The Walkers of Ford Road
Page 3
What was he getting at? “So you lied.”
“What?” he asked, looking honestly confused.
“You acted as though you had no idea what was wrong with those people.”
“I just don’t feel like talking about it. I don’t know how to deal with all of this …”
He waved a hand around dismissively and scrunched up his face to show her how he loathed the house, the place, the weird people, perhaps his family, just everything. Especially in the afternoon now because it was too hot, too bright out, and he needed coffee. Fair enough, she thought. ‘I won’t push.’
Then she remembered something. It shot into her mind like a flash of light. She remembered the woman who had come calling for Roger. He probably wouldn’t be too happy if she asked him about her, but he might be equally pissed if she just said nothing. So she ventured forth, laying out the plans for the day. Dealing with all the uncomfortable people of Ford Road.
“You know, Roger, this morning - well, it wasn’t morning actually - there was this woman, pounding on the front door, yelling up the side of the house … and she said she knew where your car was.”
“Well, I told you, nothing out here goes unnoticed,” he said. “Even if a feather falls from a tree, or a dandelion is blown away in the wind. Especially not right now.”
“But it’s deserted. No cars. No houses.”
“It’s better that way. Believe me.”
“You aren’t too happy about being back,” she said thoughtfully. “But you do know this place.”
“Let’s just leave it at that.”
She wanted to say more, he could tell, so he nodded for her to continue. He poured more coffee into her mug and offered her some creamer.
“Are we safe? Are we staying here?” she asked.
“Those are the big questions I guess.”
She raised one of her beautiful eyebrows. He was tempted to touch it, to run his finger along its curve. Outside, the group of people mulling around were groaning, as if in pain, and Tracey noticed, too. She began to stare in their direction, horrified. Roger cracked a smile, and Tracey tried to understand.
She looked at him, more questions in her eyes. He kissed her, slowly, softly, with wet lips. In the distance, a woman screamed. Tracey tried to pull free, mesmerized, but he wouldn’t let her go. He held on. She resisted the urge to be drawn into what was happening and stayed with him instead. She wanted to be a part of him, even though he was not the healthiest person to be around. She wanted this kind of relationship, true love, as the world was coming to an end. The ultimate cliffhanger.
Somewhere further down Ford Road, tires squealed, then screeched. A moment of suspension followed and the impact was near. The car crashed into a tree, perhaps. Soon, it was quiet. Too quiet.
Tracey started to run for the door. Roger grabbed a fistful of her sweater, restraining her. She looked at him with wide open eyes, not understanding. She tried to wrangle herself free.
“But we’ve got to help,” she said, her voice cracking.
“First and foremost, we have to think of ourselves.”
The group of weirdos quickly turned into a troop of uncanny soldiers, marching in a wobbly file towards the crash. Suddenly, they were very much alert and able to move at a rapid pace. Tracey was amazed.
“I’d of thought they were too retarded to bother,” she said and winked at Roger.
“Oh, you’d be surprised. There’s a lot of damage they can do.”
“Is it … a disease?”
“That’s the official explanation.”
He tugged at her sweater. “Darling, we really should be going …”
“Where?”
“Upstairs. There’s a walk-in closet, stuffed and suffocating. For now, it should do.”
Tracey was in a kind of a stupor; it was easy for Roger to lead her by the hand like a small child. They had barely reached the first floor landing when all hell broke loose.
The screaming was loud and unbearable. Someone was literally being torn apart, limb by limb. The crunchy tearing sound was unique and awful. Roger dragged Tracey along for a few steps, but soon gave up because she had gone from stupor to numb, and so he hoisted her up against his chest and carried her. Once they had reached the closet, someone came barging in downstairs, yelling and cursing and whimpering. Afterwards, shots were fired.
Roger secured the walk-in closet from the inside with a latch. It wasn’t much and it wouldn’t hold, but for their very special moment in time, there was not much more he could do. He was hoping Ford Road would work its magic. He rushed to the far corner of the small cell, where he set Tracey down on a pile of musty-smelling clothes.
“Are there rats in here?” Tracey asked, breathing erratically.
“Shush, little girl,” he answered. “No, there are no rats in here. Are you afraid of the dark?”
“Yes.”
“Gotta grin and bear it. The bad stuff has started. They always said it would.” He added:
“Lie back and try to get some rest. I’ve done what I can for you.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“Just listen.”
Downstairs, rowdy voices were shouting, the raw emotions in the people surfacing under great stress; the members of a family were in the midst of a heated discussion. It sounded to Tracey as if they were used to this kind of a yelling match. Their barking had a beat to it.
Tracey wondered why, in a matter of seconds, so much would seem so obvious to her. They were in distress, they were on the run. She could clearly hear it, even though the individual words were blurred together.
One word in particular, though, was repeated over and over again, and caught Tracey’s attention immediately.
“Zombies?” she asked Roger, her eyes large and full of fear and terror. “This is a joke, right? A prank?”
“These walkers are … dead.”
“No, they’re not. They’re alive and shuffling around and killing people!”
“If you say so.”
“And what are you? Who are you? Why are you acting so smug in all of this mess?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
For a long time, he did not answer. Downstairs, a female family member was crying. Her anguish was causing her to sob. Tracey glared at Roger. He was grateful for the dark in the walk-in closet. He felt defeated, despite himself.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I was told I could save someone …”
Tracey stared at the floor, and even though he could hardly see her, Roger could make out the shape of her head bowed down. He could smell her fear.
“Why me?”
“You know, don’t you?”
“Not really.”
“You so deserved it. You deserved a chance at Ford Road.”
“What is so special about this place?”
“It’s different. The people whose land this was explained it to us once. My family told me about it, but I chose not to listen. I just went for the city, to forget. Now, I’m grateful, actually. I’m grateful for the rift.”
“The rift?”
“You must be prepared. It’s not an easy decision.”
The female family member, the mother, was arguing downstairs in what must have been the living room, pleading with the family to make a run for it.
“Let’s at least try to get back to the car!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
The father was telling her and the kids to stay put. “You know it broke down, don’t you remember?” he yelled back.
“We’ll find another one that’s working. We’ll find one. And we’ll get away, we’ll drive far away!”
“I know the guy who lives here. He was one of them. They are our only chance. Believe me. They know Ford Road.”
“Those are just stupid stories. Ghost stories. Ford Road is just like any other road out in the boondocks. We’ve got to get back to civilization to see what’s happening. To be safe.”
“What’s happeni
ng? It is over. There is no more ‘safe’. America as we knew it is gone.”
“Dad? How can you say that?” one of the children - from the sound of her voice, a young girl - asked.
“They’re monsters, didn’t you see? They … killed Martin.”
He sobbed. A wail of desperation escaped him, even though he was trying to be strong for them. They all started to cry.
Tracey imagined they were holding on to each other, forming a circle of sorts, and her heart went out to them, even though she usually hated families. She would never have one. A child, maybe, but would she be able to raise it? With Roger? No, not with Roger.
“Can’t we help them?”
“I’ve made my choices. It’s too late.”
“What is he talking about?” Tracey whispered back. “He said ‘the guy who lives here’. Did he mean you?”
“My family settled on Ford Road. We know its secrets.”
“So why don’t you share them? People need all the help they can get right now.”
“That … isn’t possible.”
“Are you human?”
“I can’t do more. It’s their story, their life.”
“How come …?”
“Shut up. Just stop. Please. Okay?”
“Now you’re Roger again. And I’m the hitchhiker.”
“Yeah. I’m driving.”
The hum was all around. Tracey sat on a pile of old clothes, clutching Roger’s arm. All around the house, at various vantage points, the dead people (who weren’t really dead, but moving and - killing) were trying to get in. Tracey seemed to be aware of this, but the members of the family downstairs were not. They continued their talking, heatedly discussing their options.
“They’re dead … but you called them something.”
Tracey was whispering again, although there was no need to, her head on Roger’s