by Poe, S. B.
Harvest of the Dead
Book 8
The Marionette Zombie Series
SB Poe
Copyright © 2020 SB Poe
All rights reserved.
For Mom
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental
Contents
Harvest of the Dead
Interstate of Mind
Sermons and Songs
Genesis
The Rest of Your Life
Harvest of the Dead
The Wind Remembers
Things We Forgot
Devil’s a-Watchin
Where Will You Go Now
A New Day
Through the cracks
The Last Light Of Day
Harvest of the Dead
Part 1
What ever happened to Bertie Baker?
Interstate of Mind
Julia Baker stood next to the car watching as her husband Bertie, his name was Albert but he’d always been called Bertie, came through the front door with the last box. She wiped the bead of sweat from the top of her lip and reached into the open window to start the van.
“Not yet.” Bertie said as he passed. “We’re gonna need every drop.”
“We’re leaving right now, aren’t we?” She straightened up.
“In just a few minutes. I just want to walk through one more time. It’s not like we can just stop and pick up something we might forget.” He said as he closed the back of the van.
“We’ve already done that twice. It’s time to go.” She said. Julia looked up the street. “Oh dammit, here comes Cody. Don’t let him try to talk you into staying. We’re leaving. I am not spending another day under Cotton Small’s thumb.”
“I know. Just get in the van and wait. I’ll see what he wants and walk through the house again.” Bertie said.
Bertie walked back up the short sidewalk without looking at the man coming down the street. He took a quick walk through the house, grabbing nothing in particular but still coming out with both hands full. Cody stood in the yard with his arms folded across his chest, waiting.
“Morning Cody.” Bertie said as he brushed by.
“Morning Bertie. Today’s the day, huh?” He said.
Bertie turned and could see his reflection in Cody’s sunglasses. His reflection looked small.
“Guess so.” He said as he turned back and put the coffee mug and picture frame in the back of the van.
“Where ya going?” Cody asked.
“Not sure. Was thinking South Springs.” Bertie said.
“Well, good luck.” Cody stuck out his hand.
“That’s it? You’re not gonna try to talk me out of it?” Bertie said as he cautiously shook Cody’s hand.
“Would it do any good?” Cody glanced towards the passenger seat of the van. Julia pursed her lips and managed a curt smile.
“No, I don’t guess it would.” Bertie hung his head ever so slightly.
“Well, good luck. Me and Vernon gotta go over and hose off some goner guts from the bridge. Mike Austin’s at the gate, he’ll let y’all out.” He turned and pulled off his sunglasses so Bertie could see his eyes. “Be careful out there and just so you know, I ain’t gonna try to talk you out of it but once you leave, don’t come back.”
Bertie opened the driver’s door and sat down in the van. He turned the key and the van came to life. He looked at his wife and then turned and looked at Cody. Cody gave a half wave as he backed the van out of the driveway. He could still see him holding his hand up in the side mirror as he drove down the road towards the back of the funeral home. As they passed through the open gate, he gave a nod to Mike Austin as it closed behind them. They drove past the co-op and the Wal-Mart. A few more miles down the two-lane road Bertie noticed the gate hanging off its hinges on the entrance to Cotton’s farm. When they came to the logs across the road blocking the intersection, he stopped and got out of the van. He walked over to the edge of the road where the timbers met the pavement. He could see the muddy track through the woods and thought about the people that had left Collier since it all fell apart. He was just the latest to go. He got back in the van.
“There’s a trail.” He said.
“What are you waiting for then?” She said.
“We don’t know what’s out there.” He said.
“I know Cotton Smalls and his little band of toadies aren’t out there. Guard this, cook that, fetch those. Screw them.” She was worked up. “The only way I would stay another day is if he were gone for good. And that ain’t happening. Drive.”
Bertie put the van in gear and worked his way down the trail through the trees. They came out the other side, dragging some bushes into the road with them, and worked their way around the blockade of cars on the other side.
“Which way?” He stared straight ahead.
“Which way?” She sat back in the seat.
“We left. Like you wanted. You didn’t want Cotton in charge, so now you’re in charge. Where do we go?” He said without looking at her.
“Where?” She asked.
“Please stop doing that.” He said.
“What?” She asked.
“Answering me with a question. It… never mind.” He said.
“South Springs. Like I said all along.” She said. “And take the Interstate. It’ll be safer.”
“Safer than what?” He asked as he put the van in gear and pulled towards the on ramp a mile down the road.
“Sitting here.” She turned and looked out the window as they drove.
Bertie lifted his foot from the gas pedal as the van merged on the main ribbon of road. Several orange road signs marking travel lanes lay on their sides, knocked askew as the rules of the road became fewer and fewer. A large information board sat dark beside the road with several traffic cones standing guard. He let the van gain speed as they moved along. The road was littered with abandoned cars that partially blocked the path in front of the van. There was enough space for them to slowly work their way through and enough open road beyond they soon found themselves dozens of miles away from Collier.
As they topped the next hill, they could see the tractor-trailer lying across all the lanes. Bertie slowed to see if he could find a way around. The interstate median was mostly scattered trees and tall grass. He pulled to his left and felt the pavement turn to gravel as he inched his way around the end of the truck. The mud spun under the wheel and he felt the rear end trying to slide down the slight embankment. He hit the gas and the mud sprayed against the side of the van as they slipped around the trailer and back on to the solid gravel. As he slowed to squeeze the van between the end of the truck and another vehicle, he heard Julia gasp.
A goner pressed against Julia’s window and the rot oozing from the things nostrils smeared across the glass. He reached down to the armrest and his finger brushed against the master window control. He touched it and fought the urge to roll it down. She started screaming and flailing at the thing in the glass. Sweat popped up on his forehead in little beads.
“DO SOMETHING.” She yelled.
He looked at her as his hand slid to the armrest again. He applied a little more pressure to the gas pedal and as they slipped between the car and the truck; the goner was blocked and fell. He looked in the rear-view mirror and could see the thing struggling back to its feet. He drove on.
The asphalt had held together against the encroachment of nature better
than the occasional sections of concrete roadway they crossed. The joints between the cement slabs had exploded with dandelions and ragweed. The land lining the interstate had grown thick with bushes and the grasses grew tall. Trees blown over that would have normally been cleared in hours now lay rotting across parts of the road. Bertie looked up to read the road sign to Spring Lake and couldn’t remember the last time he had been there. He had never been there this way; he had always used the old two-lane that ran to South Spring to get to the lake. He wasn’t sure if Julia really thought this way was safer than the other but after the few blockages they had navigated to get this far, he was glad he had a wide road.
Both of them jumped in their seats when the siren blasted behind them. Bertie looked into the rearview mirror and tapped the brakes. He was being pulled over by the highway patrol.
“What are you doing?” Julia looked shocked.
“What should I do?” He asked.
“Go. Don’t stop.” She said.
He looked in the rearview mirror again and took his foot off the brake. He tapped the gas just as his eye caught movement to his front. He slammed on the brakes as the dump truck pulled across the road. The van came to a stop a few feet from the driver’s door of the dump truck and Bertie could see into the driver’s window. The woman looking back at him hid behind dark sunglasses. He looked in the mirror again, the man getting off the motorcycle was walking up to his window. Bertie could see the weapons on his belt, a long knife and pistol. He walked up to the driver’s side with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He opened the door.
“Step out.” The man said.
“But…” Bertie started. The man yanked Bertie out of the van and threw him to the ground.
The woman in the dump truck jumped onto the hood of the van and pointed her own shotgun at Julia.
“Get the fuck out right now.” She yelled.
Julia put one hand up and grabbed the door handle with the other. She slung the door open and stepped out with her hands up. The woman jumped down and spun her around before marching her to the other side of the van and shoving her to her knees beside Bertie.
“Why are you here?” The man asked.
“Where are we?” Bertie twisted on his knees and looked over his shoulder.
“Don’t look at me.” The man raised his fist, Bertie turned back around. “Why are you here?”
“We’re just passing through, we’re trying to get to South Springs.” Bertie blurted out.
“Why?” The man asked.
Bertie started to turn but remembered.
“No reason.” Bertie said.
“Where are you from?” The man asked.
“Collier.” Bertie said.
“Why did you leave? Did it fall?” The man asked.
“Fall?” Julia asked.
“Did the eaters come?” The man asked.
“Eaters?” Julia asked.
The woman backhanded Julia. Shock came over Julia’s face as she reached up and touched the stinging spot on her cheek.
“Don’t ask questions. Answer them.” The woman said.
“Did it fall?” The man asked.
“No.” Bertie said.
“Why did you leave?”
“We’re trying to find a safe place, somewhere better.” Bertie said.
“Put your hands behind your back.” He said. Bertie put his behind his back. The woman tied them together with cord.
“Now you.” He turned to Julia.
Julia started to protest but the woman put her hand against her back and shoved her forward. She reached her hands backwards. The sacks thrown over their heads filled their world with darkness and the smell of onions. They loaded both of them into the cab of the truck with their heads still covered. Bertie heard muffled words between the two. The door opened and the woman got in. Bertie spoke through the sack over his head.
“Where are we going?” He asked.
“Somewhere better.” The woman said as the dump truck fired up.
Sermons and Songs
The truck made enough turns that Bertie lost all sense of direction. They stopped for a brief moment and the driver got out. He could hear some more mumbling outside. The door opened and they began moving again. A short way farther on they stopped again. Bertie heard the door open and the sounds of Julia protesting as they pulled her from the cab. The door slammed and he sat in silence for what seemed like an hour. Finally, the door jerked open and he felt rough hands pull him towards the ground.
“Walk.” A voice he hadn’t heard before said.
He started walking and he felt a hand on his shoulder guiding him around whatever was in his path. He would occasionally bump against things but the hand on his shoulder would steer him away. He could hear sounds like voices but not quite. Constant dull groans intermixed with ragged breaths. It sounded like he was walking among goners but that just couldn’t be. The hand on his shoulder directed him away from the sounds until it was just a dull buzz behind him. He felt the hand come to rest on the top of his shoulder.
“Sit.” The voice said.
He sat. The hands guided his back against something firm and he leaned against it. He stretched his legs out in front of him. Hours passed. The sounds of goners he heard earlier came and went, wafting into his ear on the wind, but never completely going away. He heard voices talking but could only discern a few disparate words with no context.
For most of the time he sat in the hood's darkness, he could feel the warmth of the sun beaming down but as time passed by, he felt the cool breeze of evening blow across his skin. After a while, he was sure the world outside was as dark as the world inside the sack over his head. Footsteps passed by, coming and going. As the evening air settled around him, he heard more and more. He heard footsteps stop in front of him.
“Tell me about where you came from.” The voice from the highway spoke.
“It was Collier. Just a small town off the road a bit.” He said.
“Are there people there?” He asked.
“Yes.”
“How many people?”
“I don’t know. Twenty-five, thirty maybe.” He said.
“Armed?”
“Hunting rifles and shotguns. Whatever folks had lying around.”
“Did you run out of food?”
“No, there was plenty.”
“And you left. Why?”
“Well it was the wife.” He started. “It was hard on her. Her boy got bit early on and the sheriff had to put him down.”
“Her boy? Not yours?”
“Step son. He was about grown when we got hitched.” Bertie said.
“And that’s why you left?”
“Well, that happened a few months back. No, we left because she wanted to.”
“You didn’t want to leave?” He asked.
“Why are you asking me this?” Bertie asked. He was met with a swift sharp kick to his leg.
“You didn’t want to leave?” The man asked again.
“She wanted to leave. She wasn’t satisfied with the way things were. She didn’t get along with the man in charge. I just wanted to get away.”
“Get away from what?”
“Everything, everyone.” His own honesty surprised Bertie. No one had asked him about him in a long time. He didn’t know if it was because he figured he was dead anyway or what but he felt free.
“Even your wife?”
“Everyone.” Bertie said. He heard footsteps walking away and he found himself alone again.
He sat in darkness listening to the sounds around him. He could hear wood being piled together and the occasional rattle of a chain-link fence. The sound of an axe chopping echoed in his ears. He became aware of the heat and imagined a campfire burning in front of him. He could smell the smoke wafting under the cloth and the light flickered through the sack. Footsteps came beside him but they spoke no words. He strained against the weave of the bag, trying to glimpse what the world outside had become.
“What’s y
our name?” A voice startled him. A voice he hadn’t heard before. A young man’s voice.
“Bertie. Bertie Baker.”
“Birdy, like tweet tweet.”
“No with a T” Bertie said.
“Turdy?”
Bertie turned his head under the hood towards the voice.
“I’m just fuckin with ya Bertie.” The voice said.
“Do you have a name?” Bertie asked.
