by T. W. Brown
Kneeling beside his daughter, he bowed his head as Denita recited the only prayer she knew.
“Now I lay me, down to sleep…”
***
“Gemma,” the dark-skinned woman said softly, not rising from her seat.
“What…h-h-how?” the other woman stammered.
“I came here like you said,” Chaaya replied with a slight bow of her head. “They took me in without hesitation. I have married, he shares my immunity, and we have a beautiful son.”
“So you two really were together…” Vix stepped back from Gemma suddenly. “Then I need you to answer a question.”
Gemma sighed, her shoulders slumping. With tired eyes she looked up at Vix. “Yes, I am the Black Widow. I have killed over thirty men in the past several years…however many it has been. So I guess my invitation has been rescinded.”
Gemma turned to leave, but a hand on her arm stopped her. She turned to see an odd expression of her former travelling companion’s face.
“I was going to ask you if you might be willing to share the story of how you survived this long on your own, and if there would be any hard feelings between you and Chaaya. Considering that she deserted you, a point she admits and has made public knowledge practically since she arrived.” Vix gently steered the woman back to the boat.
Now Gemma was totally confused. Had Vix missed the part where she said that she had killed over thirty men? Not only that, but Chaaya had told people about her. So, at the very least, they knew about those first men that she killed. Yet, she was not only being welcomed, she was being asked if she had any problems with Chaaya in such a way that she honestly believed that the woman would incur some sort of imposed restriction or some such nonsense.
“I can share. Not much of a storyteller, but I can at least remember most of the details.”
“Then it is off to New England!”
And just like that, they were rowing back across the channel. Gemma actually took a moment to enjoy the light mist on her face as they cut through the water. She could not believe her fortune. After all that she had done, she was being accepted into this society with open arms. If she was able, Gemma might have cried. As it was, her throat was threatening to seize up.
They were less than halfway across when Gemma noticed the first people starting to gather at the dock in anticipation as to her arrival. Her anxiety was building once more.
She glanced back at Vix and saw that the woman was all seriousness as she watched the land get closer and closer. As for Chaaya, she had her eyes on her feet. Gemma would have to talk to her later. She had not done anything wrong, they would be able to clear the slate and start fresh.
Yet, as she looked from Vix to Chaaya to the crowd gathering on the shore, she could not shake the feeling in her gut that something was wrong. When a hand touched her arm, Gemma just about tipped the boat.
“Are you okay?” Vix asked with a furrow creasing her brow.
“Something is wrong,” Gemma whispered. Actually, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She looked plaintively at Vix. Her hands began to twitch and she could not stop her feet from bouncing.
“You have been away for a long time.” Vix took the younger woman’s hands in hers. “I know it seems like everything is tilted on its hind end, but you are safe now, Gemma. You can come here, clean up, and make a go at living a normal life.”
“Normal.” The word sounded bitter and dirty coming from Gemma mouth. Her lips curled in a nasty sneer and her eyes narrowed to slits. “There is no normal.”
“That’s what I thought,” Chaaya eased up on her rowing just enough to speak. “After what we went through at the fort, I thought I would never be clean…never close my eyes and not be haunted by the horrors we were forced to endure. But you can make it to the other side, Gemma. You have a strong heart. It is obvious that you are strong and brave. Look how long you lasted all alone out in the wilderness.”
Gemma looked from one woman’s face to the other. A very tiny part of her was screaming for her to listen, but a larger part, the broken Gemma, that part was screaming for her to end this pain once and for all.
She had heard that voice before. Yet, she had always been able to suppress that voice. Over time, she learned to blank everything from her mind. She did not discriminate. She purged herself of anger, sorrow, and fear. Unfortunately, she also did away with happiness, peace, and joy.
In the days before zombies, she would have been hospitalized and heavily medicated. But now, now the voices had free reign. Gemma listened to the ministrations of that single loud voice that dominated. She even cocked her head as if the voice might be coming in on a breeze.
Before Vix could react, Gemma grabbed the large concrete-filled bucket that was tied to a single fifty foot piece of line. In a lunge that once again almost threatened to tip the boat, Gemma threw herself backwards. She landed flat on her back in the water hard enough to drive most of the air from her lungs.
With the extra weight from the bucket, she sunk fast. Her last vision was that of a pair of faces peering over the side of the boat at her. Their expressions were wavy and distorted by the water. The sound was muffled and quickly faded from her ears.
As she sunk to the bottom of the river, her body convulsed with the first big intake of water that poured into her lungs. That only made Gemma’s hands clutch the barrel tighter.
A sense of peace came in the final seconds. Gemma would have let loose with a heavy sigh if she’d been able.
***
The girl they had saved was coming at him at a sprint. Out of reflex more than anything else, he swung a haymaking left hook that connected hard with Melody’s jaw. There was a loud crunch and her feet shot out from under her as the force of the blow knocked her back. She landed awkwardly; out cold.
“Crap!” Chad shook his hand.
Ronni and Caroline rushed in, both trying to get a grip on his left arm and help get off his glove, but he pulled away. Using just the fingertips, he tugged the glove off. Already, the hand was swelling.
He glanced down at the unconscious form of Melody and mused briefly at the idea that the punch seemed to have done more actual physical damage to him than it had to her. At least one of his knuckles was busted and/or jammed back much farther than it should be.
“Well?” Chad turned to Caroline and his daughter. “I say we tie them both up. Something is wrong here, that’s for certain.”
Ronni and Caroline moved in, binding and gagging both Butch and Melody as securely as possible. They carried Butch into the underground meat storage dugout that they had made. Chad’s hope was for the half of a deer hanging from the log rafter might unsettle the man when he regained consciousness. As for Melody, she was taken back inside the cabin and secured to one of the chairs, and then turned to face the wall.
Chad turned to his daughter. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Ronni was still looking past Chad, glaring at the back of the head of the girl tied to the chair.
“What the heck happened?”
“Everything was fine until she heard that man’s voice outside. Then she looked at me all weird. I was just getting her some water from the barrel to clean her face when she shoved me out of the way and ran for the door.”
“Just like that?” Caroline asked, peering around Chad at their prisoner with a raised eyebrow. “I think your dad is right. There is a lot going on here that we don’t know. I am not comfortable with us being in the middle of all this nonsense.”
“We can start questioning whichever one wakes up first,” Chad said through a grimace of pain as he absently rubbed his sore hand that had started to purple up in addition to the swelling.
“I say we start now,” Ronni growled as she grabbed the pan of water from the table that she had scooped up only moments before to help Melody get cleaned up and poured it on the girl’s head. The girl shuddered and made muffled coughs and snorts. “Start talking, bitch!” Ronni pulled the gag down and jumped back just in the nick of
time to avoid Melody’s gnashing teeth.
With a booted foot, Caroline shoved the chair over, letting it topple. Melody landed on her side with a painful sounding thump as her head bounced off the hard, wooden floor.
“Try that again and I will shove a knife in the side of your head,” Caroline whispered in Melody’s ear as she and Ronni grabbed the chair from either side and sat it back upright.
“Now,” Ronni tugged on the arm of the chair to turn it around, “you want to tell us what the real story is about why those people were looking for you.”
Melody glared up at the three of them with a face twisted into a mask of contempt and hatred. It was made all the more sinister by the ugly, seeping bite mark. She pressed her lips tight as if in response.
“Fine,” Chad shrugged, pulling the other two back, “let’s go see if Butch is any more cooperative or helpful.” Before Melody could react, he grabbed the wide leather strap and tugged it back over Melody’s mouth.
They left the cabin. Chad was a little surprised that the girl did not react. He had expected her to have a sudden change of heart and spill the beans. He hoped that Butch would prove more cooperative.
When they walked in, Ronni made a noise in her throat and held her nose. “What is that smell?”
“The guy probably messed his pants. That happens sometimes when you get knocked out,” Chad explained as he walked over to the man.
“But Melody didn’t,” Ronni pointed out.
“That is why I said sometimes.” Chad tilted the man’s chin up and slapped him until he got a groggy moan. He pulled the gag down and stepped back, waiting for the man to regain his senses at least a little.
It didn’t take long.
“Wha-what the hell?” the man groaned.
It took a few seconds for the situation to sink in, but when it did, Butch’s eyes went wide. He had none of the defiance and anger that had shown on Melody’s face. The only thing coming through in Butch’s expression was fear.
“I am only going to ask this one time,” Chad said, hand brushing the hilt of his saber. “What is the deal with the girl? Why did you guys have two groups searching for her?”
“She’s a killer,” Butch finally managed around the gumminess that had suddenly coated his tongue and throat making it almost impossible to talk.
“You have to be more specific.” Chad knelt down to eye level with the man. He would try the “good cop” routine first. “We already know that she killed several of your people. What we don’t know are the details and why she was running through the woods with a zombie bite on her face.”
The man looked at the three people facing him. “I’ll tell ya everything…”
***
There was a thud, and the woman straddling him had a sudden change of expression. It transformed from murderous intent to a distant, slack, and empty look. Her hands loosed their grip on the machete and Jody had to jerk to one side to avoid the point coming down on his face. That movement caused the woman to slide over and begin to fall.
As he pushed away, Jody saw the hilt of what looked like an axe jutting from the back of the woman’s head. Whoever had just saved his bacon had not waited around for him, but instead, he could see two members of the team storming into the room across the hall. Turning around, Margarita was wiping off her blade and heading his way. She did not even spare him a glance as she elbowed past and rushed across the hall to help.
Looking around, Jody took in the carnage. He was still trying to make sense of the whole ordeal when somebody blew a whistle. That was the signal to regroup.
He walked out of the room, again not able to take his eyes from all of the bodies sprawled on the floor. He counted five. Between the four in the room he and Margarita had gone into, the room across the hall, and the hall itself, there were fourteen bodies; fifteen when he added in the one down below.
George emerged from the room diagonally across from the one in which he was still standing in the doorway; being shoved before him was a woman in her early fifties. Her hair was silvery gray and she had a hard look that only seemed more intense through the blood leaking from a nasty gash on her scalp just above the hairline.
“All the rest taken care of?” George called.
“Clear at this end,” Margarita reported.
Somebody else shouted out that it was clear in the room across from George. Jody glanced around and wondered if he might be the only person on this team that had not registered a kill.
He didn’t care. If things were all clear, then he knew where he needed to go. Not saying a word to anybody, he walked to the trapdoor opening and started down. Somebody called for him. He was not sure if it was Pitts or George, and he didn’t care.
The calls faded as he reached the second level and ran for the stairs. Hurrying down, he reached the ground floor and rushed through the door that was still open just as they had left it. He stepped out into a light rain and sprinted around the turret for the cage.
“Danny!” he called.
There was no answer, and Jody quickly studied the mechanism that controlled the raising and lowering of the cage. It was nothing more than a block-and-tackle pulley. The end of the rope was wrapped around an apple tree trunk and tied off.
“Danny O’ Leary!” Jody barked. “Answer me, you stubborn sonovabitch!”
The form up above in the cage twitched. There was a low moan and Jody felt his stomach turn.
“I am so sorry,” Jody whispered.
“About what?” a raspy voice called down from above.
“Danny!” Jody yelped, rushing for the rope. He began to unwind it to lower the cage when Danny called out again.
“Please don’t do that.”
Jody could hear the sincerity in the man’s voice, and it made him halt immediately. He stepped back from the rope and looked up to see a very battered Danny looking down at him.
“Don’t you want down?” Jody asked.
“Umm…yeah.” Danny pulled himself up a bit, a wince rippling across his features. “But this thing is freaking heavy, dude. If you try to go it alone, it falls and I get to bounce around in here like a BB in a boxcar.”
“Let me help,” a voice called.
Jody turned to see Tracy Sasser approaching. Tracy was about the same age as Jody, deep into his thirties. He was also one of the people immune to the bite. If Jody remembered correctly, Tracy was next in line for a turret assignment. He would be the one moving into Turret Ten with his wife Leeann and their son Mikey.
Between the two of them, they managed to lower the cage. As they unhitched the rope, Jody looked up at the man and saw something in his expression.
“How come you aren’t inside with the others?” Jody asked.
The man hesitated for a moment. At last he let out a long breath. “I know we gotta protect ourselves, but at what point do we become the bad guys here?” When Jody remained silent, the man continued. “They are doing some pretty bad things to that woman up there.”
“You might want to save some of that pity,” Danny called down. “They might all be women, but delicate they ain’t.”
“So two wrongs make a right?” Tracy mumbled.
There was silence as Jody and Tracy lowered the cage to the ground. As Danny came down to eye level, Jody had to work to stifle a gasp.
Danny was sitting because he could not stand. His legs were jutting out in front of him, but his feet were at hideous and awkward angles. Looking at them made Jody want to be sick.
“One of ‘em was apparently a fan of Misery.” Danny forced a laugh. “I really did think that they were bluffing…all the way up until that bitch swung the sledge hammer.”
A sound of heaving danced across Jody’s consciousness as Tracy spun and doubled over to spew the contents of his stomach on the nearby ground, but Jody was too transfixed on the horrific damage to Danny’s ankles for it to register fully.
“She never even called me a doodie-head or Mister Man,” Danny quipped.
***
Entry Thirty-three—Almost got myself killed.
Sometimes you can forget that there are still zombies out there. I’m no expert, and I don’t really pay attention all that much, but it is widely known that the undead have been sort of gathering into larger groups.
Some people say there are herds of the things that number in the millions. If they pass through your area, it is a lot like the old days when hurricanes would hit the East Coast. The damage can be devastating.
So far, nobody has thought of a way to just get them all to walk into the ocean or something. (Okay, maybe not the ocean since they don’t seem inclined to walk intentionally into water for whatever reason, but I think I made my point.) There are even some herds that have names if you can believe that happy crappy.
Anyways, it was not a herd that almost did me in, it was one single zombie. Even worse, it was only part of one single zombie.
Back when this all started, there was a lot of bad information out there. Who knew that it would be as simple as following the rules that were put out in the old Romero movies? You gotta shoot ‘em in the head. A tank is an awesome machine, but against a zombie, it just acts like a lawn seed spreader.
Some of the folks I was with back in the early days before I lost my little girl took to calling the severed or blown off heads “snappers.” It was sort of a play on the snapping turtle.
I know of this one bar called The Deer Hunter Saloon. They have a twist on the game of Russian roulette. There is this big wheel like from Wheel of Fortune. It has six metal boxes mounted on it. They put a snapper in one of the boxes and then a curtain goes up as the wheel is spun. People put their hand in one box, and if they don’t get bit, they win. Crazy, right?
So, I am setting up camp for the night. I found a great spot in some tall grass beyond a ridge. It was going to be chilly, so I had dropped back so that I could at least dig a small Dakota Hole and have a fire to warm my hands over.
