Dead Man's Party

by Nathan Robert Brown

  Mike turned the map to Arizona. Joseph had circled Hanse’s resort in highlighter. The ranch was, in true Hanse fashion, in the middle of the desert miles from anything. Hanse’s nearest neighbors were likely in the next county. Mike traced the roads back toward New Mexico. Without coming up through Mexico, they didn’t have a choice but to go through the heart of Tucson. Avoiding big cities was something they were both eager to do if at all possible, and here they found themselves forced with the prospect of trying to drive through the second largest city and metro-plex in Arizona.

  “Fuck. That really does suck,” Mike said and handed the map back.

  “Which, Las Cruces, backtracking, or Tucson?”

  “Tucson,” Mike said, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m all for backtracking to avoid Las Cruces, El Paso and Fort Bliss, but there’s no way around Tucson without a serious off-road vehicle.”

  “We could also kick north to get out of New Mexico, but what do we do about Tucson? Roswell is only like sixty-thousand people; Tucson’s got like seven hundred and fifty thousand, more or less, depending on how many didn’t get shot or eaten entirely.”

  Mike dragged his hands up and down his face and rubbed his eyes. He looked at Joseph for a moment. Neither man spoke, but each had a pretty good idea of what the other was thinking and what the end result was going to be.

  “We can look at cutting north, but we've got no choice on Tucson,” Mike said.

  “Alright, so we worry about that when we get there and hope the road isn’t completely jammed,” Joseph said. “Maybe we get lucky.”

  “Our luck has to improve somewhere,” Mike laughed.

  Joseph drew his gun. The motion was steady and deliberate. Mike stopped laughing. For a split second, he thought Joseph had finally cracked and might shoot him for making a joke.

  Mike drew his pistol awkwardly from his leg holster. He followed Joseph's pistol toward Stacy’s bed. Stacy tried to sit up in bed. Her eyes were open for the first time in days, and her pupils were completely dilated as her eyes darted around the room. The color of her eyes had faded completely to gray. Her face was gray and growing red with the strain of trying to sit up against the weight of the blankets. The hills and valleys of wrinkles collapsed and grew like mountain ranges on ultra fast forward as she struggled to move her arms and legs. Her mouth moved to form words, but a hoarse whisper barely traveled beyond her lips.

  “Is it her, or is she a zombie?” Mike whispered to Joseph.

  Joseph took an uneasy step toward the bed. “Unfortunately, there’s only one way to find out.” Joseph edged a little closer to the bed. “Mike, I hope you’re as good with that thing as I think you are because I’m going to do something stupid.”

  He stopped just out of arms reach of the bedridden girl. “Stacy, it’s Joseph. Is your dad’s name Walter? Blink twice for yes.”

  Joseph watched the girl’s eyes, waiting for a signal of any kind that she understood him. For a couple seconds, Joseph thought he was talking to an incredibly weak zombie and it was just time to do the humane thing when Stacy deliberately blinked, keeping her eyes closed for a half second before opening them. Joseph waited, counting slowly in his head to five. With a visible effort, Stacy blinked again.

  “Jesus,” Joseph sighed, “Holy shit, Mike, it’s Stacy. Incredibly weak, but it’s her, not a zombie.” Joseph holstered his pistol. Mike lowered his gun and stepped closer to the bed.

  He kept his right hand on the pistol, ready to fire. “Stacy, are you dead?” Mike asked. Lily shook her head almost imperceptibly and with obvious effort, blinked once.

  “Stacy, do you have an overwhelming urge to eat people?” Mike asked, hiding a smile. The corners of Stacy’s mouth twitched as Stacy tried to smile. Her head rocked ever so slightly as she tried to shake her head. She blinked once.

  Mike holstered his pistol. Joseph stuck his head out the door to look for hall patrol but instead spotted McCoy and his second-in-command, Ellis, walking the hall, talking to cadets in their rooms. He signaled him to come to Stacy’s room.

  “What’s up, Joe? Did she turn? ‘Cause I didn’t hear any shots or screams.”

  “Actually,” Joseph stepped out of the room and pulled the door mostly closed behind him, “She just woke up. I was wondering if we have any warm broth or something.”

  “Woke up? Like for real woke up?” McCoy asked, stunned.

  “She’s scary weak, but she’s awake.”

  “I’ll be damned,” McCoy said.

  “I’ll go see what I can find,” Ellis said. He nodded to McCoy and went back down the hall.

  “Can’t believe she’s awake…” McCoy said, leaning his left shoulder against the wall. “Better go tell Walter. I’ll be back in a few.”

  Joseph nodded to McCoy and crossed the hall and knocked on Walter’s door. McCoy wandered back along the hall, muttering to himself.

  Two weeks and most of a lifetime ago, Walter had been a hearty, well-built ranch hand. He’d had the start of a gut from drinking cold beer at the end of a hard day. His muscles lacked the picturesque definition acquired by lifting weight in a gym, but they were compact steel cables from years of use.

  Two weeks of near despair, watching his little girl fighting the modern black plague, had done a number on Walter. His sun-bronzed skin lost most of its color. Dark circles perpetually etched themselves under his eyes. His once sure hands trembled holding even a glass of water. Every day he looked and moved more zombie-like from exhaustion and lack of restful sleep.

  Joseph hoped good news would help Walter recover. He also hoped the shock didn’t kill the man.

  The cadet assigned to watch Walter’s door kept glancing nervously at Joseph. When Joseph didn’t hear any reply for a full minute, he opened the door and let himself into Walter’s room. He dreaded the thought that Walter might have done something rash.

  In the dim light, Joseph could make out Walter sitting on the too small, twin bed with his back against the far wall. He had one leg stretched out in front of him and the other pulled almost to his chest. His head hung slightly forward supported by his left arm which was braced against his leg. The light and Walter’s position made it impossible for Joseph to see if the man was breathing or not.

  Joseph crept forward, keeping his eyes locked on Walter and looking for any motion. His right hand reflexively drifted to the pistol under his arm. In the middle of reaching out to wake Walter, two thoughts occurred to Joseph that caused him to stop himself short.

  What if he’s a zombie?

  What if he’s like Mike when I woke him up?

  Joseph grabbed Walter’s wrist. “Walter,” he said, giving the man a firm shake. Walter twitched and mumbled something unintelligible. Joseph breathed a sigh of relief and shook Walter again. “Walter,” he said more loudly.

  ***

  Walter woke with a start, but sleep and extreme exhaustion coated his thoughts and reactions like corn syrup. He felt Joseph’s hand on his wrist and could see the young man half kneeling at his bedside. Yet it took him several seconds to process these two, simple facts.

  “Time to go already?” he groggily asked.

  “Walter, it’s Stacy,” Joseph started. The name connected in Walter’s mind. Immediately he assumed it had finally happened, and his little girl was dead. The big man started sobbing.

  “No. Hey, damnit, she’s awake,” Joseph said as Walter broke down. He couldn't hear Joseph. The part of him that did hear the words assumed it was a sleep-deprivation induced hallucination.

  Joseph slapped Walter. The loudness of the sound in the small room surprised him. It surprised Walter still more, and for a brief moment, he stopped crying.

  “Shesawake,” Joseph said.

  Walter looked at Joseph. He’d spoken so quickly trying to get the words out before Walter started sobbing again that they almost didn’t sound like English. To Walter, in his barely coherent state, it was gibberish, utterly devoid of meaning.

  “Stacy. Is. Awake. Weak as
hell, but awake,” Joseph repeated.

  “Wha—” Walter stopped mid-syllable as his brain caught up to the word ‘awake.’ He picked his head up and looked at Joseph. “She’s awake?”

  “Finally.” Joseph nodded and stood up.

  Walter launched himself out of the bed and across the hall. He reached down and gently picked up his daughter in a hug. Stacy's tears streaked warmly across his neck and into his shirt while his tears ran down his face and soaked her hair.

  “I love you, baby,” Walter repeated again and again. He set the weakened girl back against her pillows. “I love you baby,” he said. Lily blinked twice.

  “She loves you too, Walter,” Mike said. “Two blinks for yes.”

  “Gentlemen?” a new voice intruded.

  Joseph turned to find a cadet holding a bowl of brown liquid that he assumed was broth. “Mike, c’mon,” Joseph said as he squeezed past the cadet and out of the room.

  “Walter, after she eats, you both need to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long one,” Mike said over his shoulder as he joined Joseph in the hall. “I’m glad she woke up. For a while there I was worried we’d lose him if we lost her,” he said to Joseph.

  “Hell, he’s been getting further into depression. I worried we’d be taking care of both of them by the time we hit the state line,” Joseph countered.

  Mike considered the thought a moment as the strolled down the corridor. “You might be right. You think it’s too much to hope that she’ll continue to recover?”

  “No clue. Only people I’ve seen get bitten got real dead, real quick.”

  McCoy ran into the pair a moment later. “Here Joseph, this is yours. Not that its likely to be worth much.” McCoy handed Joseph an envelope full of cash.

  “What’s this?” Joseph asked after he saw the wad of bank-faced bills.

  “You won the pool.” Joseph started to hand the money back, disgusted that he’d even put his name on the betting board for when Stacy would turn. “No. It may be coincidence, but you bet on her making it, and she did. If nothing else, keep it for luck. See ya tomorrow.” McCoy turned on his heels and left the pair standing in the hall.

  ***

  Nicole made it a point to know where Chris was. Always. A couple of the others attributed her obsession with tracking Chris to Stockholm Syndrome. Another google-fu psychiatrist chalked it up to PTSD. The real reason would have the group lump her in with Chris. She planned to kill him.

  They failed to realize how serious things were when Johnny told them about Chris talking to Gary's corpse. Chris caught Nicole by surprise once, and he stunned the whole group when he pushed poor Lou out the window. He represented a danger to everyone's survival. Nicole planned to fix that.

  Cathy, Kate and Melissa immediately sided with Nicole when she suggested they throw Chris out of the group, and preferably out a window. Jim, whom Chris had beaten pretty savagely wanted Chris gone, but wasn't in much of a fighting shape to help make it happen. Nicole spent several hours standing under the TVs talking to Anthony and Sam. Initially they wanted nothing to do with anything that would attract Chris's attention.

  Nicole convinced Anthony to watch Chris. It didn't take a degree in psychology to see what Chris thought of the other survivors. He strutted around the floor as if he owned them all. Like they were his to bless with their existence, use any way he wanted and discard at will-quite likely out a very high window. Anthony saw it too. Finally he agreed to help stop Chris. “I'll back your play,” he said. “And it'll be good for you too.”

  Sam wanted nothing to do with it. He kept meeting her under the TV to humor her.

  “Why do you insist on always trying to have these talks under the TV? It gives me a headache to try to hear you over the news,” Sam groaned, holding his head. “Can't we at least turn them down?”

  “No,” Nicole said flatly, doing her best to look scared. “The only time he stays away from us is when we have the TV's on.”

  Sam sighed. Nicole hated dragging him into it, but Chris would kill him sooner or later if they did nothing.

  “I really need to know you'll have my back when we go to kick him out.”

  “This again? Come on Nicole, I know what he did was horrible, but he won against Johnny and Casey. At the same time even,” Sam said. “We can't win. Then he'll actually have a reason to kill us.”

  “What's to stop him from killing you and Jim and Ruby then? That way he has four women to rape and no one to stand up to him,” Nicole let acid bleed through her voice. “Watch how he looks at Melissa as he goes by.” She pointed with her chin.

  Sam winced. “Ok, so he's a lecherous dick. We still can't beat him. He killed two men in a fight. I don't want him gunning for me.”

  “What will it take for you to listen?” Anger flared across Nicole's face. “Does he need to throw Jim out the window too for you to realize he will kill again?”

  “Even if we do manage to get him, what next? We're still trapped. I'm not looking to become a martyr to your cause. It's a fucking suicide mission,” Sam said.

  “Fine, what you want to have a ride too? Is that what it'll take?” Nicole demanded. He suddenly looked completely defeated. Clearly she hurt him by trying to buy him.

  “Don't you let me find out this is about revenge and not the group,” Sam said coldly. He walked away before Nicole could say anything.

  All she had to do know was wait. Eventually Chris would have his guard down and she would lead the charge.

  At least there's no courts or lawyers to let him slither away.

  ***

  The residents of NMMI’s Box started their day a little ahead of dawn. Joseph checked the fluid levels and the tire pressure on the bus for the twelfth time in a week while Mike woke Walter and Stacy. Together, Mike and Walter carried Stacy to the bus and gently laid her on the cot.

  Walter strapped Stacy into the cot so she wouldn’t roll off if and when Joseph had to start driving offensively, which everyone considered more than probable. While Walter strapped his daughter down, Mike slipped into his Marine habits and went back over the group’s inventory: food, weapons, ammo, and fuel. Once he reconfirmed everything was there, he started checking his weapons. He wanted to be absolutely certain all of them were as clean as possible and holding combat loads. Everything was still in proper order.

  The courtyard buzzed with activity and anticipation. Cadets flowed out of the dormitories they’d lived in for the last few months or years and lined up behind the two big rigs that would cart them to Carlsbad Caverns. Load Masters stood at the trailer doors with lists of whose stuff was on board and would therefore be a passenger on their truck. The load crews were already in the trailers and sleeping. The raiders double-checked their weapons and ammo then stowed them within easy reach around the cab of the truck they’d be riding in.

  McCoy and Ellis watched over the final loading. Under ordinary circumstances, McCoy would have been proud of how efficiently his cadets worked, and he was pretty sure the teachers would have been impressed as well. This morning he was tense. Part of the tension was held over from the meeting the previous evening. He wanted to be underway quickly, and that wasn’t going to be a problem. Mostly his tension came from knowing that once the door opened they would have to fight and plow their way through an entire city's population of hungry zombies. He could hear who knew how many of them outside. Waves of moans drifted over the walls. The only consolation for McCoy was that few if any zombies were in front of the gate, which was a very good thing for the raiders, Wolflord and Grins, who drew the short straws and had to open the gate.

  The plan was to open the gate and head out at 0800. McCoy insisted they not roll before then, not enough light. Not so much a concern for the drivers as it was for the cadets who had to aim and shoot from the trucks. Leaving later in the morning had the added advantage of giving everyone a little more time to sleep.

  Joseph and Mike walked across the courtyard to where McCoy watched, in sullen silence, his family
board the two trailers and take seats on the floor. Joseph looked the young leader in the eye. He realized that he had been a lot like McCoy not so very long ago, back when he was still an intern. Joseph shook McCoy’s hand. “Thanks for all the help.”

  Mike looked McCoy over in the moment he was shaking hands with Joseph. He could tell McCoy was the most likely of the cadets to keep the others alive and kicking. The young man still had a long way to go before Mike would trust him for anything more than a few simple raids, but if he survived another month or so in this mess and Mike might consider teaming up with this band of lost boys. As soon as McCoy dropped Joseph’s hand and turned to face Mike, Mike saluted the cadet leader before he shook his hand. “You know what channel to use on the CB’s and these are our cell phone numbers for as long as the towers keep working.”

  McCoy returned Mike’s salute and shook his hand. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into joining us? We could use the hands and your skills.”

  Mike shook his head gently. “Sorry, my man. Made a promise to a friend, and I'm—We’re late as it is.”

  McCoy nodded. The trio watched the last of the cadets mount the trailers. McCoy checked his watch. They had a few minutes yet. Everyone was anxious. No, anxious implies they had the desire to start and the little surge of adrenaline that makes you nervous. This was pre-mission jitters, with a double-shot of sheer terror, trepidation, and second thoughts. McCoy felt it as keenly as any of the cadets in the trailers. He looked at his watch again.

  “If ya’ll are ready, we might as well do it now, before everyone loses their nerve,” McCoy said, turning to Mike and Joseph.

  “Let's go then,” Mike said as much to Joseph as to McCoy.