Time of Death (Book 2): Asylum

by Shana Festa

  In the end, the boys won the war of wills, but not before I claimed victory of the battle. If the past two months had taught us anything, it was to never execute a plan without working every angle.

  With the afternoon well underway, we decided to wait until morning to hit land, but before that we needed to come up with a strategy for getting from the houseboat to the shore, and dispatching the corpses.

  The boat was anchored about thirty feet from the dock, and without a smaller vessel to ferry us to land, our only option was to move closer. A ten foot ramp was stored inside the hollow bench seat that lined the outer deck. If we overlapped two feet on the boat and another two on the dock to account for swaying, we were left with a distance of six feet between the two objects.

  "As soon as we put that ramp down they'll be on us," I reported.

  "So," Jake thought out loud, "we don't put the ramp down. Not right away at least."

  We looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate, while he did mental calculations.

  "Okay, I've got it. We start her up and drop both anchors once we're within distance from the end of the dock on the right side. That way we still have enough room to account for drift and don't risk getting so close to the seawall that they can reach us."

  I thought about it and revealed the major flaw in his plan. "There's only six there now, but what about the sound of the engine? Don't you think it will attract more? What if they hear it and we get back to find our route to the boat cut off by a big group of them?"

  "That's why"—his chest puffed up, he was clearly proud of this next part in his hairball of a scheme—"we do it now."

  "Hold on a second. I thought we decided to wait until tomorrow?" asked Meg.

  "We did, and we will, but we move the boat now and anchor overnight. That way any zombie in earshot will have all night to show themselves, and we can reevaluate things in the morning."

  Vinny was grinning, clearly liking what he heard. "And," Vinny exclaimed, "I bet those fuckers already staking us out will go out of their minds wanting to get to us. I bet most of them will just walk right off the dock and sink to the bottom."

  He bent down to pick up the long fishing hook from where he'd dropped it on the deck after escaping Sanibel. "The ones that don't take a swan dive, we'll offer a little more incentive."

  I had to admit, the plan sounded good, assuming of course that Jake could handle the delicate positioning of the boat and not plow straight into the dock or concrete seawall.

  Daphne was on her hind legs, scratching at my knee to be picked up, and reminding me that we had another problem altogether.

  "We forgot one important thing, guys."

  They looked at me questioningly.

  "What do we do with Daphne?"

  Jake thought my question over for a minute before the answer came to him. "She stays here." I was about to protest, and he knew it, so he hurriedly continued on. "We close her into one of the bedrooms. It makes sense, just think about it. She's a liability if she comes, not just because she might bark and get us into hot water, but also because if she's in your arms, you can't defend yourself."

  I couldn't disagree with his logic, but it still felt alien to leave her behind. What if they get on the boat while we're gone? Or what if another group of survivors sees the boat and takes it?"

  "We aren't leaving the ramp up." The duh in his sentence was unspoken, but definitely implied. "No zombies can get aboard, and we won't be gone long enough for any survivors to find the boat, get on board, and raise anchor."

  Vinny jumped to his feet, ready to put the plan into action. "Let's do this shit!"

  Meg, Vinny, and I grabbed the long poles and prepared to defend our floating home should Jake screw the pooch. I heard the anchor winches screech into action briefly and stop; there was no need to take them all the way up just to drop them again in such a short distance. Not to mention, it meant less time to potentially drift. Jake was no Captain Jack Sparrow when it came to sea vessels, I put him more in league with Captain Ron. The fact that he was calling Vinny Swab solidified my assessment.

  The engine roared to life and the sound traveled like a bomb in the otherwise quiet coastal neighborhood. I shuddered, thinking about the attention we were bringing to ourselves. As the boat began to move forward slowly, my balance wavered a bit, and I had to grab the railing for support. I heard the anchor winches groaning in unison again and felt the boat slow as the heavy metal found purchase and dug into the seabed.

  "That's perfect, man!" whooped Vinny. "Nailed it in one!"

  By the time Jake had cut the engine and joined us, only two zombies remained—an adult man and African American toddler. The rest had either fallen into the water or were pushed from behind. I looked into the dark water to find a finger bobbing like a fishing lure.

  The closer we were, the worse they smelled. The male zombie was still dressed in a business suit, like he'd been on his way to work when his ticket was punched. The charcoal jacket and pastel shirt were stained with old blood and caked in dirt. The front buttons on his jacket were missing, and the faded material hung on his emaciated corpse.

  The once slick ensemble was so loose that it gave him an almost caricaturelike appearance. Something had happened to his tie; either someone had been pulling on it or perhaps it got snagged on something, because it was so tight around his neck that had he been alive, he would have died from asphyxiation. The skin on his face and neck drooped, and a lack of elasticity caused his left bottom eyelid to hang down and reveal a dried, black socket.

  A kitchen knife jutted out of his right eye, and trails of crusty, noxious, bodily fluids covered his cheek and neck. His working eye rolled. Lack of lubrication from working lacrimal glands created a grating sound as the eye and socket rubbed together. This had to be the oldest zombie we'd come in contact with, maybe even from the original outbreak.

  At his side, the toddler looked virtually untouched. The only visible mark I could find was a crescent shaped bite on her upper arm. The wound was clean, well cleanish, and it didn't take a genius to know someone had cared for this child after she was bitten. Even her clothing lacked the weathered appearance of her counterpart’s suit.

  Her dark complexion was a sickly gray color, but her flesh hadn't begun to rot away yet. She couldn't have been dead for more than a day—two at most—evidenced by my ability to still identify her as female despite her short haircut. Sad, she'd made it so long, only to be taken down in the end. What's the point of fighting the good fight if it's all for nothing anyway?

  "Here fishy, fishy," taunted Vinny with his pole. "Vinny's got something special for you." The male corpse reached for the pole without coordination, allowing Vinny to easily get the hook around his back and pull him off balance, like an actor getting pulled off stage for a bad performance. He toppled forward and belly-flopped into the water, sinking almost instantly.

  That left the little girl, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. I looked at her with pity, and seeing Meg's similar expression, I wasn't surprised to discover she couldn't either.

  Vinny huffed in annoyance and pushed me out of the way. "Hey, little girl, want some candy?" he asked. I looked away in disgust and heard the splash as her tiny body hit the surface.

  "You're not funny, Vin," Meg said from behind me, "Show a little respect, will you?"

  Whoever was hiding in the house signaled us again, and Jake tried to convey our plan using charades. He pointed to us, then them, and walked in an exaggerated fashion. Then he tapped his wrist to signify time and laid his head on his clasped hands, the standard portrayal of someone sleeping, and tried to come up with an easy way to tell them what time we'd be moving out. None of us came up with anything usable, so he just shrugged and hoped they’d understood some of it.

  "Now, we wait," he said, and wait we did. We stayed on deck and waited to see what would stumble out of the woodwork. Daphne made sure to spend ample time with each of us, demanding affection, and getting it.

  Jake clea
red his throat to get our attention. "Let's discuss the weapon situation. I'm the only one with a handgun, and I'm not suggesting we leave it behind, but I think we should focus on melee weapons. It's one thing to make a lot of noise when we're able to hide behind the safety of the boat; it's another entirely to do it on land."

  "I agree," I replied, and I did. "Let's go pick our weapons, one by one. I'll go first because I already know what I'm taking."

  I took off at a jog for the bedroom, already picturing my trusted weapon in my hands, and was back on deck in less than a minute wielding my crowbar.

  "Shoulda seen that coming," joked Jake, rolling his eyes at my predictability.

  Raising the slab of metal above my head, I said in my best Masters of the Universe imitation, "By the power of Grayskull. I am She-ra: Princess of Power!"

  Jake and Vinny laughed their asses off, but Meg just looked back at me, clueless.

  "Forget it," I told her. "Way before your time."

  She responded with a shrug of her shoulders. "Okay." She left the word hanging out there for interpretation, and I chose to interpret it as her thinking I was uber cool. She popped my delusion of greatness with a follow up: "Dork."

  Still holding the crowbar over my head I declared, "I dub thee The Brain-Biter."

  "My turn." Vinny sprinted down the stairs, not to be outdone by The Brain-Biter, he returned several minutes later carrying his military-issue Ka-Bar curved blade.

  Repeating my declaration he asserted his chosen name unto the group. "From this time forth, thou shall be known as The Penetrator!"

  "That's what she said," retorted Meg, earning a laughing fit from all of us that ended in Vinny doubled over at the waist, gasping for air.

  That's what she said was a game we'd been playing for years. Anytime someone made a comment that could be construed as sexual, someone would chime in with that's what she said. No amount of time or repetitive usage had the ability to diminish the hilarity we found in the game. More often than not, it would be one of their parents who would say something to spark the remark. They never quite figured out the game, or the appropriate timing to use it, which made it that much more amusing to us kids.

  "Oh, shit," panted Vinny, "I needed that. Nice job, Meg. You're up, bro," he directed to Jake.

  Jake wasted no time and was back even faster than me. He held up a massive flat-head screwdriver and bellowed, "I give you, The Scrambler!"

  Last but not least was Meg. She took her sweet time hunting before returning with a victorious grin. With two hands she gripped the handle of a knife sharpener from the wooden block on the kitchen counter and made stabbing motions.

  "This bringer of death shall be known as Spike."

  I don't know why we found it so funny, but we dissolved into manic laughter again.

  We were still laughing when both Jake and Vinny covered their noses and slid apart on the bench to reveal an excited Daphne.

  "Holy shit, what the hell are you feeding that thing?"

  Jake scooped her into the air. "This wretched beast shall be duly named The Bringer of Farts."

  * * *

  The rest of the evening was a nice change in pace. We joked around a lot, and it felt like old times. Our circadian rhythms had adapted to life without distractions and we were early to bed and early to rise. I woke up freezing. We were only a few days away from the New Year, and the weather had caught up with us. Knowing that it would warm up in a few hours provided little solace as we layered on the lightweight clothes at our disposal.

  Daphne was sitting at the door to the bedroom waiting to go out. "Sorry pooch, you'll have to hold it a bit." I sat on the corner of the bed and patted my lap for her to jump up. When she joined me, I gave her a long squeeze and smothered her with kisses. "Momma will be back soon. Stay safe, little muffin."

  I closed the door as I left the bedroom and heard her sniffling and whining at the bottom. My stomach clenched at the thought of leaving her alone, but I knew it was our best option.

  "Moment of truth," Jake said to us. "Let's see what our little expedition yesterday brought out to play."

  I was last in line for the stairs and before I was halfway up, I heard him utter a quizzical, "Huh." The dock and surrounding area were empty, not a zombie in sight.

  My brain percolated with thoughts of what the absence of undead could imply. I knew they weren't dying off, because the one we killed yesterday was rancid. Were they migrating to more heavily populated areas? Were there any populated areas?

  "Well, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth. Vinny, help me get that ramp up." Jake's face had turned beet red from exertion and he took a minute to rest.

  The two of them struggled to lay the ramp across to the dock while making as little noise as possible. Meg and I scanned the vicinity for movement, and found none. Satisfied that nothing was coming, we made our way to the dock and pulled the ramp down just as quietly. Still, no foes showed themselves. With a furtive look back at the boat, we set off down the dock and onto land.

  Vinny and Jake were all business, transformed instantly from husband and brother to soldiers, and they were taking no chances. Jake took point, with Meg and I behind him, and Vinny brought up the rear. Our weapons—The Brain-Biter, The Penetrator, The Scrambler, and Spike—were raised and ready for battle. My knees shook, and the palms of my hands were slick with sweat. I had to keep switching the crowbar between hands to wipe the perspiration onto my pants.

  A noise to our left caused Jake to stop short and turn in the direction of the sound. Certain it was nothing, he continued on in a crouch. The grass nearest the dock had been trampled during our last stay, leaving a patchy-brown, dead area that would likely never recover.

  Further back, though, the grass was overgrown and came up to our knees, making it easy to hide a crawler. We moved slowly across the first row of yards and paused with our backs against a house while Jake poked his head around to survey the street ahead. When he saw no movement, he beckoned us forward and we crossed the street at a slow jog.

  I was proud of myself, considering the last time I'd taken a trip like this I tripped and fell over my own feet. We made it to the house across the street and crept along the front wall. Jake repeated his check around the corner, but this time he quickly drew his head back and his grip on the screwdriver tightened. He took a few deep breaths, seeming to gather himself for a fight and turned to us, holding one finger in the air. I prepared myself for battle, and the four of us rushed the corner.

  Lying in the grass was a naked zombie tangled in a garden hose. There was no doubt it had been there for quite some time, because the hose seemed to be fused into its flesh. The once-green tubing was coated in skin that had sloughed off the corpse, and the length—still constricting its legs—had been pulled so tight that it actually tore the dead flesh from the knees and pulled it down to its ankles like rolled down tube socks. The zombie saw us as we approached and struggled to free itself, causing the skin to slide down even further.

  Meg gagged at the sight, but Jake wasted no time and rushed forward to plunge the screwdriver into the back of its skull in one swift arc. I gave the unmoving corpse a wide berth as we passed, doing my best not to look at it. Like the undead the day before, the odor of rot was overwhelming, and I took shallow breaths through my mouth until I felt we'd put enough distance between us.

  Jake turned. "The house is across the street. I don't see anyone through the windows." He looked between me and Meg and asked, "You guys doing okay? We can go back still if you need to."

  "We're fine," I replied, looking to Meg for confirmation, "right?"

  She nodded her head in agreement, but I could see the fear etched into her face and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

  "Okay, then," Jake continued, "I think our best option is through the garage. I don't see any broken windows or open doors, but the garage door is up, so I think it's a good bet the interior door is unlocked."

  I agreed. Our door at home didn't even have a lock. He to
ok another long look at the house and its surroundings, and readied himself. "Let's move. Stay quiet and stay low. If you see any zees, keep going. We'll deal with it when we get to the garage. I don't want to spend any more time in the open than absolutely necessary."

  In less than a minute we were moving up the driveway. Lying on its side, just outside the garage, was a ten-speed bicycle. The slight breeze caused the back tire to spin lazily, and I could see a few remaining droplets of old blood under the handlebars. If there had been more blood, it would have been washed away by rain. The droplets continued once we were a few feet into the two-car garage, and I noticed a rust-colored smear on the door handle.

  Vinny noticed it, too, and motioned to Jake. "What do you think?" he whispered.

  "I think we need to stay frosty."

  "Who says that?" I blurted.

  "Focus," snapped Jake.

  "Sorry, inside voice."

  "Em, you and Meg watch our backs. Vin and I will go in first and clear the immediate area. Keep an eye on the driveway and make sure nothing sneaks up on our six. Once we determine it's safe, come in and stay behind us. Make sure you shut the door right after you enter, and don't make a sound. Vin, on three. I've got right; you take left."

  He counted down on his fingers, three…two…one, and opened the door with his screwdriver at the ready. The two disappeared into the darkness and after only a few seconds Vinny stuck his head out.

  "Let's go."

  As I closed the door behind us, we were swallowed in darkness. I heard Meg's shallow breathing beside me, and could feel my heart pounding against my chest wall so hard that I thought the others would hear the sound echo in the small space like a bass drum.

  We were in a laundry room. On our right were the washing machine, dryer, and large sink. Above the appliances was a row of cabinets. To our left was a large pantry. The bi-fold doors were slightly open and revealed shelves of pans, Tupperware, and canned food. Mental note: take the food. We were running dangerously low. I hoped there was some bottled water in there, too.