Life After: The Void

by Bryan Way

  Then, as the food supply dies out, we’re going to have to go hunting and foraging. Despite his role as the resident expert in all things manly, Anderson is appalled at the idea of hunting, skinning, and cooking any animal larger than a goose for sustenance. Considering the size of our group, nothing short of a deer would suffice for a decent meal, so Rich has taken to familiarizing himself with the finer points of field dressing. Throughout all of this, we’ll be steadily increasing our regular exposure to the undead, which always carries an unquantifiable set of risks.

  Anderson and Mursak return to the car, shaking me out of an extended daydream by filling the remainder of the trunk space with yet another computer tower, a laptop, a box of various gadgets, an acoustic guitar, and several of Elena’s treasured toys. Anderson starts the car and takes us back toward the high school via a rather circuitous route to avoid all of the former checkpoints. Fortunately these roads are fairly well traveled, allowing us the comfort of feeling as though we’re out of danger for several minutes before we arrive at the high school. It’s a valuable decompression.

  Anderson radios in our return moments before we’re within striking distance of the school, prompting Rich to meet us in the driveway. I take in his distraught face moments before Anderson parks the car and our voyage officially ends. “What happened?” Rich asks before we can even open the doors. Sensing my attempt to avoid him, Anderson steps out first and takes over relating the essentials of our affair. “Hit some Zombies.” Apparently, Anderson’s gift for terseness survived the journey. “Yeah, alright…” Rich says, evading an argument. “Kinda surprised it kept going after that.” Anderson continues.

  “Airbags deploy?”

  “Yeah… thought for sure the inertia switch would shut off.”

  “ECU shuts it down on this one.” Rich replies.

  “Still…”

  “I disconnected it.”

  Anderson looks at him crossly.

  “…what?” I ask.

  “When the airbags deploy, the engine control unit shuts down the relay for the fuel pump… you know, so you don’t catch on fire or blow up. Which means when the airbags go off, you can’t drive.”

  “…so?”

  “I turned it off.” Rich says proudly.

  “…couldn’t have told us that?” Anderson asks.

  “Didn’t think to. I figured you’d be better off driving away from any accidents… better than gettin’ eaten alive while you try to figure it out.”

  “Good call.” Mursak offers.

  “All right…” Anderson interrupts. “Let’s unload and get on with the AAR.”

  True to his military background, after we’ve stored our weapons and unloaded our wares, Anderson engages us in an after-action review so Rich can debrief us and ascertain what happened, why it happened, and how it can be done better in the future. Before we commence, I collect a bucket of ice and wrap my knuckles in rags to abate the swelling. Despite feeding Anderson’s already inflated ego, the structured AAR environment censors Rich’s ability to retaliate angrily due to its conservative nature. When the subject of the computers comes up, Anderson shuts Rich down by joking that he only wanted to retain his cache of porn. I honestly can’t tell if he’s being facetious.

  After we’ve settled the AAR and had something to eat, the four of us leave each other’s company; Rich volunteers to take a bag of perishable trash to our compost heap behind the pool, Mursak takes the combustible trash to the stairs under the breezeway, and Anderson goes for a nap. At this point, I finally decide to stake a claim in room 212, a science classroom that overlooks the courtyard. Before I can set up my computer or get any of my bedding in order, I finally plug in and turn on my cell phone, making my mother the inaugural call.

  “Jeff?!”

  “Yeah, it’s me mom…”

  “Is everything okay, are you alright?”

  “I’m fine… got my phone back.”

  “How?”

  “…went and got it.”

  “Jeff, that’s very dangerous…”

  “I know, but you know we don’t take stupid risks. We went out and did some scouting to make sure we could leave in a hurry if we have to…” I don’t know why I’m lying. “…and we were close enough that I could pick it up… are you guys okay?”

  “We’re fine… there aren’t any of those things out here. No imports, you know… but the Pompano Beach Club manager let us pay up about a year at their extended vacation rate… the staff still show up every day, and they couldn’t be nicer…”

  “I wish I could be there…”

  “Me too.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Well, we get the continental breakfast… we get to use the beach…”

  “Describe the beach.”

  “No tourists anymore… it’s amazing how quiet it can be. Crystal blue water as far as you can see… almost like there’s nothing on the horizon… white sand… you should see the sunset… I don’t even know what to say… it’s still so green though… everywhere you turn there are tropical plants… and the air is fresh…”

  “It is?”

  As my mom continues talking, I can only imagine that their mainland amenities will dwindle and that the island’s self-sufficiency will shape its future.

  “Jeff?”

  “Yeah mom?”

  “Oh, I thought we lost you…”

  “No, still here.”

  “Have you heard from David?”

  I quickly try to formulate a lie. “When’s the last time you heard from him?” I know for a fact that it was a week ago, when I asked Alan to use David’s phone to text them.

  “A week ago?”

  “Yeah, he still texts me every couple days… he’s alright.”

  “Have you thought about him coming down?”

  “Mom, I told you…”

  “… I know…”

  “It’s too much of a risk to get him down here…”

  “… I know… I just want to hear his voice again…”

  She starts weeping. I cover the receiver and sigh.

  “Mom, it’s okay…” It’s not. “It’s just… we’re at ground zero, so it’s quiet here…”

  “Are you gonna be okay for winter?”

  “Karen’s already had us stocking up on blankets, winter clothes, and space heaters… we’ll be fine. Our kind survived an ice age… we’ll be all right. Look, mom, now that I have my phone again I’m gonna text David. We can talk more… some other time.”

  “Okay then… well, I love you, and tell David I said that…”

  “I love you too… and I will…”

  “Be careful…”

  “I will… tell dad I love him too. Bye mom.”

  “Bye Jeffy…”

  Once I hang up, I stare at my phone. I’ve wondered on at least a few occasions what would happen once I got it back. Who’s called me? What kind of messages have I gotten? The anticipation is disrupted by my urge to leave it off to another day, or at least later tonight. I instead prioritize the tasks that initially guided my path to retrieve my computer; printing and storing all of the writing that was most important to me.

  I remove the substandard desktop computer that currently occupies my bedroom and install my own, quickly negotiating the network landscape previously simplified by Mursak. I check in with several large websites and discover that about three quarters of them aren’t responding, likely on a permanent basis. Fortunately, I’m able to download or copy cached entries from both Xanga and Deviant Art, the two places I most frequently posted my writing. Once I’ve stockpiled the essentials and some of the non-essentials on my home screen, I begin printing them out in a series of attractive fonts I’d previously culled on my computer.

  Following this, I find the recorded works of The Noctambulists in all their forms and manage to fit them all on a single CD, burning two copies and labeling them appropriately. Satisfied with the progress of the poetry and online diaries, I next amass the vital essays I
was working on in college and print them too. Unsatisfied, I locate and print some of my lesser work, leaving the pages double-spaced to make corrections if I see fit. The floor of my ‘bedroom’ quickly becomes littered with stacks of paper, each carrying a title page bound to the rest with staples. As the printer continues rumbling, I wrap Melody’s CD in computer paper and write her name on it.

  When I’ve finished printing off the last bit of my work, I still find myself unfulfilled. Am I missing something? Maybe I need an organization system. A filing cabinet, perhaps, or a fire safe? As I wander around the room in search of answers, I happen to glance at the courtyard to see Jake strolling out from beneath the breezeway, disappearing in the direction of the band room. Feeling as though I’ve done enough work for one day, I decide to see if Jake is any more willing to talk to me than the last time I tried to speak with him a week ago.

  Once I’ve dropped off Melody’s gift under the tree in the cafeteria, I head to the breezeway and walk into the courtyard to find Jake sitting on the same bench Karen and I sat upon yesterday. On my way over, I notice he’s smoking a cigarette, which is something I’ve never seen him do. “Hey there…” I say affably. He half-turns his oblong head and gives me a subtle nod, his long brown bangs getting caught in his thick eyebrows. I immediately want to ask what he’s doing out here, but decide that might seem an adversarial line of questioning.

  “Long time.” I start, picking up his reply in the form of a barely audible scoff. “How’ve you been?” He continues to say nothing. “Do you… want me to tell you how I’ve been?” He savors a drag off his cigarette. “I guess you just want to smoke in peace.” A slight smile escapes the ring of peach fuzz around his lips as he quietly snorts. I stretch out on the bench, wondering if it was a mistake for me to come out here. “Get your computers alright?” Jake asks, finally.

  “Uh, yeah… not too messy… almost got shot by some squatters.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah… good thing Anderson’s a helluva shot.”

  “Karen’s better.”

  “Don’t tell him that.”

  We both chuckle. On our last trip to Gordon’s, Anderson decided it would be smart to take some air rifles for target practice, whereupon Karen revealed that her father taught her how to shoot when she was little. Her impeccable marksmanship outmatched Anderson, and the incident left him firing away into the cold, dark night while most of us slept.

  “So, when’d you take up smoking?” I figured the brevity of laughter would allow me to ask this question casually, but Jake goes right back into mopey teenager mode, shrugging me off dismissively. “Alright… you don’t have to tell me.” He turns his head and mumbles something, which I decide to let go for a moment before changing my mind, creating an awkwardly interminable pause.

  “…what was that?” I ask.

  “…nothing.”

  “Jake… what’s going on?”

  “What’d ya mean?”

  “Come on…”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.” He mutters.

  “Whatever you’re thinking… I mean… are you just not feeling social…?”

  He shrugs again. “…do you just want me to ask yes or no questions?” Yet another scoffing laugh. “Come on … help me out here.” An annoying smile remains fixed on his face as he exhales a deep blast of smoke, drops his cigarette, crushes it with his foot, and stands to walk away. “Whatever man…” My eyes stay fixed on the smoldering butt as he slinks toward the breezeway. “You really gonna leave that butt?” He stops instantly. Jackpot.

  “Are you serious?”

  “You do realize we’re attempting to grow plants back here?”

  “Right there?” Jake asks incredulously.

  “No, not right there, but do you really want the only safe patch of grass we have covered with garbage?”

  He turns around, staring through me with his cobalt eyes.

  “Wait… okay… you’re not my father…”

  “That’s right. I’m in charge.” I assert.

  “Oh, right… who elected you?” He asks, and I scoff in reply. “You just waltzed in here and nominated yourself…”

  “You followed me in here. You wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Oh really? Would Kate?”

  “…who’s Kate?” I ask.

  “…FUCK!”

  I try to quiet him down as he shakes his arms in a blind fury.

  “Right, right, sorry, she was your girlfriend…”

  “That’s what I’m talking about… you don’t care… you never cared… we should be grateful, right? Rich tells you someone else should be in charge right after your best friend shows up, and what do you do?”

  “Keep your voice down…”

  “NO! You pick yourself, Anderson, and the guy who just challenged you… that’s friggin’ politics if I ever saw it…”

  “Anderson was gonna be in charge no matter what…”

  “It doesn’t matter…”

  “Listen!” I stand up. “And he was gonna ask my opinion… we were both gonna ask Rich’s opinion…”

  “And what about the rest of us, huh? Sure, you’d ask Jules…”

  “Back off…”

  “No… you’d ask your ‘girlfriend’… ask Karen about medical stuff… when’d you ever ask for Rob’s opinion? Or Ava’s? Ally? Melody? What about me?” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You never asked me shit. You barely even talk to me. And all I do is what you tell me.”

  “That’s not true…”

  “Yes it is.”

  “Okay, seriously?” I start. “It’s not like I’m standing over you with a control bar…”

  “Oh, sure… semantics… you know what I mean… I ask Rich for help, Anderson asks me to do things… you tell me. You gave everyone these little jobs… internal surveillance, external surveillance… you couldn’t even think up one for me.”

  “…because you didn’t want one.”

  “Bullshit, it’s because…”

  “No no no, wait… you’re telling me you don’t want me to tell you what to do. And I asked you… asked you… what you wanted when we were making those assignments. And your answer was nothing.”

  “Bullshit, you wanna make me your bitch. But you already got someone picked out for that job.” Jake snorts.

  “…what are you talking about?”

  “You don’t need a hint. She sleeps with you.”

  “…what are you on?” I screech.

  “Alright, play dumb… we all know what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on… what, you think I’m sleeping with Melody?”

  “I think you wanna.”

  “…I think we’re done here.”

  “Yeah…”

  Jake walks away, his head tilted back. “She why you took up smoking?” I ask. He scoffs hard and shakes his head a bit too violently. The door to the breezeway blows open before Jake can get there and Anderson storms out. I barely hear the conversation, but Jake cowers like a scared puppy as Anderson berates him, pointing inside. I can only make out the end, where Anderson states “Go get your gun.” Jake goes inside while Anderson marches over to me. “Anderson asks me to do things…” I mock silently.

  “What was that?” Anderson calls out.

  “He’s acting like a child…”

  “No shit… they’re startin’ to bunch up on the Southwest corner.”

  He doesn’t need to say another word to get me to chase him to 218. Anderson, Jake, and I are the Alpha team in situations like this. Inasmuch as Jake claims he has no role, he’s responsible for relaying commands to the rest of the group while Anderson and I assess the situation during combat. Mursak, Rich, and Althea are Beta, while Melody, Rob, and Helen are ostensibly Gamma. In acknowledging Karen’s indispensable nature, we try to avoid putting her in harm’s way, but if necessity calls, she’d replace Rob.

  Anderson takes the walkie off his belt. “Hel, AlCon two. Repeat, AlCon tw
o. Out.” I consider how unnecessary the use of his radio was, since we just passed by her, but I decide to let it go. A moment later, her voice is on the loudspeaker. “Alert Condition 2. Assume defensive positions. Repeat, Alert Condition 2.” I wonder if Anderson had to break something to drop the volume on the announcements, because she always sounds hollow and tinny.

  Rich already has the weapons closet open and hands off our guns, indicating that Jake is waiting by the entrance. “How many?” I ask Anderson, trying to calm my wheezy lungs with a hit off my inhaler. “Six, at least. They always bring more.” We find Jake waiting by the gate, and once we’ve descended the rope ladder, he opens the door and lets us exit first.

  Anderson takes point, stopping as soon as he passes the tail end of the bus. He slinks along the back, looking off toward the street as he waves for me to follow. “Just the six.” He says, pointing to the lawn. Among the group, I notice Herman. “Oh, for Christ’s sake…” I scoff. Anderson indicates with a stern look that I’m not taking this seriously enough.

  “We have a situation here…” Anderson grumbles.

  “No we don’t… it’s Herman. He hasn’t done anything.”

  “You wanna risk waking up to twelve tomorrow?”

  “They pass through sometimes, it’s not a big deal.”

  “This is why we don’t give ‘em names.” Anderson says, his irritation showing. “You think he’s not a problem… he’s a Zombie. He’s not gonna think twice when it comes to you.”

  “Dude, it’s not like I’m buying him dinner… I don’t care about Herman…”