by Jones, K. J.
“I was hoping they’d show up last night,” he mumbled against her.
“Me, too.” She kissed the top of his wet head. “They will.”
“They better.”
Hug time over, he stepped away and wrapped the towel around himself.
“Um, I just remembered,” he said. “I don’t have any other shorts. These are wet now.”
“What about your jeans from yesterday?”
“They smell really bad. Like fire. All I really packed was my ZBDUs.”
“Clothing loot needed. I’ll talk to Maze. She seems in charge.”
“Why aren’t you in charge?”
“Me? Because of all that military training I’ve had?”
“Whatever.”
2.
“When did you do this?” Phebe asked.
“This morning.”
“Ben, it is this morning.”
“Before dawn.”
“Are you an insomniac?”
“I get a lot done.”
“Obviously. Nice to draw it on the wall.”
He drew a city map on the wall of the billiards room. Looted maps covered the pool table.
“Where else? I don’t think Rupert will object.”
“He’ll probably be more pissed off that we buried him with a leather-bound book. Hopefully, he’ll just haunt Mazy.”
“Hope not. I share a room with her.”
Phebe’s brows rose. “Do you?”
His face turned bashful. “She asked me to share a room with her.”
She sang, “Love is in the air.”
He knocked her with his elbow. “Stop it. You’re embarrassing me.”
She looked around. “Is Rupert here? Cos I’m seeing just you and me. You can’t be embarrassed in front of me.”
He got down to business. “This is the terrain I’ve mapped out so far. Not quite Google Earth.”
“Hadn’t noticed.” She chuckled.
“I’m not an artist. But it’ll suffice.”
“We need a clothing loot.”
“We need house loots. We could do both. Two birds. Check out these places.”
“I was hoping for some new clothes, but if house loots work better.”
“I found markers. Everyone can map to expand this. Once we have the historic south area, we can move north, eventually reaching the area I believe is called North Charleston.” He pointed to a road map on the pool table.
3.
The leadership duo of Mazy and Ben worked well. The two behaved as functional partners, filling in voids in each other’s training and ways of thinking. They discussed things and listened to each other. It was weird.
The pair developed a scale for the group. The top was the Marines – Mazy, Ben, Brandon. The next tier the experienced, fierce civilian fighters – Phebe and Tyler. The third, the moderately experienced with weapons and shooting – Mullen, Emily, and Jayce. The final tier were those who had almost no experience and needed to be trained – Angela and Nia.
Using the tier system, they broke down everyone into three groups. Two groups to house loot, and one to stay back at the house. Angela and Nia were automatically put at the house, and assigned domestic details. Angela told the group her long list of what she thought needed to be done. Since she was the only one who had run a household containing multiple people, she had a better foundation than them.
The leaders selected Brandon to stay to guard the house. He’d also have to take walks out to the marina to check on the trawler. He wasn’t happy to be left behind but sucked it up.
Phebe was assigned to Ben’s team and they received Jayce and Mullen in the hopes they didn’t bicker at and buffoon each other. Tyler would have no one to taunt in the Mazy and Emily team.
Everyone had to wear ZBDUs. Since there wasn’t enough for all, adjustments had to be made to those belonging to Peter, Matt, Julio, and Chris.
The USMC weapons were loaded up. The top two tiers received combat knives.
The two teams set out in different directions.
Mullen and Jayce walked side-by-side, chatting.
Jayce turned around. “Hey, Phebe, are –”
“Eyes front,” Phebe barked. “This isn’t a social walk.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mullen gave Jayce a smirk for getting reprimanded.
“Ass,” Jayce whispered to him.
“You two split up,” she ordered. “Take opposite sides of the road. Look down alleys and keep a distance from vehicles. Things could be hiding.”
They checked alleys and moved towards the center of Church Street when vehicles were to the sides, then ducked down to look under them. Phebe watched them, correcting for any mistakes they made. They neglected to check the other side of the vehicles in case something was behind a tire and couldn’t be spotted by a look under.
They walked in the diamond formation until Ben signaled a house they’d try. He whirled his finger.
“What does that mean?” Jayce asked.
Phebe said, “Mul, stay with Ben. Jayce, on me.”
The sixteen-year-old followed her between small nineteenth-century houses that had fronts facing the street. She used a fist upward to signal him, then told him what it meant.
“Always use all your senses,” she whispered to him. “Listen. Zoms can give themselves away by sounds.”
“They’re drawn to sounds?”
“Yes.”
His eyes gleamed with seriousness and absorption. Quite different from Mullen. But soldier ran through his blood from his father.
“Did you shoot zoms with your dad?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. We’re gonna check out the backyard and open the back door. Never know what’s in a house. If they have no stimulus, they may not make noises. And the infected animals.”
“Got it, ma’am.”
The backyard was a well-maintained garden. Windchimes hung from a tree branch. A birdbath had gone green. Fairy statues hung out among blooming pansies. All the other flowers remained dormant.
Jayce swirled around to movement.
“No.” She put out her arm to stop him. “Check your target.”
It was rats.
“Watch. Listen.”
He did so.
“Any signs of infection from them? Hear Gollum-barks? Like the creature Gollum in The Lord of the Rings?”
“Negative, ma’am. I hear nothing.”
“Are any of them aggressively and pointedly attacking the others to land the bite?”
“They seem to be acting like, well, as rats do.”
“Good. To the door. You cover my back and be my eyes and ears around me.”
“Copy that, ma’am.”
“We say roger that when it’s something for you to do. Copy that just to say I hear you.”
“Got it.”
At the back door, she used a screwdriver to pop the lock. A scan of the mudroom, then the kitchen. She told him to retreat back out and duck to the side of the door while aiming inside.
Ben rang the doorbell at the front.
They waited, listening, watching. No movement. No sounds. They heard Ben and Mullen open the front door.
“Hello?” Ben called.
“We come in peace,” said Mullen.
Phebe signaled for Jayce to follow her in.
The team entered from opposite directions of the house, aiming their weapons. They checked corners, behind large furniture, and the backs of open doors, since the smallest infected mammal was a threat. They split at the stairs. Jayce remained looking outward in front of the bottom step. Phebe aimed up the stairs to reinforce the other two. Ben on point went up the stairs and Mullen behind him.
Their footfalls could be followed on the ceiling as they checked each room. Their voices told each other clear.
“Clear,” Ben called down.
Phebe dropped her weapon to its shoulder strap and headed back towards the kitchen.
“Whoa.” Jayce flapped his hand in fr
ont of his face.
“Fruit flies.” She pointed to the fridge. “There.”
“Wow.” He examined the refrigerator seal. It was black with fruit flies.
“Never open fridges.”
“I got that. Hmm.”
The loot began.
Phebe taught Jayce the procedure of checking cabinets. Open cabinet doors, while he aimed, in case rodents were inside. They filled duffel bags with canned goods and other nonperishables. Avoiding the refrigerator.
Upstairs, Ben and Mullen searched bedrooms. Turning framed photos face down, they pulled open drawers and shoved clothing into their duffels. The linen closet. The bathroom.
They achieved the loot in under ten minutes.
Duffel bags piled in the street. They took up their empty bags and did the same routine at the next house. Jayce went upstairs to learn the bedroom loot method.
The team continued until they could not carry anymore.
4.
Mazy signaled for her team to stop. Something strange was up ahead. It appeared over the distance to be bodies piled in the middle of the street. A consultation with Ben’s map she had copied. She signaled for the others to stay as she proceeded forward.
She looked down the riffle sites, aiming all around for anyone anywhere, including up at the upper floor piazzas.
It was a pile of dead people in various stages of decomposition, just as she had been told. Rats and bugs all over them. Millions of maggots made the pile both squirm and give off a horrid crunching sound like Rice Krispies in milk.
Her boot knocked a shell casing. Gazed down, she saw brass casings all over the place, gleaming in the sunlight. They were .30 cal. Bullet holes in the house walls across the street.
She looked upward.
The machine gun’s barrel jutted over the railing of a piazza.
Ben’s survivors.
As soon as the thought struck her, the house’s piazza faux door opened. She pointed her M4 at a 9 mm semi-automatic handgun.
“I got the bigger gun,” she said.
“Who are you?” the man asked. He was about thirty, she estimated from his voice and the bit of his face he revealed.
“Who is it?” a high pitched male voice asked from behind.
“I’m Mazy. Who are you?”
“You are not from here,” the man at the door said.
“You know everyone here?”
In her periphery vision, she saw Tyler move into a position to shoot.
“We do know everyone,” the man said. “Tell him to stop where he is. The kid.”
“Ty.”
“You got armed kids?”
“Everybody fights nowadays.”
“Why are you here?”
“To live. To survive. We’re looting houses for clothes and supplies. You know of any good houses in my size?”
“These are my neighbors’ houses.”
“Think they’ll care now? We saw the cruise ship pier.”
“Walk on. We don’t want your kind.”
The high-pitched male voice behind him said, “Oh, hellfire. Robert, that sounds terrible. Just open the damn door.”
“I’m in charge,” the door-guy Robert snapped. “Get the fuck back.”
“You don’t have to use such language.” The unseen guy spoke with a South Carolina drawl. “Be civilized.”
Another male voice, “He’s such an ape.”
She smiled, catching a gay accent. A vision of Ben and the guys dealing with gay men was too funny for her. “I’ll lower mine if you lower yours.”
“Lady.” Robert had no gay accent but did have the Southern drawl. “You got me outgunned.”
“We aren’t here to hurt anyone.”
“I’m supposed to just take your word for that?”
“Lord have mercy,” the higher-pitched gay man’s voice said. “Open the door and let me meet these new people. It’s my house.”
The door yanked open, revealing all of door-guy Robert. Average build. Blond-blue. He looked annoyed as he raised his weapon and allowed an older thin blond man through.
“Hello, strangers! I’m Stanton,” the older thin blond man with a high-pitched voice said. “It’s a pleasure to meet y’all.”
He presented his hand. Mazy repressed a rude laugh craving to release. His wrist was limp, produced in a manner that was almost a lady presenting her hand for a gentleman to kiss. She knew what the hand would feel like, but strapped her weapon and shook it anyway. Quire Eye For the Straight Guy flashed through her mind. He reminded her of Carson Kressley. She had a load of straight guys for them. And it would be terribly amusing for her.
“I’m Mazy.”
“This gruff man is Robert, my cousin,” said Stanton. “He was in the Army, that’s why he knows all these butch things. And this darling, gorgeous man is Manuel, my lover. He’d be my husband, but this is South Carolina and we don’t do those things in the Confederate States.”
Stanton was the friendly, welcoming, white Southern she had seen in movies. Steel Magnolias gone gay.
“I’m just thrilled to death to meet strangers. We’ve been alone for so long.” Stanton’s blue eyes looked out beyond Mazy. “Would you mind terribly if the child put down his gun for me? I’d appreciate it.”
She signaled for Tyler to lower his M4. Reluctantly, Tyler did so, but he was not interested in this bunch. There was no one to shoot, so he checked out the dead bodies, then noticed the machine gun. “Cool! What kind is it?”
“That’s Tyler,” Mazy said.
“Isn’t he so? And miss …?”
“Emily.” She came forward to handshake with Stanton. “Glad to meet you.” A smile.
“You, too, darling. Come on in. Robert, stop scowling. We have guests. Manuel, get the cocktails ready, please and thank you.” Stanton latched onto Mazy’s arm, then Emily’s and escorted them in, not taking no for an answer. “Unfortunately, we do not have much in the way of nibbles. It’s been hard times here since all this insanity began. Robert goes out and brings things back to us. Useful to have someone like him around. Oh, he’s gay too. Grandmother said we were the vengeance for being related to John C. Calhoun.” He laughed. “Mr. Calhoun can be heard spinning in his grave if you listen carefully at night.”
Mazy smiled. She liked him.
“Oh, my manners. Please, y’all, sit.”
Emily said, “Your garden is beautiful.”
“Thank you, dear. That’s very kind of you.”
“And your house, amazing.”
“I inherited it. A Southern boy like myself could never dream of affording one of these grand old houses in the heart of downtown.”
Glass tinked as Manuel rolled a drinks cart out to the piazza. Stanton was the host with the most, a party thrower extraordinaire since he even had a drinks cart.
Manuel said, “He descends from planters.” He whispered behind his hand, “Slave owners.” And nodded.
“Must you bring that up every time?” Stanton’s hands on his narrow hips. “Don’t be a bitch, Manuel. We have company. Where’s that child?”
Child, normally one syllable, with a drawl, it was two.
Robert still had the door open. “He’s out there looking at the pile of dead.”
“I have asked Robert to remove that ghastly pile. Robert, honey, call the child in for me please.”
“Hey, kid. Inside.”
Tyler appeared in the doorway.
“Keep the gun on safety.”
Tyler raised his index finger. “This is my safety.”
Robert rolled his eyes as he closed and bolted the door.
“You got food?” Tyler asked.
“Why, I am sure Manuel can scrounge something up for you, young man. You are the cutest, aren’t you?”
“I ain’t a faggot.”
Emily choked on her martini. “Tyler!”
The kid ignored her and found himself a seat.
“Apologize.”
“Can I have a drink too?”
> “No,” said Mazy.
“Ain’t my first drink.”
“I said no.”
“You suck as bad as Pheebs.”
“He’s a bit of a handful, isn’t he?” Stanton sat and straightened his clean clothes.
Mazy looked beyond him and spotted water barrels, an antique washboard, and an old copper tub. The second-floor piazza had clothes drying on a clothesline, gently swaying with the breeze. These men had made the adjustment.
“He is a handful,” Mazy answered.
“I apologize for him,” said Emily.
“Honey, where are you from?”
“New York.”
“Ah. I see. Well, this is the South. We aren’t as sensitive as y’all Northerners.” He turned to Mazy. “So, darling, tell me everything about yourself. You have magnificent cheekbones.”
5.
The team hauled in their loot and dropped the bags on the piazza floor. That was fine and to be expected. Ben’s concern was the three men carrying bags behind them. Two and a half men, as Stanton only carried a small bag.
“Look at all the lovely strangers.”
Stanton was suddenly in their world. Eyes wide as they watched him the way cats watched dogs, trying to predict if there would be a need to run.
“This is the most beautiful house in the whole of Charleston, South Carolina if you ask my opinion. We didn’t bring cocktails. I know Mr. Rupert has a stocked liquor cabinet and all those divine fine wines he collects.”
“He’s dead,” said Ben. His dark brows knitted together as he looked from Stanton to Mazy.
She fought laughter.
“Yes, Miss Mazy told me the sad news. He hadn’t lived here long. Poor man. Hardly even got a chance to decorate. I was dying to see what he had done, but he rarely entertained. Odd man, not to speak ill.” His gaze locked onto Ben. “Aren’t you a handsome man?” He presented his hand. “Mazy, introductions, dear.”
Ben stepped back.
Mazy hurt from holding in the laugh. “This is Ben Raven.”
“Her boyfriend,” Ben said. “I sleep with her. I’m a Marine.”
Stanton smirked. “Are you now?” He looked Ben up and down.
Ben hid his pelvis behind a chair.
Mazy’s laughter burst out.
Stanton coolly smiled at Ben. “Do I make you nervous, honey?”
“Not at all.” Ben’s voice was too high pitched.
“That’s Brandon Pell.” Mazy pointed.