where her eyes were a pale blue, mine were brown and deep set. A scar around the right eye gave me a bit of a leer on that side, which was my good side, so to speak. The other had a scar much longer that caressed the corner of my lips, and sometimes gave me a dour look that reminded people of the Joker, or so they claimed. Shrapnel kissed me there during the first Gulf War. I was young, and the firefight we had been in scared me to death. Especially after the burning metal sliced my face open so fast I didn’t even realize it until the pain slammed into me like a mortar.

  Short, wiry hair that I kept close to my head. I was balding in the back, and that was okay. When I finally shaved it, I would look like a military man again. Didn’t shave this morning, so my face looked scruffy; that reminded me to grab a toothbrush and shaving kit on the way out.

  I pocketed the picture and went to the bathroom to retrieve a black bag and fill it with toiletries.

  My cell phone buzzed again, and that reminded me to get the charger from the wall. I had one in the car, and I wasn’t sure if I would even be able to get electricity where I was going. Maybe there was a generator there, maybe there wasn’t.

  I snapped the phone up and saw that it was her again. I answered it so I could say goodbye. We hadn’t spoken much since the divorce, since it all went to shit, and I honestly didn’t know what I would say to her if we did speak. It’s not like I was going to wish her good luck in her new life with her new man.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Her voice sounded so far away, hollow, and I could hear wind rushing past like she was on the move.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, some craziness, huh? I’m getting out of town and heading to my folks down in Eugene. I hope to be there by dark.”

  “Good luck.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Erik, listen. I never had a chance to say I was sorry and I regret it.”

  “Not saying sorry, or fucking that guy? Which do you regret, Allison?”

  “Both.” Her voice came in small, and I was pretty sure I heard genuine regret.

  “I’m heading out too. Call me when you get there and let me know you’re okay.” Then I clicked off the phone and pocketed it. Why did I bother with that last line? I shouldn’t have cared how she was or where she was going. What did she expect me to do? Drop everything and go rescue her the way I rescued her the first t
ime?

  That was a fine mess. Her boyfriend was a real piece of work. A sociopath who got off on locking her up all day, and didn’t let her go out unless he was at her side. She met him in college. They moved in together, and he started to display his real side. I never asked if he hurt her. I didn’t have to. When I came through the door, she practically rushed to hide behind me.

  He got in my face and tried the tough guy act. I kicked him in the shin, and then threw my fist into his gut so fast that all he could do was grunt and fall. He screamed profanities, wanted to know where I was going with his property. But when I looked down at him, looked into his eyes, he decided to shut the hell up and let us go without a hassle.

  I locked all the doors and checked the windows one more time. I set the house alarm, knowing it wouldn’t do much good. If the police were too busy with the virus, or whatever it was, there was no way they would respond to my piddly house alarm, no matter how much I paid.

  I slid into the little Honda and fired it up. I’d had the car for a few years, and she was as reliable as anything I had ever owned. Plus the car had a four-wheel drive setting, which would come in handy.

  The sky grew dark as big puffy clouds slid into view. I backed out of the driveway, forgetting my sunglasses for now. Edwards was still dead and lying in his front yard. I had trouble looking at his body as I backed out. His not-so-lovely wife was still banging away at the window, smearing blood all over it with her hands.

  I drove past ghastly faces that rose up in curtained windows, past Devon’s, where I didn’t see a light or a trace of him or his wife. I stopped at the end of the street and looked both ways. The road was zombie free, for now, and I hoped it would stay that way.

  I suspected that it would not.

  * * *

  When I got back to highway 322, I hit traffic. On the worst day, it could take ten or fifteen minutes to get through the city. Today, I didn’t think I would be able to make it in an hour. I pulled out of the turn lane after waiting for what seemed like an eternity, and then stopped again. A few cars had pulled over to the shoulder lane, so that was not an option. A few brave souls tried weaving into the opposite lane, but they met traffic, and had to either jump back into the correct lane or drive off the road and look miserably at the line of traffic that wasn’t going to let them back in.

  It took ten minutes at one light, and then ten more at the next. I drove past the Walmart I visited earlier in the day, and the place was in full panic. I watched as a few of the dead walked toward shoppers. After the news reports all day, it was apparent that others had caught on to what to do. People didn’t stand around dumbly. Some fought back, but most ran. I saw a man pulled down by three of the things; he screamed over and over at the top of his lungs for help. My hand was on the shotgun before I knew it.

  A horn honked loudly behind me, and I realized the light had changed, so I accelerated to the next light and waited there as well.

  They were everywhere, a small army of them interspersed with the cars. Men, women, and even children walking around with blank stares, most covered in blood, some missing limbs.

  Some were missing throats, and some staggered with broken bones. One walked right up to my window and snarled at me. He had a screwdriver driven into his chest, just to the left of center. It should have punctured his heart and made him drop to the ground, dead. Only he was dead already, or undead.

  I gave him the finger, and the light changed. As I accelerated, I popped my door open quickly, which knocked him to the ground. A car tried to avoid him, but the one after swerved to the right a bit and drove right over him. Score one for the good guys.

  I didn’t slow down to see if it smashed in his head.

  The next light was just about as bad, but a side street called to me—one I knew well from my years of living in the little city. I shot down it into a residential neighborhood that led me to another side street. I ran parallel to the main drag for a while, but jetted down yet another street before emerging onto a lightly traveled road. It took a long time to get back to highway 322, but once I reached it, I was only on it for a few minutes before jumping onto a tiny, two-lane road. Home free at last.

  * * *

  I was on the outskirts of the Vesper Lake when something reassuring came into view.

  A half mile ahead, I saw a row of military vehicles pulled into an orderly line along the side of the road. A group of men were piling out of a Humvee, while a pair rolled pylons across the street.

  After the day I had, it put a smile on my face to see some response from the military. It didn’t matter if they were National Guard or the Marines. They could have landed a platoon for all I cared. They were here, offering some sort of protection.

  I slowed down as I neared the men. I laid the shotgun in the front seat next to me, so that if anyone looked in, they would know I was armed but not an immediate threat. I considered putting it in the back, on the floor where it was less likely to be seen, but what was the point after the day I was having, and I was pretty sure others were in the same boat.

  Two men dressed in camouflaged gear were in the process of maneuvering a heavy, concrete-filled barrel into place on the side of the road. A man dressed in jeans and a t-shirt jumped down from the back of a military transport. Others milled around a guy that gestured around the location. From the back, all I caught was grey hair shaved close to the skull.

  As I rolled to a stop, I waited for someone to come out and challenge me. No one did, so I pulled forward until I was level with the guys moving the barrel.

  “What’s the word?” I called after rolling down my window.

  “Fucked. That’s a word I would choose.” One man said without looking up at me.

  The other smiled and ignored me.

  “So you guys army?”

  “Something like that. We’re all they could call up on short notice. Some of us didn’t even have time to get our shit together, like Timmons over there—in the comfortable clothes.” He gestured to the guy in the t-shirt.

  I caught the eye of the older man as he came over. He moved with a sure step and didn’t take his eyes of me. He wore a pair of snake skin boots that gleamed in the sun. I felt like getting out and saluting, maybe reporting for duty. Some men are just made for the job he obviously had. The job of being in charge and making sure stuff gets done.

  He nodded, so I nodded back as he came around the front of the car.

  “Heading out of town?” he inquired in a baritone that probably boomed when the need called for it.

  “I was thinking about it. Depends on what’s out there.”

  “I’ll tell you what is behind you. A whole world of hurt.” He grimaced.

  I nodded. A couple of men rolled another barrel into place right next to my SUV. They nodded at the older man, and then looked at me like I was dirt.

  “Don’t mind them. We’ve been together for a long while.” He gestured toward the men. When he lifted his head, I noticed a fine scar running from his chin to his neck.

  “The name’s Tragger.” I stuck my hand out the window. I don’t know what possessed me to try and make a new best friend. The camaraderie of the military does that. Even though I had been out for a while, it felt like the right thing to do.

  “I’m Lee.” He shook my hand.

  Lee, huh? Was that a first name or last? His hand was strong, calloused. So was mine. We didn’t bother testing each other.

  “So are you going to read me the riot act now? Explain why I should go home and wait it out?”

  “It’s your life, son. I don’t really care where you’re going. My orders are to hold position here until we get other orders. You understand about orders?”

  “I was in the army for a while.”

  “You have the look. Things are getting crazy. We could use another man with some experience. You know much about that weapon?” He nodded at my gun.

  “Enough. I know a lot more about some of the automatics your men are carrying.”

 
He glanced at his crew as they continued setting up the roadblock.

  “I didn’t see any insignia. You guys National Guard?”

  “Something like that. Let’s just say we have been together a long time, and we plan to watch each other’s back.”

  “And this outfit you’re in, they allow shoes like that?” I glanced toward his boots.

  “Damnedest thing. When the call came out, I didn’t have my regular boots. I think my wife put them in the attic somewhere. Anyway, these were the only shoes I had at hand that weren’t soft.” He grinned.

  I didn’t bother pursing the matter of what branch he represented. Lee had his secrets, and I didn’t care to know any more about them. Whatever these guys were up to was none of my business. But a sense of unease settled over me. A feeling I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I decided it was in my best interest to move along and follow my original plan to strike for the cabin.

  Before I could offer a goodbye, a man ran out of the trees like he was being chased by fire. Lee’s head shot up to take in the sight, then he started calling out orders. Men piled out of one of the transports with guns in hand. Some were ready, but others fumbled for magazines.

  “If you want to get your hands dirty, feel free to break out that cannon and help out. Just don’t get in the way. And don’t let any of my men shoot you.” He smiled. His teeth were yellowed—probably a lifetime smoker. One tooth was missing on the left side, and it gave him a garish look.

  I sat for a few seconds, unsure what to do. These guys could probably handle a small army. Already they were taking cover where they could. Rifles were lowered, and someone was even putting together a large machine gun.

  I could just drive away. Leave them to handle whatever was coming. I could put the automatic stick in D and just make for the cabin. I was just one guy and they were many. Would my little shotgun make that much of a difference?

  I looked after Lee as he strode away. He tugged a large caliber handgun out of a holster at his side. His feet kicked up dust as he made a beeline for the trees.