by Chris Lowry
"Eyes up," I told them. "I don't know what's out there but they know we're here."
Bem pocketed the keys and we took off to see what was left of the little map dot the railroad forgot.
CHAPTER EIGHT
We moved from the truck toward the town.
It wasn't a far walk.
I couldn't tell what state we were in yet, the absence of signs on the side of the railroad making it
hard to determine location.
But this little berg looked like a hundred others I'd driven through before the Z plague or
walked through after.
A main strip that led across the railroad that served as a Broadway, a boulevard and strip mall
all at the same time.
Two rows of buildings on either side, a brick two story courthouse from right after World War II, block style
with little panache.
Houses beyond the strip, and trailers in the backyard of almost every one of them.
The weeds on the sides of the road were high, overgrown, nature looking to take back what man carved out.
"It's quiet," said the Boy.
I glanced over at his wide eyes roaming from building to building.
He was right. The insect hum here was gone, the birds quiet.
"Maybe we should go back to the truck," said Bem.
Tyler just clicked the safety off his rifle.
I steered us to the side of the road instead of the center, hand on my rifle, finger off the trigger.
"Let me move ahead," I said over my shoulder.
The kids slowed their pace. I could hear two sets of footprints and looked back.
Tyler had stopped, moved into the grass and was aiming at the rooftops.
I raised my gun and scanned the edges, but couldn't see anything.
"What do you have?"
But he was gone.
The grass where he was standing still waving in the wind. I didn't see a body, couldn't hear a shot,
but screamed.
"Down!"
I hit the dirt and began crab crawling forward, trying to zig, trying to zag, and hoping like Hell
Bem and the Boy found cover.
Nothing happened.
I put a hundred yards between us, getting closer to the building, still hunting for what happened to
Tyler, but there was no threat.
Nothing to see.
Nothing to hear.
Just the wind tickling the tops of the grass, whooshing over us.
My head rocked around to hunt for the kids, and sighed since they were hidden so well.
Both had scrambled into the weeds, both were stock still.
I could see a dull glint of sunshine on the Boy's rifle barrel but that was it.
From my vantage point I could see a store.
Glass whole, door shut, nothing moving.
We waited until I counted to three hundred, and then I moved.
"Check on Tyler."
I moved to my knees, aimed at the roof and watched.
The Boy crawled back to where Tyler was supposed to be but he wasn't.
"He's gone."
He must have seen something that spooked him and was flanking the town, or moving around to the opposite side.
I decided not to worry about him and focus on getting us to cover safely.
"Can you cover me?"
"I got you Dad," Bem sounded cold and clinical.
I hoppped up, stumbled and sprinted up to the storefront and under cover of the awning.
When I planted my back against brick, I waved her forward.
The Boy covered his sister while she sprinted to join me. I popped out from the awning
aiming up, which is as close to a direction as we could pinpoint potential problems.
Bem slapped into the brick, and the Boy was sprinting as soon as she hit the wall.
When they were beside each other and gasping, I ducked back under and planted next to him.
"Where's Tyler?" Bem worried.
"He can handle himself," I assured her. "We need to find out what's out there."
"Why didn't they shoot?" the Boy wondered.
So did I.
Great question.
We were in the open, and exposed. Anyone who felt threatened had a clean kill on any of us.
That's what I thought happened to Tyler, but no one was shooting.
Heck, no one was even threatening us.
It was just our guts screaming that something was wrong, someone was watching us.
I didn't feel like that under the awning.
"Did you see anything?"
The kids shook their heads, faces swiveling from one end of the street to the other.
"Still don't," said Bem.
"He's out there watching our backs," I told her.
I could see her shoulders visibly relax and almost growled.
But I'd figure that part out later.
I focused on the now.
Unknown threat. Untouched store, or at least that's how it looked. Empty town.
Lots of places for people to hide.
"Hi."
A tiny voice said from the corner of the building.
I whipped my gun around and watched a mop of blonde hair slip around the corner.
"Was that real?" the Boy sounded surprised.
"It wasn't a ghost," said Bem.
I scrambled up and gave chase.
A little boy stood his ground in the alley by the building, a wooden sword held in front of him,
sharp point wavering. He used his other hand to hold a smaller kid behind him.
The mop of blond hair.
I lowered my rifle.
"You're not going to hurt him," the older boy growled.
"Hi," said the blond.
Bem and the Boy rounded the corner behind me.
The tip of the sword bounced as he aimed at each of us.
"Are you alone?"
"Yes," said the little one.
"Shut up Rick," the big-eyed boy with the sword growled.
"Where are your parents?" Bem slid her rifle around to her back and went to one knee so she
was on their level.
Rick, the tiny blond one sniffed as his lip trembled.
"You don't belong here," the older one pointed the sword.
It looked like it was made of balsa wood and would snap if he decided to stab her with it.
The layers of clothes she wore would protect her.
The two little boys wore practically nothing, just shorts and tank tops and mismatched shoes
with the laces undone.
The outfits looked like they had been worn for a long time, dirt crusted layers almost crunching
as they moved.
They were thin, almost emaciated. Wild hair, wild eyes.
Feral.
"Do you belong here?" Bem soothed.
Tyler stepped around the back of the alley and stood as still as a statue while he watched.
"This is our town."
"We came in on the railroad," said Bem. "Do you know where that is?"
"I didn't hear a train," said the older one.
"I'm Rick," the blond chimed in. "This is Carl."
"Hi Rick," Bem smiled. "Hi Carl. Are you guys hungry?"
The point of the sword wavered and dropped.
That was answer enough.
"We're going to go in the store and get some food. Do you want to come with us?"
I locked eyes with Tyler and he made a slight shake with his head.
No one else out there.
We had found our watchers.
CHAPTER NINE
The two boys followed us into the store. More precisely, they followed Bem into the store,
keeping a wary eye on me and distance from the Boy and Tyler.
I can't say that I blame them.
I wasn't much to look at before the zombie Armageddon forever changed the population landscape
of our country, and
since then, I've been shot, blown up, stabbed, wrecked, tossed, and beaten
on a weekly basis.
It takes a toll on one's body and mine was no exception.
I had a long thick scar that gave my hair a new part just above my ear. Scars around my eyes where people
kept punching me, scrapes, cuts, bruises added to the ensemble.
Plus, I used to joke with my kids, I have a resting bitch face.
My normal look is pissed, even when I'm delighted.
They were always in a perpetual state of wonder growing up.
"What's wrong Dad?"
"Nothing. Why do you ask?"
"You look mad."
"I'm not mad, it's just my face."
Not the best way to go through life, to constantly look concerned and on the verge of an
anger management catastrophic breakdown, but such is luck.
I tried to mask it with jokes, and funny little songs.
Sometimes it worked.
But for little boys who just met an armed guy marching into town, I might have given me space
and some sideways eye too.
The store was locked.
The Boy used a universal key to gain entry by busting out the glass in the door.
We stood back to do a Z check in case anything inside was drawn by the noise, but there was nothing.
"Where is everyone?" Bem asked the kids.
I didn't expect an answer, or at least one that made sense, but Carl surprised me.
"Gone."
His tiny voice was solemn.
"I'll show you," he offered.
She shot a raised eyebrow in my direction. Should she go
I slid my eyes from the Boy to Tyler and back again.
"Go with her," I told the scout. "Nothing happens to her. To them."
I tried not to make it sound menacing.
I really tried to rein in the threat in the tone.
But he shivered and nodded.
Quickly.
"Yes Sir."
Capital S.
"You're with me," I told the Boy before he could argue.
Bem made a noise in her throat, and I thought she was going to say she could take care of herself,
but she held it in.
It made sense for her to have back up if we split up, and I did not like us splitting up.
If Tyler said the town was a population of two, then I was less worried.
A little less.
Not much.
I made sure the Boy and I hurried as we gathered supplies while Bem, Tyler and the two kids slipped back through the glass
and onto Main street.
The inside of the store was pristine, if Spartan in choice.
There were about a dozen of every food item, and the choices were limited. Mac n Cheese, Beans, Rice, Chili, Corn.
Still we were able to gather about a week's worth of meals, if we stretched it.
I was surprised there wasn't more, but it looked as if the clerk or owner had a big run on food, and just organized the remaining
items before disappearing.
Or going Z.
"We'll check the houses too," I told the Boy.
He nodded and shouldered the heavier pack.
I smiled and took it from him.
"I got it," he tried to argue.
"I know you do."
But I took it from him and slid my arms through the straps.
Then I handed him a peanut candy bar that had been hidden behind the register.
"Save half for your sister."
His grin made me warm inside, and he smelled the wrapper, vacuum sealed for freshness.
We made one more look around the store to see if we missed anything, and then made our way to the
first house.
The front door was open.
The same with the kitchen cabinets.
"Rick and Carl?" said the Boy.
I nodded.
It was probably how to the two stayed alive.
We checked for weapons and kit in the bedrooms, but came up empty. There was plenty there,
but nothing compact we could carry back to the truck.
Most households are built to stay where they are, and travel time in the new zombie world
was a minimalist paradise.
We still had a lot of daylight left and Kentucky was only a few hours away driving straight on the railroad.
"Leave it," I told him as he grabbed a comforter off the bed. "We'll find something when we stop
for the night."
He nodded, and we moved from house to house in silence.
The same story played out in each.
Open doors, empty pantries.
I'm glad the two little wild men had been able to stay alive, but it made
for a light haul on our supply run.
We had found a couple of knives, and ammo for guns we didn't have by the time we reached the trailers and met up with
Bem and Tyler.
That's when we found everyone else too.
CHAPTER TEN
"I see dead people," the Boy deadpanned.
The ground between the trailers was row after row of raised mounds, scrap board tombstones stuck haphazardly
into the dirt.
I counted ten in the first row, and five rows deep.
"Did you do this?" Bem asked Carl and Rick.
The oldest pointed.
A rotting corpse leaned against a sign, legs splayed in an open grave.
The top of its head was missing.
"Was that your Dad?"
They both shook their moppet tops.
"Shane," said Rick. "He's dead."
That was a fitting epitaph for Shane I think.
"He was bit," Carl explained.
I held my breath and walked over. A blood crusted pistol was between the skeletal legs of Shane.
He got bit and went out before he could go Z.
"How long ago?" I asked.
Trying to get a frame around how long they were alone. The corpse looked like months.
"He did this," Rick offered.
"Is this the whole town Dad?"
I shrugged.
Bem sat on the ground and reached for the little one's hands. Rick let her hold his, but Carl skittered away.
Who could blame him for trust issues.
"Let's check the trailers."
I pulled out a couple of pouches of food and handed it to Bem, then shot a look to Tyler
to watch over her.
The Boy and I searched for more food.
We found where the boys had been sleeping.
It was trashed.
The food was gone though, hence the house scavenging or maybe Shane had done some stockpiling
before he died.
There was none now though.
"Shane, you glorious bastard," I breathed when I opened the back bedroom door.
It had fifteen rifles, four pistols, ammo for all and a knife.
Whoever he had been, he was smart.
The guns had a long thin cable running through the trigger guards so the kids couldn't
get them, and the ammo was at the top of the closet.
"I'll flip you for who gets to search the body for the key," I joked with my son.
He ran a hand across the top of the mirror on the dresser and showed me a tiny piece of metal,
a victory smile plastered on his face.
"Kid's don't think to look high."
"You're a kid."
"Still am," he kept grinning and released the padlock.
I checked the action on a couple of hunting rifles, and matched ammunition to them. We loaded
them, and then did the same with pistols.
Back when gun control was a hot button issue, some proponents argued it was better to have it and not need it, than have the reverse be true.
I was indifferent at the time.
Growing up in the south meant guns were tools, no different t
han a hammer or screwdriver, just used for a purpose.
I wasn't in love with them, the way some folks were.
Since the Z though, better to have more than enough.
I adopted a SEAL philosophy I read somewhere. Two is one, one is none and peace through superior
firepower or something to that effect.
I handed a second rifle to the Boy, and a pistol. He slung the first across his shoulder and seated the other in his waistband.
"Holsters might be good next time."
"Beggars and choosers," I told him.
"Just wishing out loud."
We met the others back outside and I passed out weapons to Tyler and Bem.
She had Rick in her lap, and Carl was standing beside her, wiping pasta crumbs from his lips.
"They're coming with us," she told me.
Like I was going to leave two toddlers in the middle of a town.
It must be the face.
I tried on a smile, but the Boy shook his head.
"Give it up Dad," he grinned.
"Let's move out," I snorted.
Bem took her two new charges by the hand and led them toward the truck. The little blond haired
boy lasted longer than I thought he would before he asked to be carried. She picked him up, and perched him on
one hip as we went back to the railroad.
"I'm hungry," Carl said as Bem passed me the keys to unlock the truck.
I passed her my backpack of food as she settled in the backseat with the boys. Tyler jumped
in with them before I could object.
I don't know who growled louder, the Boy or me, but we let it pass as I gave him the keys.
"You drive," I told him and got a grin again.
He hopped behind the wheel, fired it up and we took off with a lurch that turned yells into giggles from the back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I was a notorious traffic hater before the plague. I even adjusted my work hours just so I could avoid the most clogged and congested times of day. There was no easier way to piss me off than to schedule something that put me in the cross hairs of traffic. It was like building a bonfire at a gas station.
It might not blow up, but why take that chance?
Which is why I was in love with the railway car.
Truck.
The Boy locked in our speed at fifty miles an hour, slowing for curves and blind spots. I liked his foresight. He was being prepared in case we came up on something unexpected.
Tyler kept a rifle across his lap, ready, and Bem entertained the two little children in the back.
