The Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles (Book 1): Dark Rhodes
Page 19
Grimacing at what this meant, I looked over at the house. I knew I’d have to go in there to look for the truck keys. I hated houses; they were dark, cramped, and easy to get trapped in.
After what I encountered in the Macintyre’s basement, I had no interest in going into houses unless absolutely necessary. I stood up and headed for the back door, telling myself, “Might as well get this over with.” as a form of resolve to enter the home.
I knew there was at least one George in there, after seeing her in the front window. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a house full waiting inside. Hell, there could be a whole Hunter Red Hat Lady group inside, just waiting to invite me in for lunch. I shook the nightmarish daydreams out of my head and turned the doorknob.
The door opened easily. I swung it all the way open and peered inside. A tiny mudroom led to a small, but neat, kitchen. I was relieved at how clean the kitchen was because it meant that there were no roaming Georges in there.
An agitated George will bump into, tip over, or break anything they come in contact with that isn’t tougher than they are. This doesn’t even take into account the trails of bodily fluids they leave everywhere they go.
While we were making our zombie lures, I remember Swede saying that one of the things she hated about all the zombie books, movies, and shows she prodigiously consumed was the complete lack of basic bodily functions from zombies.
Going into too much detail as she always did, she elaborated, “I would read books or watch movies or shows where zombies were consuming person after person, and nothing comes out the other end!”
It was gross as Hell, but she was right, most of the undead of the real world were a whole lot leakier, and much stinkier than ever portrayed by Hollywood. Hunters made an effort to remove clothing and clean themselves. It appeared that they did this on a regular basis because I’d never seen a dirty Hunter since this living nightmare began. They still smelled like the undead up close and personal, but not as bad as a George.
Georges made no attempts to remove clothing to allow for the proper release of bodily fluids, or to clean up afterward. A group of well-fed Georges smells like a bunch of walking, leaking barrels of rotting meat, which is essentially what they are.
As I entered the kitchen, I took Thunker out of its sheath, just in case I had to deal with the George in the front room. I started searching the kitchen for truck keys, hoping against hope I wouldn’t need to go deeper into the house. I searched drawers, and around the small desk on the other side of the kitchen.
The home’s owner must have heard me because she started pounding on the door to the room she was in. I was really beginning to appreciate the solid core doors that were the standard in these older New England homes. I’m quite sure the hollow core, tract-home doors used all over the desert southwest would have folded long ago.
I dejectedly realized the keys were not in the kitchen, and I’d have to search the rest of the house. I almost abandoned the whole plan, but I was sick of walking and sleeping outdoors. I steeled my resolve and headed for the now quiet door.
As I approached the door, another “me” slipped into action. My breathing and heart rate slowed, my movements became tactical and precise. I stroked either side of my upper lip with my right index finger and thumb, like stroking a mustache, and was caught off guard by the action itself. “Why did I do that?” My almost constant self-evaluation kicked into high gear again.
I was about to enter the front room to deal with the George in there when I saw something gleaming on the wall by the back door. “Damn! I never thought to look on the walls for the keys!” I said to myself with a smile, as I walked across the kitchen. I reached up to take the truck’s key fob off a well-worn wooden plaque with 4 hooks that said, “KEYS” in an elementary-level penmanship and color combination. This was obviously a cherished child’s carpentry project. I smiled sadly, happy that these seemed to have been good people, but heartbroken to know this plaque would never again be used with the same love it had previously known. Removing Thunker from its holster, I crossed the room quickly and opened the door.
The female George now standing in front of me, barely had time to register my presence before the heavy mace did its job removing her tortured existence from this world.
I said, “I’m so sorry.” as she collapsed to the floor.
I grabbed her wrist to drag her outside. Maybe someday this house could be used again, maybe it would have more cherished kid-art to make it into a home. It just made sense to me not to leave a decaying corpse inside it. I think the previous owners would have agreed with me.
I moved the woman over to the side of the yard, under a large dogwood tree. The fact that I knew it was a dogwood tree startled me because I knew this recognition belonged to someone else. I retrieved the man’s body to place next to the woman’s using the time to contemplate the changes I had experienced over the last few weeks. I noticed it was becoming more and more difficult to separate my habits, knowledge, and memories from Adachi’s, or Myers’, and more recently Swede Johansson.
I would always know I never fought in World War II, or did advanced self-defense training in Quantico, Virginia, or spent 30 years in the Navy, but this did nothing to remove the ownership I felt for these memories. The memories themselves didn’t bother me, it was knowing how they became mine that fucked with my psyche on a minute to minute basis.
Heading back into the house, I took the “KEYS” plaque off the wall and returned to the man and woman. I tucked the plaque under her right arm and placed his hand on hers. With the scent of leather and gingersnaps heavy in my nose, I smiled to push away the melancholy of the moment. I looked down at the man and woman and bowed deeply, “I hope you both have found peace.”
I returned to the garage with the prized truck key fob creating a comfortable bulge in my left front pocket. I put my gear on the front passenger’s side seat and slid along the wall to the front of the truck to figure out the manual chain lift for the garage door.
“Boy, this is gonna be long and loud,” I said to myself as I surveyed the garage door.
I contemplated starting the truck but thought I should get the door open first. I unhooked the chain and realized the door was counterweighted as it wanted to roll up as soon as it was free. I let the chain go and ran for the driver’s seat of the truck.
Jumping in, I hit the start button on the dash, loving these new keyless ignition systems for their speed. Where were these in all the old “chu, chu, ha, ha” horror movies of the past? Yeah, my crazy-ass father and brother tortured me with Jason, Michael, and Freddy as well as all their zombie crap.
Dropping the big truck into gear, I rolled out of the garage, and almost hit a frightened girl and little boy standing in the driveway! Slamming on the brakes, I put the truck in park and jumped out. I came around the front and just stared at them.
The girl was around ten, maybe eleven, and was doing everything she could to remain calm and not cry. A boy of two or three was hiding behind her with tears running down his face.
After a moment of silence, the girl sobbingly said, “Can you help us, please?” not able to hold back the tears anymore.
I walked forward, and they both stepped back. “It’s okay, I’m one of the good guys.” as I dropped to my knees and held my arms wide.
After being alone for what had to be a very long time, they were unable to resist anymore. Both kids launched themselves into my arms, sobbing, talking, and hugging me all at once. The girl had rocked me backwards from the fierceness of her hug, and the boy was trying his hardest to climb into my arms.
“It’s okay, relax, relax, you’re safe,” I said with as much compassion and kindness as I could.
I said happily, “Let’s start with names, I’m Ashleigh, what are yours?”
The little boy ignored my words and kept trying to get in my arms. I smiled and picked him up.
The girl tensed up, but said, “My name is Melody, and that in my brother Jace.”
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nbsp; I shook Melody’s hand, shocked by the firmness of her grip,
“It’s very nice to meet you Melody, you too Jace.” as I tousled his sandy brown hair.
Jace smiled through the right thumb in his mouth, placing his head on my shoulder as a sign that my greeting was accepted.
We were all startled out of our moment of positive human contact by the unmistakable groan of the undead. We spotted three Georges coming across the neighbor’s yard.
“In the truck! We’ll get to know each other later!” I yelled.
I ran to the truck, dumping Jace in the back seat with little ceremony. I thought Melody would join me in the front seat, but she climbed in back with Jace, leaning over to put his seatbelt on first, then hers. I jumped in the driver’s seat, dropped the truck into gear and roared out of the driveway, clipping the first George with the passenger’s side mirror. I stopped at the end of the driveway, earning shocked squeaks from the kids.
I rolled down the window and yelled, “Come on Crowley, time to go!”
The big cat came bounding out of the bushes as I opened the door to let him in.
The Turnpike was packed with abandoned vehicles, so I drove on the frontage road to avoid the congestion. I drove for about 10 minutes, before realizing the kids had become really quiet. I was worried until I looked back and saw them sound asleep in each other’s arms, with Crowley tucked tightly up against Melody’s side. I needed to sleep too.
Moving around on foot during a zombie apocalypse was not like regular walking or hiking. I found it more like what Adachi and Myers experienced during their time in combat. It involved a lot of moving around while on high alert, on very little sleep. Even my stamina and strength had its limits.
After another 30 minutes of driving, I found an old barn on the edge of an empty winter field. I pulled the truck behind the structure to hide it from the road. Luck was with us, the back of the barn had a large animal veranda attached to it. I pulled the truck under it, and behind a large pile of baled hay.
I wanted to sleep, but protecting the kids became my top priority. I’d sleep later after I knew we were as safe as we could be.
I whispered, “Melody.” Her eyes opened, but she didn’t move. “I’m going to go hide our tire tracks. I’ll be right outside the truck, keeping watch. You’re safe, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Reaching down, I took out my backup .40 and showed it to her.
“Do you know how to use this?”
A change in her eyes and a slight nod told me she did. Nodding back, I slipped the gun, and a spare magazine under her right thigh, next to Mr. Crowley. She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into her still sleeping brother.
I exited the truck and went over to a large pine tree growing outside of the animal area and ripped off a full branch. I was in awe that not only had I just left a fully loaded gun with a girl that was not much older than ten, but also by the fact that she seemed mature enough to understand the implications of why she needed it, as well as the will to use it. Post-zombie America was a very dangerous place, and not just because of the undead. I was saddened that it took less than three months for us as a nation to devolve back into preying on each other.
If it were only the undead I had to worry about, I wouldn’t need to hide our presence right now. The undead were a known enemy. It was easy to prepare for and counter their actions. It was the human element that had me on edge all the time now. I had been fairly lucky so far, Swede and Frank had been good people.
I wasn’t sure if it was finding the kids or something that had been growing inside of me since Swede and I became one. What I did know I needed to make our future as a species better. I felt a deep, calming presence wash over me. I resolved to myself that I wouldn’t stand back and watch America disappear under the moans of the undead and the screams of the helpless. Swede had whispered something to me just before she sacrificed herself, her words still resonated deep inside me,
“It may not seem like it right now, but you’ve been given a gift Ashleigh Marie Rhodes. You are the light that pushes away the darkness. You can waste this gift by just surviving. Or you can use this gift to bring us back from the edge. It’s your choice. Choice is the greatest gift he gave us.”
I didn’t know how, but I was going to do what I could to bring us back from the brink. My spine tingled, and my voice fluttered as I said to the wind, “Alright Swede, I’m ready, let’s get this done.” to the smell of gingersnaps.
I backtracked to where our truck left the blacktop and walked backwards in one of the tire tracks, using the branch to even out the snow. It wasn’t perfect but would do for now.
Walking back to the truck, I saw a rolled up tarp across the back of the animal veranda. I unrolled it and tied the end and the middle to the veranda’s vertical support beams, leaving the far corner untied to flap in the cool air.
The human eye looks for things that are out of order, this includes things that look too good. If you make the area your hiding in look too perfect, it can attract as much attention as standing in the open lighting off firecrackers. Letting the corner fly free didn’t expose us while helping maintain the look of abandonment I wanted.
I looked in on the kids and found them both still asleep, so I checked my M4 then climbed up on the top of the hay bales. They offered me concealment while allowing me to see over the tarp. I watched the surrounding area for almost 30 minutes before I detected movement across the field. I saw two individuals moving towards us, both carrying rifles in a non-threatening manner. As they got closer, I realized it was a man and a woman in their late 40s or early 50s. Both looked reasonably fit and appeared to know how to handle the guns they carried.
They stopped about 100 feet from the veranda, with the woman splitting off to the right, putting about 50 feet between her and the man.
“Hello in the veranda, we don’t want any trouble, just to talk.” said the man in a strong, but unaggressive voice.
I slid down from the hay bales and looked in the truck. The kids were awake, the boy looked very frightened. I motioned with my hand for Melody to stay there, and then made my fingers into a gun. She nodded and held it up behind her brother, so he couldn’t see it. I nodded, and turned towards our visitors and said,
“Hello, I’m coming out, I’m armed, but don’t want any trouble either.”
“Fair enough.” the man replied.
I stepped out and walked towards the couple, stopping around 40 feet from them. I wasn’t sure if the woman was more shocked that I was female or the military level of my equipment.
I said, “Hello, I’m sorry if we’re trespassing, we just wanted a place to lay low for a little while. We’ll be moving on now if it’s okay with you.”
The man frowned, and said, “You’ve got youngin’s in the truck don’t you?”
I guess my face told him all he needed to know, as he lowered his rifle and motioned for the woman to join him.
He walked up to me and offered his hand and said, “John Webster, and this is my wife Judy, please don’t worry, you’re safe here.”
I think my whole body sighed in relief as I said, “Pleased to meet you, John, Judy, I’m Ashleigh Rhodes, nice to find a friendly face in all this misery.”
He harrumphed in agreement, and continued, “Let’s move your truck around to the house; I’ll ride in the back, and Judy can show you the way. We’ve got warm, clean beds, hot food, running water and pleasant company if you’ll let us help you.”
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I went back to the truck and opened the back door. Jace pulled back into Melody’s arms until I smiled at him and held out my arms. Leaping into my arms, he snuggling his face into my neck and said,
“I missed you, Ashwee.”
My heart melted as I said, “Aww, I missed you too Jace. Hey, I met some really nice people that want to have us over their house for dinner, are you hungry?”
He nodded enthusiastically, as I looked at Melody, and pointed to the gun next to her.
I was surprised when she held my gaze and said, “Yes ma’am. I won’t let you down.”
I disengaged Jace from my left shoulder and had Melody buckle him back in. I took off my ankle holster and slipped the Velcro strap off it. I motioned Melody out of the truck and helped her slip the holster on her belt, showing her how to release the hammer loop with just her thumb.
I backed the truck out of our hiding spot and left it running. Judy handed her rifle to John and made a show of being unarmed as she climbed in the passenger’s seat. I introduced Melody, Jace, and Mr. Crowley to our guest. Melody was polite, but defensive, and Judy had not missed the pistol at her side.
“Troubled times we live in,” was all she said.
I nodded. Jace responded to Judy as only a young child could, with a huge smile and a million questions, which she answered with the calm expertise of an experienced grandparent. Mr. Crowley chirped a feline hello, then put his head back on Melody’s leg and went back to sleep. John tapped on the side of the truck to let us know he was ready.
Judy had me follow the frontage road for just over a mile before we turned right, away from the Turnpike. The road crested on a large rolling hill, and I exhaled in surprise as we started down the backside.
“It is little shocking to take in at first,” said Judy.
A 15-foot wall of newly turned dirt stood behind a deep trench for as far as I could see in front of me. Triple rings of razor wire were held in place on top of the dirt mound by posts every 10 feet or so.
She continued, “It’s almost 3 miles long, and just as far on the other side. It is almost 20 miles to complete the loop around our property. We started digging the ditch the day Boston fell, luckily the weather stayed above freezing for a couple weeks, so we made good progress. Had to add the wire, some hidden sniper nests, and lookouts after the fast zombies and the Raiders started showing up. We lost a lot of good people.”