A Bad Day Part 2

by Thomas DiMauro

  "Mrs. Walker, if you and Ann can go door to door in the area around the church to get the word out I'd appreciate it. The deputies and I will take our cars out to the edges of town and using the PA system to announce the meeting as well."

  "We can do that," Ann said looking at Mahirimah and then back to Caine.

  "Good. Ann we will also need you to be part of a medical clinic we set up in town."

  "Of course, but will that really be necessary?" Ann said.

  "I do. We may be on our own for some time."

  "Caine, I'd like to volunteer to be part of the town security force," Maurice said.

  The color drained from Mahirimah's face and she pinned Maurice with her eyes. "Are you out of your mind?"

  Caine put his hand up and said, "Reverend, that won't be necessary. We have plenty of able bodied young men."

  "Are you saying I'm not able bodied?" he said with narrowed eyes and a distinct edge to his voice.

  "You are missing your foot and part of your leg, are you not?" Caine said, smiling wryly.

  "So what? I could still kick your ass even with one foot."

  "Maurice," Mahirimah exclaimed.

  "Reverend, I don't doubt that for a minute. Once a marine, always a marine. But we will need someone to calm people and give them hope during what I am expecting as difficult times. Now who will do that if you're out patrolling?"

  "Point taken," he paused, "Then I'd like to be part of a reserve unit."

  "All right, Reverend, you can be part of our reserve unit. Now can we get back to more pressing business?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Food, water, medicine, and security. Those are the primary things we need to focus on."

  "Agreed."

  "I think we have to shut down the supermarket and begin food rationing. That is assuming the market isn't cleared out already. Perishables foods have probably spoiled by now. I have no idea how long their emergency generators are good for."

  "Do you think that's necessary?"

  "Most markets only have a three-day supply of food on the shelves. Power went out late Monday or maybe early Tuesday. So this would be day three. Do you imagine a truck making it in here anytime soon?"

  "Probably not."

  "Oh my god, we really are in deep shit, aren't we?” Ann said.

  Caine nodded. "I'm trying to maintain order and civility as long as possible."

  "As long as possible? Then what?" Ann asked, terror flashing in her eyes.

  The question hung in the air like a bad smell they were all pretending not to notice. The muscles in Maurice's face pulsed as he clenched and unclenched his jaw repeatedly. His eyes took on a haunted look. Caine's gaze dropped to the table.

  The girls burst through the kitchen door, all sweaty and disheveled from playing. They were laughing as they walked in, but their smiles faded almost immediately as they sensed the tension in the room. "Mom," Daisy began, her eyes darting from her mother to all the other faces in the room, "can we have something to drink?"

  "Did something happen?" Violet asked, her brows drawing together.

  She shook her head. "Everything is fine, pumpkin. We're just working on some things we need to do."

  "Come, Daisy. I'll get you some water," Mahirimah said.

  They all stood in that awkward silence until Daisy finished her water and Ann asked the girls to go back outside to play.

  Caine looked up at Ann. "Any ideas on how to eat an elephant?"

  Ann frowned. "What?"

  "If you had to eat an elephant whether or not you wanted to how would you do it?"

  She shrugged, "I don't know, grill it?"

  "And after you grilled it you'd eat it one piece at a time. Just one piece at a time. That's the only way to do it."

  Ann narrowed her eyes and nodded. Then she gave a little shrug. "Okay."

  "You can't think about then what right now. Right now, we have to gather as many people as possible and focus on just four things. Food, water, medicine, and security."

  They went over the things Caine wanted to cover at the meeting. Water seemed to be the least of their worries. At least for the people in town. They were all hooked up to the municipal water supply gravity fed from a reservoir. They needed to do little to maintain the system.

  As for medicine, they had some personnel. At least one doctor and one dentist they could all think of. Ann, of course, was a nurse and there might be more living in town. The problem would be supplies of anything other than the basics. If anyone became ill or injured that could become an issue.

  Food might be a big problem. Everyone they knew shopped for food every week. Perishable foods were another issue. They needed to come up with a food plan.

  Finally, there was the issue of security. For a small town of several thousand people where nothing much ever happened, they only had a small police force. A good many of those didn't live in Cherry Ridge but came from neighboring towns. They had a volunteer fire department and a volunteer ambulance service. They would need to reorganize everything under current conditions.

  The more they talked about things, the more overwhelming it seemed, even to Caine. And so, following his own advice, Caine stopped the conversation and asked everyone to work on their tasks. They only had hours to pull it all together before the meeting this evening.

  As Mahirimah walked Caine out and Ann went out to speak with the girls, Maurice grabbed his breviary and walked upstairs to his bedroom. He set the breviary on his nightstand and pulled a drawer open. Then he withdrew his pistol and ejected the magazine. Reaching into a second drawer he withdrew a handful of bullets and clicked them in one by one while thinking about that town long ago and far away that disappeared in an instant.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jim heads home - Mid-morning Thurs Sep 5

  Jim tossed the box of 9mm ammo into the glove compartment of the truck and added two more MREs to the tub sitting in the truck bed. He started the truck using the jumper cables and extra car battery. Then with Tiny in the passenger seat, he took off down the road from Turnello's.

  It felt kind of weird leaving B.A. behind with Olga, yet it seemed like the right thing to do. Since she was old and unarmed, he thought B.A. could protect her somehow and she in turn would nurse his wounds.

  He needed to get gas and had a five gallon can and a three-foot-length of hose that Olga had given him to help with that task. He figured with all the cars near the entrance of the bridge he could fill the gas can and the truck without too much trouble. The only issue might be those zombies hanging around the gas station.

  He drove slowly down the road that would take him to the knot of cars before the bridge. He pulled up to one of the last cars on the road caught up in the traffic jam and scanned the area. Off in the distance a hundred yards away, he could see a handful of zombies milling around near the gas station. The area immediately around him looked clear.

  Because of the battery issue, he needed to leave the truck running. So he jumped out leaving the door open to minimize noise. Grabbing the gas can and hose he ran to the first car. He moved furtively, always keeping an eye over his shoulder as he popped open the fuel door and got to work siphoning.

  The gas can filled to overflowing and spilled on the ground. He jerked the hose up in the air to stop the flow and then carried the can to the truck and emptied it into the tank. Tiny gave a low growl and when Jim turned to go back to the car, he didn't see the figures milling around the gas station anymore. "Oh shit," he whispered to himself, "where the hell did you go?"

  He got to work siphoning more gas, this time kneeling throughout the whole procedure to keep out of sight as much as possible. This time he barely filled half the can before the flow slowed to a trickle. Impatience rose in him and he growled with frustration as he yanked the hose from the gas tank.

  As he stood and moved to the next car, he heard a growl and bark in reply. He looked back to the truck to see Tiny on the ground with his hackles raised and his head lowered looking like he was r
eady to pounce. Jim reached into his sweatshirt pocket and took out his pistol. He grabbed the gas can and hose with his other hand and hurried back to the truck in time to see four figures shambling onto the roadway.

  Tiny barked at them, jumping back and forth as if he were daring them to catch him. Their eyes focused on him and they put their hands out moaning as they stumbled toward him. Jim tossed the hose and gas can back into the truck bed. He climbed in and called to Tiny. The dog turned and sprang up across Jim's lap into the truck.

  Jim threw the truck in reverse as the zombies swarmed the sides. They pounded on the windows snarling in frustration. He hit the accelerator rolling back away from them. Then he cut the wheel to the left and drove off the road leaving them in his dust. He checked the rearview mirror and glanced down at Tiny in the passenger seat and stroked the little dog. "Good looking out, little buddy."

  It was a bumpy ride getting around the knot of cars. When he got back onto the pavement two hundred yards later, he could relax enough to check the gas gauge and see he had about half a tank. That would be plenty to get him to his house and back. Plus, he had a couple gallons in the can. He'd worry about getting more another time.

  Now he needed to focus on getting home. The question was should he take the highway, or would he be better off on secondary roads? He thought about his trip up from Philadelphia and realized he'd been lucky that so many of the roads he had taken were empty.

  He doubted that he'd have the same luck around this area which was much more populated. Getting trapped on a highway could be a death sentence. The more he thought about it the more sensible it seemed to take smaller roads. So he stayed on the road he was on, one that paralleled the river, and drove south.

  There was a shocking lack of activity on the road. But without electricity, most places of business couldn't function. Ones with generators, like the larger supermarkets, would likely be out of food or fuel by now. Most people would tend to hunker down as long as possible. He passed a handful of cars headed in the opposite direction. They seemed filled with frightened and tired looking people carrying tons of stuff.

  At a strip mall halfway to his home, he saw a man parked outside of a gas station convenience store peering in through the locked doors. He reached into his open car window, withdrew a crowbar, and smashed the glass.

  At the other end of the mall at a deli, people were running out with armloads of stuff and throwing into their cars. Scuffles broke out. People shoved one another.

  He ignored them and kept moving. A short while later after a significant curve in the road, it became the main street of a small town. He saw a police car with its lights on and doors open. No police were in sight but there were about half a dozen zombies shambling around aimlessly. At the sound of the truck they looked up and moved into the street. He swerved around them as best he could, bumping two and knocking them to the ground.

  As he approached his town a terrible burnt odor soured the air. At first, it annoyed him, but when he noticed several thin tendrils of smoke in the distance, his heart sank at their implication. He guided the truck off the main avenue and drove about half a block toward his neighborhood when he stepped on the brake stopping the truck in the middle of the street.

  He needed to stop because it was impossible for him to take in the enormity of what he saw. His mouth opened as if to say something but then stayed opened unable to utter a single sound. He blinked several times trying to clear a vision that would not change.

  The landscape had changed from white homes with red shingled roofs and green lawns to indistinguishable black and gray piles that looked like the remnants of a campfire more than anything else. Even the trees lining the streets had become blackened logs. This devastation went on for blocks.

  He took his foot off the brake and the truck rolled forward. Without street signs or homes or much of anything for landmarks to guide him, he had no idea where his house was. From the way things looked, it didn't matter. He knew it was close by which meant one of those charred piles belonged to him.

  The logical thing to do, the thing that made the most sense, would be to turn the truck around at this moment and head back to Turnello's place to plan his next move. There was nothing to see here, yet he needed to see it. He needed to find his home and be sure there truly was nothing left.

  He kept the truck rolling and tried to picture the neighborhood in his mind. Here and there he found small clues to help prompt his memory. A twisted metal railing. Part of a brick wall. A charred stop sign, which he stopped at out of habit. If he relaxed and tried not to think, his body seemed to remember where to turn.

  Then he found it. No guessing was necessary because a small portion of the front of the house still stood. The front door and about ten feet of the wall next to it containing the living room window were somehow still there. They were charred but, if you looked closely, you could still read the address on the door. The rest of the place, however, lay in ruins.

  Jim put the truck in park but left the engine running. He got out and walked toward the charred debris. Warmth from the fire still radiated from the concrete. He stood at the end of his walkway and stared. It was odd, but he felt nothing but numbness and disbelief.

  Everything he owned, everything that existed a few days ago was gone. His home, car, and wallet. Every stitch of clothing. Every dollar. All gone. His daughter? Probably gone too. His best friend Turnello? Gone.

  His heart hammered and his breath quickened. A tremor ran through him and then the numbness seemed to fracture. A white-hot searing pain erupted forth from it. His brain felt as if it were on fire. His mind became a tumult of thoughts and emotions that slowly reached a fevered pitch.

  At that moment only one thing seemed to be clear. There was no reason at all to go on living. What did he have to live for? Not a blessed thing. He reached into his sweatshirt pocket and put his hand on the gun.

  He drew it out and held it at his side. He heard the click of nails against the concrete nearby, but ignored it as he put the gun to his head. It felt cold and hard against his temple. He wondered if it would hurt at all.

  Tiny walked in between Jim and the front door of his house then turned and sat, staring at him. Jim looked at him and looked away. He moved the gun under his chin and put his finger on the trigger. He imagined the bullet going through his tongue. Then through the roof of his mouth into his brain.

  He heard more scraping sounds behind him but ignored them. He moved the gun to his mouth. It tasted awful. He held his breath and put his finger on the trigger again. Just one little squeeze. A quarter of an inch and it would be all over.

  He looked down at Tiny. The dog moved its eyes back and forth following something behind Jim. Icy fingers touched the back of his neck and he spun around quickly grabbing the arm, the gun fumbling away. The force of the attack was so violent that it knocked him to the ground.

  He found himself face to face with a woman whose entire left side looked like it had been left on the grill too long. Fire had burned away the hair and ear on that side. The flesh of her face was a mix of black char and blistered skin. She snapped her teeth at him and the smell of her breath made him gag.

  The only thing that stopped him from being bitten immediately was his forearm slamming into the thing's throat. Only one of her arms must have been functional because she only tried to claw at him with one. He was successful keeping it bay, but she was powerful for her size and he was tiring.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw another set of shuffling feet. That brought his panic to a fever pitch. Sure, he wanted to die, but not like this. Not being torn to shreds and consumed by these spawns of hell.

  Where was the damn dog? Why wasn't he helping? Jim couldn't hold out much longer. Her snapping mouth drooled a frothy blood that spattered his face. He turned his head to the side to avoid getting any of it in his eyes or mouth. There, not two feet from him, sat Tiny with the gun in front of him looking on passively.

  "Jesus Christ," Jim said throug
h gritted teeth, "why aren't you helping me?"

  The dog picked up the gun and dragged it to within reach and walked away.

  "Son of a bitch." He let go of the zombie's wrist and grabbed the gun. The moment he let it go, she clawed at his face. Jim screamed and put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger. She instantly collapsed on top of him. He pushed her off quickly but by then the other zombie reached him and dropped to its hands and knees to feed on him.

  If he had hesitated a split second, it would have bitten him, but adrenalin is an amazing thing. He put a bullet through its cheek and blew off part of its head. It fell back, still on its knees, looking like it was attempting a difficult yoga pose. He pushed himself off the ground even though all he wanted to do was lie there and catch his breath. Looking around he saw no other threats.

  He wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve and stormed off toward the truck. Tiny sat there looking at him.

  "What the fuck?" Jim screamed at him, "What the actual fuck? Were you going to just let me die?"

  There was a pause and then the dog let out a long rumbling growl punctuated by a forceful bark. It made Jim start and take a step back. It walked over to the front tire, lifted its leg, and peed on it. Then it walked to the open door of the truck and jumped in.

  Jim stood there for a moment stunned. An array of emotions churned through him. Anger. Fear. Grief. Confusion. What the hell was he doing? He felt so lost.

  Then he heard noises. Odd noises from all around him. He turned to face the burned neighborhood that was once his and he saw them. Dozens of them. Blackened corpses drifting toward him from every direction.

  He jumped into the truck and locked the door. His trembling hand put the gearshift in drive and he floored the accelerator. He looked for the thinnest part of the group and headed for it. That required him to ride with two wheels on the sidewalk for a bit. Then he swerved off.

  The first one he hit jolted the car with much greater force than he had expected. He heard the plastic grill crack as it flew to the ground. He swerved the truck again and knocked another down with a glancing blow. The third hit the truck dead center. Badly burned and with little flesh left, the impact caused its head to come off, roll up the hood, and put a small crack in the windshield before it rolled away.