by Arthur Stone
“What? We won’t melt.”
“You haven’t seen the rains here. Strong enough to slice the meat off your bones if you’re caught in an open field.”
“Uh-huh. You’re good at scaring people.
“Yeah, sometimes I’m even scared of myself.”
“It looks like this forest just keeps going and going. And that the farther we go in, the thicker it gets!”
“Let’s try this way. I see power lines running, and they must go somewhere.”
Rocky turned to follow the power lines, ashamed that he hadn’t even noticed them out beyond the trees. His chagrin was worsened by the fact that he always tried not to miss anything from the environment.
But he managed to make excuses for himself. He was extremely tired, his eyes were drowning in sweat, and all of his strength had been engaged in that skirmish with the fourth useless ghoul in a row. Then, when he sat down, his field of view was limited, so it would have been tough to make out the poles and wires, right?
“How long do you think until the rain starts?”
“I never said it would start raining.”
“What did you say, then? All I remember was the rain.”
“I never said it would rain. I just said it might rain.”
“So it might not?”
“If I were you, I would hope for rain?”
“Why?” Gosh, she’s talking in circles.
“Because it’s better than the alternatives.”
* * *
Rocky soon began to suspect his companion wasn’t exaggerating, as he cut through the thickets of raspberries and nettles to the power lines she had pointed out. The lead gray sky became thick as tar, with something sparkling deep in the midst of it. A rumble unlike anything he had ever heard accompanied the sight. No one would have called it thunder. It was a very weak sound akin to when you pushed something hard up against the spinning plastic blades of a fan in operation. The sun was still visible, but faded. The cloud made it look like there was a partial eclipse. Birds and grasshoppers quit their chirping and the air became ominously still, along with them the leaves in the trees.
Inside, he felt a tension he could not describe. A foreboding that whatever was brewing, the exhausted pair of them did not want to meet it.
They came across a silver lining, a narrow trail, just a short distance away from the nearest telephone pole. It was much easier to walk on that than through the walls of dense forest. He didn’t speed up, though, afraid of tearing his leg apart or collapsing from the effort.
The first gust of wind came, then, bending the pine trees in front of him in a wave, then punching him in the face with near-knockout force. It took Rocky by surprise. Plus, he was not in top physical shape, and Kitty was still riding on his shoulders. Yet somehow he stayed on his feet, after a couple of uncertain seconds.
As they pushed forward, conditions did not improve. The face-pummeling wind struck again and again. The sound in the sky was no longer just the buzz of a plastic fan being interrupted. Now it was a growling giant the size of Everest, in addition to regular thunder. There was lighting, too, zapping around the cloud and crashing into the ground.
The first raindrops appeared then. Few in number, but abnormally large, they stuck the body like acorns falling from a tree taller than a redwood.
Rocky hid his face and so failed to notice the terrain change. The thicket disappeared up ahead, the forest cut off by some cosmic knife. He realized when he saw the power line dangling from the final telephone pole.
Kitty had a better view from her perch and confirmed his suspicions. “Another boundary, dammit. New cluster. But it looks like a plowed field up ahead. We should take a look.”
She was right. Partly, at least. The field wasn’t plowed—it was recently harvested. Yellowish straw flitted around, blown free from bales by the gusts.
At the edge of the field, he saw a few small, simple houses. “A town,” Rocky exclaimed hoarsely. He had to make it, but he wanted to fall asleep right here, on the trail of compressed earth left by some tractor. Oddly enough, it continued the forest trail he had been following in the earlier cluster.
“A dangerous option,” said Kitty tensely. “But you can try it. There’s nothing else around.”
“I ‘can try it’?” Rocky practically howled the question as he forced it past his exhaustion. “You’re the experienced one. You decide! What do we do? Where should I carry you?”
“Let’s cross the field and visit the town,” she decided.
“This path is better. It probably turns toward town up ahead.”
“No. Crossing the field will be quicker.”
“That field will be the end of me. My legs are shaking and rebelling. Soon I won’t have control of them. At least this path is firm.”
“It won’t be for long,” Kitty predicted ominously.
At that moment, a blinding flash of lightning struck a tractor in the middle of the field. All other sounds were drowned out for a few seconds after that, and his legs doubled their pace without his request.
Their compliance was a matter of life and death now. The finish line was close, in one of those houses. Just a quarter mile to go.
Fierce as the wind had blown, it died down in an instant. The immense droplets also ceased. But Rocky was not inclined to rejoice. He could feel that something worse was coming.
The heavenly giant was now roaring five times louder than before, and the tar of his face began to congeal into a rapidly spinning funnel that stretched out, the nose of the giant reaching towards the earth. For some reason, Rocky was sure he had never seen a tornado in person, but he knew what they could do. He pushed himself to move faster.
Come on, legs, give it all you’ve got or soon you’ll have no ground to stand on.
Once it hit the field, the whirlwind moved in an unpredictable zigzag. It touched the smoked tractor and yanked off both its doors, then shrunk and grew and hurried onwards, sending the straw baled and unbaled towards the heavens. At last, it charged towards the forest.
Rocky felt relieved, but not for long. A half-mile to the right, a new twister began forming, larger than the last.
Then the blackness of the sky broke out and poured onto the earth, filling everything with its molasses-thick darkness, concealing both tornadoes, the field, and the entire world. It was a wet, terrifying surprise.
Wet because, dammit, Kitty’s forecast of rain came to full fruition. The one where she told him about rain strong enough to rip the meat from your bones. A second later, as Rocky spit out the terrible oily water than had infiltrated his mouth, he realized that Kitty had not been telling the full truth. This was worse than her forecast. Much worse.
Chapter 18
Life Five: The Town
It wasn’t the most stylish house. The time-worn and warped plank floors with linoleum plastered across them in places resembled a reproduction of some ancient Egyptian domicile. One meant to look four thousand years old. Add the shag carpets on the walls and the ominous rusted corpses of cuckoo clocks and this place looked like the perfect place for junkies to seek refuge. I guess we’re spore junkies. So it’s just right for us.
It was clean, too, and the windows were shuttered. The tidiness was remarkable, as the house had a general ambiance incompatible with a decent residence.
He was overjoyed at the shutters. Too bad they weren’t installed everywhere. Kitty hadn’t explained why towns were dangerous, but Rocky had a good idea why. He wasn’t as dull as she thought. Perhaps the townspeople had turned into monsters, and there could be visiting beasts, too, including more advanced stages where even machine guns were unable to take them out. The fewer opportunity those creatures had to see inside, the better.
Shutters also served to partly muffle the roar of the wind and water. Rocky couldn’t believe he had made it to one of the houses. Visibility had dropped to zero, and the ground had become thick mud mixed with straw, stirred and whipped by the wind. He had lost his sense of direction ins
tantly. Kitty, though, had somehow kept hers. She couldn’t shout loud enough for him to discern what she was saying, but she could use her hands to direct his head. It worked.
He had been the steed, she the rider. No bridle necessary, thank God.
They were drenched with water and mud, of course. Rocky placed Kitty on the fraying sofa and announced he would go look for some dry clothes.
“Just don’t you dare open the refrigerator,” Kitty begged for some unknown reason. “Hurry it up—we have a lot to do.”
What she could possibly have for them to do in a hurricane-surrounded hut, he had no clue, but he dared not ask. It would become clear soon enough anyway.
He managed to find all kinds of clothes. It wasn’t the time to be picky. He collected a whole heap from the hangers and dressers, took them to the living room, and dropped them in front of the sofa, unable to resist a quick advertisement. “We’re in luck, Kitty. Only the best in fashion for you. Straight from Milan, these sweaters are the new word in style. Made to mimic the look of moth-eaten fabric, these Italian jumpers will make your neighbors wish they had a pest problem!”
“Get out. I need to change.”
“Aw.”
“What?”
“I’m sad you’re sending me out. No, I don’t mean to peep—I’m just curious how you’ll change with that leg and all. Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“Don’t push me, Rocky. It won’t end well,” she responded wearily.
He turned around, hearing her voice her pet peeve yet again.
“And don’t even think about opening the fridge.”
What was that about? What could be wrong with opening the fridge?
He was hardly out of the room when he realized, nearly slapping himself in the forehead. He really was a moron. How could he miss something so obvious? Who knew how long ago this town and everything in it had fallen into this asshole of the universe? The power would have gone out, and that included power to all the appliances.
The refrigerator had just sat there without electricity for weeks, maybe months. The food inside would be covered in mold. And it would smell horrible.
Opening the door would be like unleashing a chemical weapon on the place.
Hey, at least I figured out one thing for myself.
He had just pulled on one final dry item, a right sock, when he heard Kitty cry out in pain.
He shouted. “What’s wrong?”
“Fucking... leg...”
“I offered to help, you know.”
“Yes.”
“And you turned me down.”
“Of course I turned you down. You’ll die before I let you see me naked.”
“But how will I enjoy the sight when I’m dead?”
“Not my problem. Just remember those terms. And I’m not kidding.”
“Sheesh, why so harsh? I mean, you could just consider me like, your personal doctor.”
“You’re fired. I’ve never seen a worse splint in my life. By the way, bring me some rags and a pair of scissors, if you can find one. And something I can use to make a decent splint out of.”
“A splint won’t help you, Kitty. You’ve got a bullet stuck in your leg. I think it ran all the way from your knee to your foot, destroying everything in its path. Bad angle to get shot at.”
“Don’t worry about the bullet. Just do what I asked. And bring me the guns so I can clean them.”
“That doesn’t seem very urgent.”
“Quit being a moron, Rocky. The rifle and the shotgun are both soaked. We have to dry them, at least, not wait until they rust. This weapon might save your life tomorrow. Or it could misfire when you need it most. Get used to caring for your weapons more than your own body.”
“I’ll do it.”
“No, you’ll do what I tell you to.”
“Fine, then what are your orders?” This was irritating. They had just arrived at this place to rest, and he was already being given work to do. Bad news to give a person on the fringe of exhaustion.
“Look around the whole house. Check out every door and listen to and sniff every corner. See what exits there are, and set traps everywhere.”
“I didn’t do too well in trap class.”
“Don’t worry, I know your limits. I don’t expect much. Just make sound traps. Lean something heavy up against the doors. Something that makes noise when it falls. Then smash a few glass bottles and spread the shards around bottlenecks in the house. Anything stepping on those will make a lot of noise. And roar in pain. You can devise some traps on your own, too. You’re not completely helpless anymore, and you have to learn. Oh, look for some food and water, too. Just remember not to touch the fridge.”
“Yeah, I understand that.”
“If you find any spoiled food, wrap it up in bags or rags and hide it in a cupboard or something. Just don’t throw it outside. The fewer smells in this place, the less it will attract infecteds. Put any buckets and bins out to collect rainwater. Out on the porch, they should fill up in a couple of minutes.”
“I don’t want to drink that water. It’s foggy, almost soapy in texture.”
“I noticed. That water’s not for drinking, but we can use it for washing. Also, find an ax and bring it here. And anything else that can be used as a weapon. Don’t go out through any exit but the porch we came in through.”
“Trust me, I don’t want to go outside.”
“You’ll have to collect the bins and buckets you put out for rainwater, though.”
“Aye-aye, commander.”
“Well, get to it. Chop chop! There’s a lot to do.”
* * *
As he rummaged through the house, wincing at the torment from his knee, he thought about Kitty. The girl’s behavior astonished him, to the core. He knew she wasn’t your average girl a long time ago, despite his amnesia. But when she had explained in under a minute how he could turn this random house into a bunker for them to stay in for a few days, he realized he didn’t even know the girl he had just carried for five hard miles.
How long had she said she had been here? A few months? Could a city girl become a cold, professional killer in such a short time, slicing her enemies with a vicious sword and guarding her home with scattered shards of broken glass?
That was hard to believe when she looked so non-threatening. She seemed stable, even normal, like this was her native habitat. Her practical way of thinking wasn’t even hindered by the vicious wound to her leg, which would have reduced the strongest man in the real world to an immobilized crybaby calling for mom and demanding pain pills.
What a complex person.
The house was bigger than it had seemed from the outside. Not that he could see much in that storm. There were only two living rooms, but they were joined by a kitchen, several closets, a deck, and a number of mysterious nooks.
Wait, what is this door for? It’s so strange.
It led to a small barn built onto the house. Rocky realized he really didn’t want to step into the space in the dark, especially not without a weapon in his hand. But the source of the stench filling the house was here.
The barn stank. Of rotting flesh.
He suppressed the urge to retreat into the horse, closed the door partially behind him, and crouched down, completely forgetting about his knee. No one was visible, but there were some interesting observations to be made.
The wide wooden gates to the outside were closed, but there was a hole punched through them. It looked new. It was the only reason he could see at all. Gloom ruled the streets, but it was still around noon, after all, so a bit of light seeped through the mess of wind and water. Bones were scattered about, including some large ones that were clearly not human in origin. But a gray skull sat next to the local pitchfork. It was neither sheep nor cow, and may have belonged to the former owner of the place. Clumps of strained feathers were scattered throughout, some in the strangest of places. The chickens had not emerged victorious.
This hadn’t been a fox raid
ing the coop, either. For once, he didn’t need Kitty to explain what had happened here.
A ghoul had enjoyed a feast in this very room.
Or many ghouls, perhaps.
Still, there was no sign of any threat in the barn, and his mood improved when he found an ax. Always best for an explorer to keep a weapon in hand. He grabbed the pitchfork, too, remembering the Kitty had demanded any and all weapons. It was filthy, but a five-minute shower on the porch and it would look like new, besides any rust.
After he explored every last corner of the place, he stepped down into thought. This was a way out of the house. That made two: the door he and Kitty had come through, and the barn door, which was a problem. He couldn’t patch up that hole without it being, well, obvious that someone had only just patched it up. It was probably better not to touch it.
Now for the doors. Where could he get a hold of some broken glass?
Kitty’s instructions had been brief, but they took some time to implement. In the end, glass covered the floor, and heavy loud objects were leaning up against the door. He even put rakes on the floor, which he almost killed himself with on the way back.
As he transformed this farmhouse into a maze of noisy sound traps, he put everything suitable he could find out to collect rainwater. With each trip outside, he noticed the might of the elements progressively subsiding. The storm was now much weaker than it had started, but it was still impressive. He doubted infecteds liked to roam in this weather. If they did, there was no way they could see their prey from more than a couple of hundred feet away. Rocky’s activity was almost certainly unnoticed.
Funny enough, that made him thankful for the storm. Let it rage on.
As he caught glimpses of Kitty during his trips back and forth, she was concentrating on tearing the rags into strips for a more convenient splint. She had also managed to disassemble, dry, and reassemble the guns while he wasn’t looking.
What a girl. She moved like a robot rather than a human. Not a single tear through the whole process, even though she must have been experiencing the worst possible agony. Rocky imagined a bullet entering his knee at a high angle, biting through his whole lower leg, down to his ankle. He shuddered. There was no way he could have just gritted his teeth through that as she had.
