by Jones, K. J.
Chris fought his laughter. “Did they try to eat you?”
“They would have if I stayed in the mud and shit longer.” Peter shuddered at the memory. “Hate those fuckers.”
The laughter among the guys slowly rose.
“Oh, go ahead, you basta’ds. Laugh at my childhood trauma.” They laughed harder. “I got shit on youse two, just remember. Mister Afraid of Sharks. And you, screaming like a girl because a spider was in your MOPPs.”
“It was the size of a fucking king crab,” Matt defended.
“Asshole was dancing around, screaming like a girl.”
“You didn’t know it was in there?” asked Kevin.
“No. It was one of those chemical warfare false alerts. You know. You were in Iraq.”
“Those spiders were fucking huge.”
“We should’ve boiled ‘em and eaten ‘em,” said Chris.
“You said that back then,” responded Matt.
“I don’t know how to make a spider boil. Do you?”
“Why the fuck would I know that coming from Wyoming? We don’t have crab boils.”
“See my point?”
Phebe moved to the pantry to food forage. “If the stove and oven work, we could whip something up.”
“Not you,” said Peter. “We don’t want food poisoning right now.”
Phebe’s head popped out of the pantry doorway. “I do not cook that bad. Maybe not to your gourmet level, but hardly food poisoning level. I’m not Mullen.”
“I miss him.” Peter gazed wistfully into his thoughts. “And Eric. I hope they’re okay, wherever the hell they are.”
Day 7
Chapter One
1.
Phebe woke up feeling poorly.
“This is too much for her,” Peter said at a men’s meeting in the kitchen. “We can’t keep going.”
“We have enough food and firewood,” said Pez. “We’re not on a time schedule, are we?”
“No.”
“Then we stay.”
“Em could use the rest, too,” said Brandon. “She says she’s okay, but she’s moving slow and she’s pale.”
“We need to find them prenatal vitamins,” said Matt. “They could be anemic by now. It’s been days without their pills.”
“What do we do for them if we can’t find the vitamins?” asked Pez.
“Feed them bloody meat since we got that. But they also need folic acid.”
Kevin said, “If we’re staying more, we should secure the property better than a general clearing scan. Those animals may be here somewhere.”
“I’m worried as hell about the babies,” said Matt. “We have no idea what’s going on internally. We don’t even know if they’re still alive. If we could find a stethoscope, I could at least try to listen for heartbeats.”
“That’ll only tell if they’re alive?” asked Peter.
“Yeah. Not if they’re malformed from radiation exposure. God! What that’s doing to Phebe and Emily, I got no idea.”
“There’s no indication of radiation sickness from either of them,” said Peter. “I mean, Pheebs puked, but it was her normal puking. Not additional or abnormal projectile vomit or anything. And no one’s losing their head or has skin blisters.”
“True. But that does not tell us what is happening internally at the lower dosages we received.”
“We don’t know if we received any.”
“We can only pray, Sul. But that black rain.”
“Let’s go with they’re worn out and pregnant. It’s been too much for their bodies.”
“How long can we hole up here?”
“Hell. With the amount of supplies here, a while.”
“They need a hospital.”
Peter sighed loudly. “This is turning into a catch-twenty-two. To get them to the hospital, we have to wear them out further. To keep them healthy, we stay here and we don’t get them to a hospital.”
“Are they staying warm?”
“They’re in the queen-sized bed directly above the living room. The chimney runs behind the wall, so it’s keeping the room warm.”
“That’s good. Wait, the bed the people died in?”
“We flipped it over and didn’t tell the girls.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to sleep in that bed.”
“Really?”
“That surprise you?”
“Yeah. Didn’t think you believed in ghosts and that stuff.”
“I don’t. Well, not entirely. I don’t know after Charleston. But just the idea of where people died, all that comes out of –”
“Okay, enough. I have to sleep in that bed, too. You’ll turn me into a germaphobe. Back to the farm clearing op?”
“You up for it?”
“Yeah. The heat of this place is doing me wonders.”
“It’s cold out there.”
“Would you stop being my mother.”
“I was thinking more like I was your medic.”
“When I get shot, I’ll call on you. Shot, again, I mean.”
“Don’t get shot.” Matt added, “Shit.”
“What?”
“I should collect everyone’s phenotype and rhesus.”
“Not everybody may know their blood type.”
“The service personnel will.”
“We know Chris is O positive.”
“What are you?”
“AB positive.”
“What’s Phebe?”
“Um.” Peter tried to remember if it ever came up.
“I hope to God she’s not Rh negative,” Matt said.
“Why?”
“This will be her last baby to survive.”
“Explain.”
“Rh-negative women who have Rh-positive babies, there’s a phenomenon which occurs. Her body will attack any Rh-positive babies thereafter. They’re born with jaundice at birth. They have a high mortality rate, which would be even higher under these conditions. She’d need the RhoGAM injection, which a hospital would provide.”
“Shit. I hope Pheebs is Rh-positive.”
“Emily, too.”
Peter and Brandon couldn’t wait until the two expectant mothers woke up of their own accord. Phebe and Emily startled awake with the two men hovering over them.
“Are you Rh-negative?” Brandon demanded of Emily,
“Huh? What?”
“We need to know,” Peter said.
“What are you two mentally challenged men going on about now?” groaned Phebe.
“What’s your blood type?” Peter asked.
“B-positive.”
“Yes. We’re safe.”
“Em?” Brandon asked.
“A-positive.”
The men high-fived.
“You can go back to sleep, ladies,” said Brandon.
“What a bunch of wackos.” Phebe rolled over.
2.
Matt wrote their blood types down on a chart he started. “I gotta rewrite this for who can donate to whom and who can receive from whom.”
The two expectant fathers grinned as if they won a great victory today.
“I’m B-positive, so that matches for Phebe.” Matt talked aloud as he worked his chart into donation links. “We can donate to each other. And we can receive from the O’s. Jayce knows his, O positive. Pez is O-negative, the universal donor, so he can donate to all of us.”
“We’re good?” asked Peter.
“On the Rh-negative aspect, yeah. Sul, you can receive from anyone as an AB-positive. There’s no one who’s Rh-nil, who can’t receive from anyone but Rh-nil. But Tyler’s an unknown, which is worrisome. I got no way of typing him.”
Pez entered the kitchen. “We gonna do this clearing or what?”
“You’re a universal donor,” Matt told him.
“For blood? I know. In Afghanistan, they had me transfuse with a wounded Marine, cos they ran out of plasma. They made a big deal outta it.”
“It is a big deal. Nice to have one of you around.”
>
“Glad to be of service. We doing this?”
“Let’s get on it,” said Peter. “Do we have enough guns? I mean, firearms with bullets in them.”
“Sort of,” answered Pez. “I mean, some guys are stuck with handguns, which I wouldn’t want going up against zom-livestock and shit. But the residents had some ammo useful to some of our firearms, so that’s good.”
“I’m stuck with a handgun, aren’t I?” asked Matt.
“It’s what you came with.”
“Shit.”
“Hit ‘em with your cast,” said Brandon.
“It worked on zom-humans,” said Matt. “But I don’t think it will on things with jaws powerful enough to crush the cast.”
“When is that supposed to come off?”
“Not right now.”
Pez said, “I found a buzz saw.”
“No.”
“We could cut it off for you, Matt.”
“No. Not you people cutting it off. And not with a fucking buzz saw. I’ll lose my arm.”
“Just saying. We’re here to help.”
“Get away from my cast, all of you.”
“We should draw on it.” Pez smiled.
“Just not dicks like Ty did to Syanna’s cast.”
Pez laughed.
“No,” said Matt. “No drawing on my cast. Get away from me.”
The guys laughed at him.
3.
They fanned out and moved in the fashion they had been trained by the military. First, they checked the barn, where they found some roaming around chickens and several barn cats.
“If them cats here when the hens lay their eggs and the chicks hatch,” Chris said.
“Yeah,” said Peter. “We got the ending of that story.”
“Nothing saying they kept hoofed animals in here,” said Matt. “Stalls aren’t used for horses or cows. They have storage in ‘em.”
They moved out of the barn to check on the outbuildings.
“Here the pig pens,” said Chris.
“Empty,” said Peter.
“Escaped.” Kevin pointed to busted fencing.
The planks were busted outward from the pen, showing the pigs had done it themselves. Inside the pens, dead smaller pigs. Ripped apart in typical zom style, the bite attacks too ferocious.
“They’re aggressive and murdering,” said Pez.
“Fantastic,” muttered Peter. “Really happy about this.” He warily scanned around.
Something moved between outbuildings. Peter swerved fast to line up the shot of the shotgun he carried, then relaxed. A rooster, strutting along, clucking to himself, stopping to peck at the dirt.
“Let’s get this over with,” Peter said to the guys.
The rooster clawed at the dirt. Pecked a couple of times. Clawed. And ran with his wings flapping and an alarmed squawk.
They ran right at the fleeing rooster, making a horrible pig screaming sound.
“Shit,” Peter yelled. “Open fire!”
They were huge, each pig a good two hundred pounds. Five of them, foaming at the mouth. At hearing Peter’s voice, they veered and ran right for him, which benefited the rooster.
Charging at him, Peter dove over the fence into the pigpen. The others opened fire. The first pig went down. The other pigs kept running, now at Pez. He fired repeatedly as he quickly backed up. The other guys shot, which scattered the zom-pigs into several directions of pursuit. The men made unmanly screeches as they ran. Some high-pitched screams from Marines.
One profusely bleeding zom-pig chased Matt into the barn. He jumped into a stall and slammed the half-door closed. It attacked the door until it bled out and dropped dead. The hens and cats had removed themselves to higher ground. Each looked frazzled. The cats with huge, puffed tails made it to the loft, where they watched in defensive postures, ears flat, ready to hiss and growl. Mice ran along the rafters to flee the strange, infected creature and its abnormal smells. The cats were so preoccupied with the zom-pig, they ignored the mice. Up at the ceiling, pigeons flew around in anxiety. Their loose feathers floated down to the hay-strewn floor.
Matt peered over the top of the stall door down at the dead massive pig. Tiny eyes still open. A blood pool growing around it and slowly seeping into the packed-down dirt floor.
“Okay, now I got a pig phobia.”
The stall hinges creaked as he opened the door. The dead pig flopped forward with the door. Despite its dead state, Matt gave it a wide berth. He walked past it, aiming at it as if it would come back to life. Remembering there were more, he aimed at the open barn doors. No sounds from outside. Careful boot steps towards the opening. Eyes wide, heart beat fast, and finger on the trigger, Matt readied for anything.
Each man came out of a building, looking the same wide-eyed way. Except for Peter. They found him lying in mud and shit in the pigpen. A dead zom-pig on top of his legs. It lacked a head, retaining only a bloody mess nub at the end of its cervical vertebrae. A shotgun blast at extremely close range. Fence planks broken inwards told the pig had busted through to get at Peter. He blew its head off.
“Any spontaneous urination, Yankee?” Chris asked him.
“Help get this fat fucker off my legs, redneck.”
“Come on. Let’s help princess.”
“I heard you assholes screaming like girls, so don’t start on me.”
“We’ll see.” Chris shoved at the massive pig. “Dang, this bitch is heavy. Are y’all on a coffee break?”
They still scanned around, slowly – possibly unconsciously – moving into a position with their backs facing each other.
“They’re dead, assholes. Help me free the man.”
“You don’t know they all dead,” said Kevin.
“They ain’t exactly quiet.”
“Find that rooster? He knew.”
Brandon helped Chris push the sow off of Peter’s legs. Fortunately, his legs had pushed into the mud and hadn’t been injured from her weight. They hauled him up to his feet. He cringed and used Chris’s shoulder to fully stand and gain his balance.
The others still scanned.
“Anybody bit?” Peter asked.
No response.
“Men, anyone bit?”
“Nuh,” Kevin said. “‘Least I can’t feel none. You sure they all dead?”
“Let’s get back to the house and check. That’s priority.”
“What if they ain’t all dead?”
“Worry about that later.”
“They could get in the house.”
“One thing at a time,” Peter said as Chris helped him walk. “I think I may have gotten over my pig phobia. That was shock therapy.”
Chris said, “Good, cos I think the other men got it now.”
“That was some high-pitched screaming.”
Chris laughed. “Yeah, it was.”
The men behind them walked backwards or sideways, watching for more zom-pigs.
4.
“What happened?” Phebe asked from the kitchen table.
They ate pudding from little plastic tubs. The peeled-off lids littered the kitchen table. Chocolate for the two pregnant women, and vanilla for the two teens.
“Zom-pigs.” Peter collapsed in a chair, caked with mud.
Phebe cringed. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Surprisingly.”
She sniffed in his direction. “You don’t smell good.”
“Aw,” said Chris. “It’s nature. Good ole pig shit.” He chuckled.
The other guys entered and did not relax until they had the mudroom backdoor secured via lock and furniture barricading it.
“Do the front door, too,” said Matt. “And there’s a cellar.”
“They’re dead, y’all,” said Chris. “You gonna barricade the upstairs windows too, in case they climb now?”
“You don’t know they’re all dead,” said Brandon. He crossed the kitchen to tend to the front door.
“Was it that bad?” Emily called after him.
&nbs
p; “Guess it was,” said Phebe, spooning pudding into her mouth.
“We could get some good pork outta this,” said Chris.
“So you shot ‘em?” Phebe asked.
“Oh, yeah. Lots of times before they dropped.” Chris smiled, followed by a laugh. “You should’ve heard these boys screaming. High pitched like Mullen. Ain’t never gonna live that down. Marines!” He doubled with laughter, his laugh booming through the kitchen.
“You didn’t have one chasing you,” said Kevin, returning from the cellar via its interior door and steep staircase.
“What did you do?” Peter asked Chris. “That you are all high and mighty, you mighty meathead?”
“Jumped into one of them little houses and closed the dang door on it. Waited until it died from the bullet wounds. These dumbasses ran around screaming.”
“I did not scream,” Matt protested. He hoped he didn’t scream.
“Maybe it was just the Marines then.” Chris roared with renewed laughter.
Brandon and Pez had no defense.
“Any more pudding left?” Brandon deflected.
“Sure, hon,” Emily said. “Chocolate or vanilla?”
5.
“I want to learn.”
“You wanna learn how to butcher a sow, girl?”
Phebe looked around at the dead pigs laid out on a tarp on the floor of the barn. Chris, Pez, and Kevin wore blood-smeared aprons. They used large knives and battery-operated saws to cut apart the bodies. The heads were immediately removed since that was where the virus resided. The bodies had been hosed down in case of any saliva existed on the skin. All of the men wore thick gloves to take all precautions against R140 infection.
“I think it’s a useful skill,” she said.
“Why?” asked Kevin.
Phebe raised a brow at him, still hating him.
“Prefer it if you didn’t give her a knife, brothers,” he said.
Chris chuckled. “Scared? You should be.”
Kevin snickered.
Phebe’s eyes widened. She felt her belly. “Whoa.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Chris. Alarmed, he stood up and approached her.
“I think …” Phebe smiled at him. “Feel this.”
Chris closed the distance to her.