Chapter 5
Jillybean
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
When the hummer surged away from the little girl, knocking over the monsters in the street and running them down, she felt her insides drop and she only stood there listlessly. A few minutes later the monsters gave up their chase and began to mill about.
I'm proud of you for saving that man, Ipes told her. But you really need to get inside before they figure out you're not one of them.
Wordlessly she obeyed. For her, one house was as good as another and so she went up the walk of the closest and entered it as if she had always lived there. It was a quaint little place: knick-knacks on the shelves and pictures of a happy little family of four, hanging on the walls. There was even a set of hooks by the door with a leash dangling from one. It had such a homey feel that Jillybean had the temptation to yell out: Mommy, I'm home! She squelched the desire and strangely, found it hard to do so.
She missed her mommy and she missed coming home from school to a big smile and a plate of Oreos next to a glass of cold milk. She missed her old life.
As always the girl headed right for the kitchen—it was painfully empty, barren in a way that bespoke of a meticulous search. Someone had even gone through the junk drawer and had taken the small packets of ketchup and Kikkoman's soy sauce that Jillybean was sure had been there at one time, nestled beneath the take-out chopsticks, the thumbtacks, and the pens that had long before run out of ink and that for some reason no one had thrown away.
"Darn," she said and then, with a heavy sigh, went upstairs, dragging her feet. The place was more than a little depressing. It was a family home, however the fact that the family had long ago been turned into monsters seemed to have altered something about the house in a subtle way—it was as if the house was waiting to die as well.
What once had been lively and fun was now drab with dust and settled in a gloom. Everything sat in its proper spot...waiting. The TV in its alcove waited to be turned on; the book on the bedside waited to be opened, the skates by the front door waited with their laces out and inviting.
However Jilly felt that the period of expectant waiting had long past. The home waited, but it waited without hope. Now it waited for the earth to reclaim it and the little girl could feel its sadness with each breath.
The master bedroom with its dark furniture held little interest for her. There was a boy's room, filled with boy stuff: army men fighting a mock-battle on a cluttered desk, a long skateboard sitting dangerously just inside the door, a bunk bed with an Eagles bedspread on the lower bunk and a dead turtle in a dry tank. She barely gave this last item a look—the details of death repulsed her.
What really got her attention was Carrie's room. She knew it belonged to a girl named Carrie because of the sign on the door that read: Carrie's Room—Trespassers Beware! The sign went ignored as far as the threat was concerned and Jillybean went into the room with a flutter in her chest.
It was everything she had hoped for. It was girlie-girl wall-to-wall with pink everywhere, but one thing stood out from it all.
"Oh my God! Ipes, look at this dollhouse," she gushed, hurrying to the gable miniature mansion that was as tall as she was. Gently she pried back the front half of it so that she could stare in awe at the intricate beveled woodwork, the attention to detail, the perfection.
"There's little people!" she cried, going down to her knees on the beige carpet and touching gently the little family figurines that lived in the house.
We don't have time for this, Jillybean, Ipes said. I'm sorry, but there are a whole mess of monsters out there. We have to get what we can and go.
"But, I don't want to," she said in a soft petulant voice. "I want to stay." Of course she knew he was correct; however the house was...everything. There was a mom and a dad, and two girls and a boy. A dog sat just by the front door and there was even a leash just like downstairs in the real house. Every room was furnished just as it should be, right down to tiny forks and spoons that sat at each of the place setting on the dining room table.
There were eight settings. "I think they're going to have people over," she whispered. "Maybe a dinner party for the grode-ups. I bet the kids will have to stay in the kitchen and eat there."
Ipes swiveled his ears at her, nervously. Jillybean, please. We can't stay.
"But I want to!" she cried, slamming her little fist into the plush carpet; suddenly there were real tears hanging on her cheeks and eyelashes. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to do this anymore."
Do what, honey? Ipes said in a voice that sounded like her father's.
"Run away and be hungry and not have anyone," she explained in a voice that cracked with emotion. The tears were hot on her face and they blurred her vision so that the perfect little house wobbled and doubled in her eyes. "I want to play. And I want something to eat. And I don't want to leave. Ever!"
The stuffed zebra in the light blue t-shirt considered this while little Jillybean cried with her lips bent down and her chin shaking and her heart all a mess.
Ipes reached out his soft cotton hoof and gave her hand a pat. How bout we do this: we write down where this house is and then when we find some people...someone to take care of you, we can come back and get this pretty dollhouse. And maybe even some of those stuffed animals on the bed. What do you think?
She thought his suggestion was all poopy. Since her father had died she hadn't seen anyone but the man with the Humvee and he didn't seem all that smart. For one he had almost run over Ipes and for two he had needed a six-year-olds help to escape the monsters.
And yet she didn't have a better idea. Staying here would mean starving and despite her meal that morning her tummy was already getting an angry rumble going.
"Ok, I guess," she said, calming by degrees. She wiped her nose across the sleeve of her jacket and added, "But you'll have to do the writing." She was the first to acknowledge that her penmanship had degraded since she had been missing some so much school. Now her blocky letters would sometimes come out backwards and she wouldn't notice until she tried to read her own writing.
By the front door they found a stack of mail and Ipes, who could barely hold a pen, thought it smarter to just rip off the address from one of the envelopes.
"So where are we going?" Jillybean asked as she peeked out of the window. In the street a number of the monsters still milled about, but it was the ones that were hidden from sight that made her stomach go queasy. "And how will we get there? You don't think we're going down that road, do you?"
Ipes gave the street a glance and made a face. No, not the road. We should go back to the sewers.
Jillybean's mouth came open at this. "No way. It's too dark. And there could be more of the monsters down there, and we barely got away last time."
I don't see any other way, Ipes replied. This neighborhood is infested with monsters and all that shooting probably brought more from miles around. I bet there are a dozen on every street and down every alley.
"But it's so dark down there. I don't like the dark...could we bring a flashlight? I saw one in the boy's room."
Before Ipes could answer she was running up the stairs and with a grin held up the mag light. It was a heavy thing in her little hands, and it didn't work.
"Shoot!" she exclaimed and tossed it on the bed.
Ipes made a noise of irritation. Not so fast. I bet its only got dead batteries and we know where we can get more, right? Your backpack; I know exactly where you dropped it. And look, Ipes pointed at the long skateboard. Transportation. You can either lie or sit on that and paddle with your hands. We can go along nice and quiet. What do you think?
"I guess," she said without much enthusiasm. But then she brightened. "Do you think it'll be alright if I try on some of Carrie's clothes?" Jillybean's ankles showed beneath the cuff of her jeans and her longest shirt stopped well up her wrist.
Ipes allowed that it would be more than alright. Unfortunately, Carrie had been ten when she died and
her clothes were all much too large. Jilly was forced to make-do with Carrie's brother’s clothes instead. She wore a look of disgust when she slipped on a shirt with a picture of some once famous wrestler on the front; over that she pulled on a Philadelphia Eagles sweatshirt, while for pants she found a pair of jeans that draped just over her toes.
"I look like a boy," she griped, rolling up the bottoms of each leg.
You kinda smell like one as well, Ipes added. To this she made a little angry noise in her throat. Boys had always been the enemy and to look and smell like one put her in a mood. Still she was warm and less constricted. What’s more, just as she turned to leave the room her eyes fell on a jelly jar that overflowed with marbles. The glass beads held every color she could name and many more that she couldn’t. Some were striped and others pure, but the ones she liked the most reminded her of cloudy planets. She took the very largest of these and stuffed her pockets with them.
When she was all ready to go, she took the skateboard in one hand, the flashlight in the other and stuck Ipes under her arm; she then slunk out the door, moving so slowly that she appeared to be a manikin with wide and staring blue eyes. The monsters were all far too close to satisfy so she went into a squat and hunched her way down to the street using a row of shrubs as cover. She went undetected.
Then she was down into the storm sewers, and once again blind. Strangely, the intense dark did not bother her as much as she had feared it would. It was comforting, really, knowing that she was invisible.
By feel she edged to the trunk line and then followed Ipes’ whispered instructions, retracing her steps until she ran into her backpack. Though she had expected it with each step, hitting it with her foot caused her to jump, and she knocked her head.
“It’s not funny,” she said when the zebra began to snort laughter.
It is a little, Ipes replied. Be careful when you try the flashlight. Shine it into the backpack. Just in case. He meant just in case a monster was nearby.
With a fresh set of batteries the flashlight worked…too well. Even though she turned the light on and then off again quick, Jillybean’s eyes still danced with wild floating spots—purple blobs against a black back ground. She blinked them away as she listened for any monster related noises. There were none and so she stowed the flashlight away, put Ipes in his cargo pocket on the backpack and then settled down on the skateboard.
Neither the stuffed animal nor the little girl gave any thought to their destination. In one direction, the way they had been going before running into the monster, there was a slight downward angle to the tunnel and this was the deciding factor. It was simply easier to go this way and that was good enough for them.
Jilly laid, belly down on the board and alternated paddling with either arm. Sometimes she’d hit a lip of cement or dried leaves that would crackle alarmingly, however mainly it was a smooth, near silent ride. When she grew tired she rested and when her tummy began to hurt from laying too long, she changed to a sitting position and still she swept along.
She kept up a steady speed that wasn’t very taxing and which allowed her keen ears to focus on any sound emanating from the dark. Twice she heard the telltale moans of the grey-skinned monsters, but luckily both came from one of the many branching tunnels that intersected the main trunk line. When she passed these she held her breath, while her tummy went squirrely with fear. To make sure that she didn’t make even an accidental sound, she rode laying on the board, so that she could feel ahead of her with a free hand.
Nothing came of these incidents and so the day wore away and yet Jillybean wasn’t quite sure of its passing. Time was wiggy in so much dark. She knew she was growing ever more hungry and thirsty, and yet these states had been such a constant part of her life that hours couldn’t be measured by missed meals anymore.
On and on she paddled the board as though she was drifting down a sluggish river and in fact she was heading toward one: the Schuylkill River, one of the two rivers that cut Philadelphia into thirds.
The first indication that her tunnel was ending was the smell; it wasn’t pleasant.
“Do you think it’s a monster?” Jillybean asked Ipes between sniffs.
I don’t think so, he replied, his voice unnaturally high. It’s too strong to be just one.
She was slow to get moving after that, but eventually she eased the board forward until she saw a meager light ahead. This grew to dazzle her, while at the same time the smell grew to send her almost to the point of throwing up.
The tunnel ended abruptly at a hinged gate. With meek little steps Jillybean went to it, and, looking out at the Schuylkill she discovered the source of the smell. Rotting bodies by the hundreds in various degrees of decomposition lined the shores or gently drifted along in the murky river water.
Jillybean’s beans face contorted at the sight. “Are those monsters, or…”
They’re people, Ipes said sadly. Or they were people. Here, don’t look at them. Instead look across the water. There’s smoke behind those buildings. Sure enough across the river, just behind an industrial complex a thin ribbon of smoke stretched into the blue afternoon sky. And smoke usually meant people—living people.
“Do we chance it?” she asked lifting her chin to her left.
There was a bridge not more than a hundred yards away and though it was cluttered with cars, there wasn’t a single monster anywhere on it. Nodding, Ipes pointed at it and then he swung his hoof to aim at the far bank directly across from them.
I think we should. See that over there? Another storm tunnel. We can go up that for a mile or so and come out and look around. If it doesn’t curve at all we should be right near that smoke.
She didn’t ask about the possibility of monsters in the tunnel—there was always a possibility. They were everywhere, or so it seemed to her. With skateboard in hand, the little girl slipped between the bars and then ghosted through the tall river grass, barely parting it with the slimness of her form, until she came to the bridge where cover was sparse.
With what felt like the world staring down at her, Jillybean followed her instincts and slowly drifted from car to car, pausing at each to spy all about her. Had anyone seen the little thing moving with careful steps they might have thought, by her demeanor, to be a timid, frightened wisp of a girl, however a closer inspection would’ve revealed that her face was hard and her eyes sharp, and that there wasn’t a flicker of fear anywhere on her.
Skill, luck, and the western sun behind her allowed her to cross the Schuylkill unnoticed by anything larger than the feasting seagulls. Once on the far bank she dashed to the tunnel, waited with a cocked ear for all of a minute, and then when no sound came to her she pushed between the bars.
Again the dark was on her like wet on a fish. It seemed even to invade her lungs which struggled for breath. Take it easy, Ipes said coolly. Just start walking and you’ll get used to it again. There you go. Do you want to use the board? It’ll be easier than…
A rumbling from above them stopped the flow of his words. At first Jillybean stepped back in fright, ready to run, but then she understood what she was hearing: a car was passing overhead.
“There’s people for sure, Ipes! Come on.” She began to rush forward but the zebra stopped her.
Now is not the time for the hare, he intoned. Now is the time for the tortoise. Slow and steady wins the race.
Chapter 6
Ram
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
On his way to discover the source of the smoke, Ram spent a few of his remaining hours wasting gas and wearing out his patience trying to drive the eight or so miles into the city. Someone had systematically blocked all the roads into Philadelphia.
When he came upon the obstruction at the intersection of MacDade Boulevard and Ridgeway Avenue, a seven car pileup that not even his hummer could get around, he thought it was just happenstance. He turned back and skirted north, but found the very same thing at Baltimore Avenue and then again on the West Chester Pike.
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br /> With gun in hand he had inspected the vehicles closer and saw that the windows of each had been smashed, and not by vandals. Glass in the driver’s side seats but not the in the passenger seat was the telltale evidence left by a front-end loader equipped with pallet forks. Someone had purposely blocked the roads.
“What a friggin’ headache,” Ram griped, pushing at the starred window of a Lincoln Continental. The safety glass made it a mesh that resisted his hand, bending without breaking. For some reason it had a calming effect on the man.
“So what’s in there that you don’t want me to find?” he asked, staring eastward toward the city and the little smudge of smoke that rose above it. The barricade of cars was to dissuade humans, not zombies. Either could climb over the cars without too much difficulty and go on to the city by foot, though it was only a zombie that would do so. Any human making the attempt would last only as long as his ammunition did.
This was why Ram kept skirting north, poking east at every street that went in that direction. Eventually he found a way around one of the barricades…or rather through it. On a street called Ridgewood, the jumble of cars went across the road and right up to the houses on either side. Ram was just in the midst of a curse laden K turn when he had an idea. His turn had been sloppy; he nicked part of a white picket front yard fence and for just a moment he had reverted to his pre-apocalypse programming and felt an immediate contrition.
Then he laughed at himself since the owners were all long dead—and then he laughed at himself some more. He was in a badass Hummer H2 with a heavy grill in front; what was to stop him from just plowing through this fence and through the one in the back yard? That one was six foot privacy fence that wouldn’t last a second in a tussle with his hummer.
A minute later, the fence came down with a very satisfying crash.
Now there was only one more barrier to the city: the Schuylkill River, and again, just like the streets, the bridges were blocked, only this time brute force wasn’t going to be much help. One after another he found his way across the water stymied by piled cars, so that he was forced ever northward. After another wasted hour and with aggravation setting in, he passed through the tony area of Wynnfield Heights, where the smallest homes were mansions and the largest were veritable palaces.
The Undead World (Book 2): The Apocalypse Survivors Page 5
