by Smith, S. L.
“Yeah, we’ve talked about it.” Isherwood said with a hint of annoyance. “But let me sweep the house. I’ve probably waited too long already.”
“The house is clear,” a new voice said. “And welcome!”
Everybody spun toward the entrance to the kitchen, where a tall old priest was leaning against the door frame and smiling. “Monsignor!” Sara exclaimed, and Emma finally burst from her grasp, running to grab at Monsignor’s knees.
“Oh, hello, Emma.” Monsignor stooped down to hold the little girl’s hands as she jumped on his broad, clunky shoes. “And did you bring little Andrew with you?”
“Charlie, Monsignor.” Aunt Lizzy said, still holding the boy. Charlie had started waving and clapping his arms around madly ever since Monsignor’s appearance. She lowered the boy down and he crawled over, his little hands and knees slapping loudly on the hardwood floor, to Monsignor and his sister.
“Charlie! That’s right. I always do that. And how is little Charlie?” The little boy answered by slapping the priest’s worn black shoes. “So glad to see all of you still alive.”
“So that was you with the rifle?” Isherwood asked. He sounded a bit like a little boy, as he said it.
“I suppose it could’ve been,” Monsignor answered with his characteristic half smile. “So let’s sit down.” He said, ushering his guests into the dining room. “I want to hear about your plans, Isherwood, to make this place into a castle, as well as your plans beyond this place. A little bird has been telling me that you would soon be stopping by. And I need to meet these two.”
“This is my Aunt Tad and Uncle Jerry,” Sara answered. “That’s my dad’s sister.”
“We’re all neighbors,” Gran explained.
“I see,” Monsignor nodded. “Mrs. Lorio and Ms. Lorio,” he said, bending to acknowledge Isherwood’s Gran and Aunt Lizzy. “It wasn’t long ago that we buried your husband, as I remember. It’s good he was spared from all this madness. Would that we all could have been.”
“Where’s Tattoo?” Sara said suddenly. She had sat down with the rest of them at the table. There was a chair missing anyway. She was following the two kids around, slowly child-proofing the first floor of the rectory, which was filled with valuable breakables. “I thought he’d be with you.”
“Oh, he comes and goes. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“I think he ran out through the front gate.” Isherwood said. “He could’ve ruined everything. Those things could’ve packed in here, but we were lucky. If he wants back in, Tatoo’ll hafta find another way. I sealed that gate up tight.”
Monsignor nodded at the head of the table. His eyes were hidden beneath his deep brow, which bore a broad divot of a scar. “They, those things, I mean. They don’t really like this place, thankfully. I think we can all guess why.” Everybody around the table exchanged meaningful glances. “And don’t worry about Tattoo. He’ll find a way in if he wants. He always does. But tell me about your plans for this place, Isherwood.”
“Yeah, Isherwood,” Sara added. “I thought I knew your plan, but I think you must be thinking more than you’re saying. You know how you tend to do that. Optimizing, always optimizing.”
Lizzy laughed to herself. “I remember the days when he said more than he thought.”
Isherwood blushed, but was eager to share his plans. He raised his eyes to the large framed map above the mantle of the dining room’s fireplace. He shook his head in surprise. “Huh,” he said smiling. “That’s exactly what I was just hoping to find. I was just going to ask you for a map, Monsignor, and there one is. Excellent.”
“Wow,” Sara smiled. “It’s like the old place wants us to help fight back.”
“Awesome,” Isherwood smiled back at his wife. “Well, look guys. I think we can make a stand here at the church. But what’s more, I think this place could be just the sort of seed that could start civilization over again. Sort of like how humanity receded back to within the monasteries after the bubonic plague in the middle ages. You see? The branch that will shoot up from the stump of Jesse? Look here.” He traced the shape of False River on the map. “See how the lake – there’s False river there – makes a wide crescent at the front of the church and the Mississippi River sorta makes a wide crescent at the back of the church? St. Maryville is sort of like an island, see? The river used to run around us on either side, but now False River is cut off from the river, there and there.”
“Now,” Isherwood continued. “We’ve got to think about how the zombies will begin to spread out over time. That means that millions and millions of those things will start spreading out from Baton Rouge and New Orleans, they’ll be coming up I-10 right for us, though it’ll take time for it to happen. In the meantime, though, we can easily isolate ourselves. We can make an island out of St. Maryville, do you see it? There’s only three ways into St. Maryville: on either side of False River, where it doesn’t quite reach the Mississippi anymore, and the Audubon Bridge. We could easily block these three places, enough, at least, to help direct the zombie hoards westward as they migrate.”
“The kingdom of St. Maryville,” Monsignor smiled, leaning backward in his chair. “A fine plan, Isherwood.” The rest murmured their agreement.
Isherwood was trying poorly to conceal his excitement. “Layers of fences within fences. Islands within islands. Get it? There’s more, too. Sara gave me this idea. We still need to get rid of all the zombies inside the … the, uh … kingdom of St. Maryville.” Isherwood went on to explain how they would need to trap what cattle and other animals they could find within rings of punji sticks to draw in and stick the zombies, while also protecting the livestock.
“No offense, but it looks like I’m the only able-bodied one among us.”
“Hey!” Sara protested.
“Oh yeah. If some of you can help us with the kids, that would free up Sara to help me. Besides, I think that pretty much everybody could help with the punji sticks.”
“Don’t you think we should start with the punji sticks right here around the fence, so the zombies can’t start pushing in and weakening it?” Sara asked.
“Couldn’t we just spear their heads from inside the fences?” Aunt Tad asked.
“I thought about that,” Isherwood said. “If we did that, their carcasses would start mounding up against the fences, and they could start climbing in. It’s like what the Romans did at Mosada.”
“What?” Sara asked.
“Nevermind.” Isherwood shook his head. “Forget Mosada. But we need to use punji sticks to help us keep weight off the fences and stop them from encircling and trapping us. Y’all understand?”
“All those zombie movies you watched growing up are finally coming in handy,” Lizzy started laughing.
“I still don’t get why you loved those movies,” Gran said rubbing her temple.
“Even now?” Isherwood asked.
“Especially now!” Gran laughed, and they all joined in laughing.
Monsignor pushed his chair back from the table and lifted himself up with some effort. “I better go put on a kettle of water. The stove is still working. It’s gas. I think we’re going to need some coffee to finish going over Mr. Smith’s plans. They appear quite extensive.”
“Water?” Isherwood asked. “I meant to ask before. There’s got to be an old well somewhere on the property, right?”
“Why don’t you start making a to-do list, honey?” Sara whispered in her husband’s ear. “Everybody’s pretty tired. You know, all this mess with zombies and the end of the world actually tires some people out.”
CHAPTER FIVE: MORNING
It wasn’t much longer before Isherwood’s seemingly unending list of ideas plus the excitement and fear of the day led to drooping eyelids around the table. Even Emma and Charlie were soon curling up on the rug beneath the dining room table, snoring softly at their mother’s feet.
The rectory had been home to only one or two priests at a time for nearly fifty years, so there was plenty of e
xtra space for the newcomers, if not extra beds. Besides the kitchen and dining room, the first floor included a large study and two parlors. The larger parlor held a grand piano. Monsignor’s mother had been a music teacher, and the priest was still a talented pianist despite his arthritic hands. There were also broad couches and rugs. The parlor became Uncle Jerry’s and Aunt Tad’s room.
Lizzy and Gran moved into the smaller parlor. Both Gran and her daughter were on the shorter side, so the two couches were large enough. Gran was also a very light sleeper. Even more so now that the dead had starting walking. She agreed to be something of a watch dog for the house. She preferred to be near the kitchen, anyway, and Lizzy preferred to be near her mother.
Everyone agreed it was best for the children to stay upstairs, where their crying would be more muffled, so the Smith family moved into the spare bedroom. Monsignor stayed in his own bedroom.
Isherwood didn’t know how many more people could be housed on the church property, but it could be dozens. Despite the rectory and the church building, itself, there was the parish hall, the St. Joseph’s Center, and the church office. He knew from childhood church lock-ins that the parish hall could house about a hundred rampaging children. With cots laid out and sheets strung up for walls, it could house probably ten to fifteen families. Both the parish hall and church office had their own kitchens, as well. The church office had about a dozen separate rooms and offices, each of which could be used for long-term housing. The church, itself, could house hundreds of people in the pews for a short time.
If there were even that many people left in town, that was.
*****
Isherwood and Gran were waiting for the rest, drinking coffee, when morning came. They were sitting at the counter in the kitchen, instead of the dining room table, so as not to wake Aunt Lizzy in the side parlor. Their efforts had apparently succeeded, as Lizzy was still snoring loudly.
“You and me, drinking coffee,” Isherwood smiled, as Gran slurped her coffee. “It’s always been this way, hasn’t it?”
“Even as a little boy, you’d wake up before dawn.” Gran nodded. “We’d drink coffee. You, coffee milk, of course. You’d say I sounded like Darth Vader drinking my coffee.”
“It’s nice that coffee is vacuum-sealed.” Isherwood thought aloud. “It could be a generation before we run out of it.”
“It’s nice to feel safe again. Somewhat safe, anyway.”
Safety is just an illusion. Isherwood thought to himself. He would not say this to his Gran, whose heart, he knew, had grown weak. But every little bit of illusion will keep her alive longer.
“I hope I’ll be able to find us more people,” Isherwood said. “Maybe a couple more men.”
“There’s safety in numbers. It’s always been that way. Especially now that that is their greatest strength.”
“The zombies?” He asked.
“I don’t like that word. The creatures, I call them.”
“Yeah, numbers and will power, if you can call it that.” Isherwood took a turn slurping his coffee.
“A generation, huh?” Gran asked. “You’re thinking pretty far ahead, aren’t you?”
“Of course. The present is survival, which is impossible without the future, which is hope. Without that, they win. Somehow our will has to be stronger than theirs.”
“Is that why you brought us here, then? It wasn’t just for the fence, was it?” Gran asked.
“Isherwood,” she said, suddenly changing her ton. “It may not always be enough to have a flurry of ideas. Even if they’re really good ideas. For people to follow you, I mean. Hard choices will eventually come. You won’t be able to save everybody. You can’t save everybody. I know you’ve been having dreams, though, haven’t you? There’s more at work here than just you. But now we have Monsignor, and that is good. Soon more like him will come, too.”
Isherwood didn’t look at his grandmother. He felt frozen, staring down into his coffee. He could smell the hard edge of coffee on her breath. She was speaking very close to him now. It irritated him, somehow. He felt like he was a little boy again and the nagging would get in his way, as it used to.
“What I’m trying to say is this. There will come a time when you’ll run out of ideas. It might still be a ways off, but it will happen. Just know that it’s okay. You’re part of something that may work equally well without your ideas. Because you are more than your work. A lot more.”
Isherwood still didn’t answer, lowering his head to his coffee. Gran knew that a certain part of him had withdrawn from her for now and would be wrestling with what she had said.
“Gran?” He finally asked as a surge of caffeine reinflated his spirits. “You’re good at canning and preserving, right, Gran?”
“Ah, I see you’ve got a job for me.”
“We’ll start with getting all the canned goods that we can here,” Isherwood said. He was off again on his mission. “The parish hall will be good for that. We’ll have to hide some, too, in case we get raided. Hidden caches in town, maybe. But if the electricity held out long enough, there may still be some meat and other frozen goods that hasn’t spoiled. I’ll definitely need your help canning all that.”
“I’ll help with that, too, Ishy. Your Gran and I will be canning queens.” Aunt Tad said, walking barefoot into the kitchen to join them. “I have to thank you, Ish, for one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time, since all this happened. There’s something about this place. I never would’ve thought that I’d leave my house on Delaware Avenue, let alone feel safer somewhere else.”
“I thought the exact thing, Tad.” Gran agreed, pouring and handing her old neighbor a cup of coffee. “It’s nice to see what good can come from tragedy. I can’t remember the last time we shared a cup of coffee and just look at us.”
“Amen, Jesus. That’s right, dear.” Tad squeezed the old woman tightly. “So, Ishy, what are your plans for the day? I now you’ve got a few … dozen.” She and Gran erupted in laughter. Gran squeezed and shook Tad’s knee with her small hand.
“Shh,” Isherwood scolded, though the women barely heard him over the sound of their rapturous laughter. “You’ll wake the dead.”
*****
True to form, Isherwood did have a plan. Within the hour, he had awakened Uncle Jerry and convinced him to relocate his truck to the front lawn of the rectory.
“Did they hear you move your truck over to the gate by the Poydras building?” Isherwood asked as Uncle Jerry returned to the rectory through the side porch. Everybody was again seated at the dining room table.
“Of course they did,” Jerry growled. “Thing’s diesel. Might as well ring the church bells. Whole damn town is starting to converge at our front door step.”
“Good!” Isherwood nodded, as the color drained from the faces of everybody else at the table. “That’s perfect. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Everyone stays here except for me and Jerry. Sara and Aunt Tad, you’re in charge of protecting this place when we leave. Monsignor, get your rifle. Gran and Aunt Lizzy will stay here in the rectory and keep the kids quiet.”
“But if you were just gonna sneak off to Wal-Mart for supplies, why get the attention of the whole Main Street hoard?” Sara demanded, angrily.
“You know me, Sara. I’m trying to kill as many stones as possible with one bird. I mean, as many birds as possible, well, zombies, actually …”
“We got it.” Sara cut him short.
“Look,” Isherwood began again. “Remember how I wanted to cut off the Audubon Bridge? To start making this place an island? Well, this may be super risky, since we haven’t already scouted out the situation on the bridge. But we’re gonna lead that hoard across the bridge and a few miles beyond, retreat back the way we came, and then block the bridge behind us.”
“That’s not just risky. That’s insane,” Sara screamed.
“It would clean out the town,” Monsignor nodded approvingly.
“Wait, what?” Sara said. “You’re not ag
reeing with this are you? How’re they supposed to come back across the bridge once the road is clogged with a mile of zombies? What if the bridge is blocked somewhere along the way? What if they run out of gas?”
“We’ve got a couple extra gas cans all filled up in the bed,” Uncle Jerry added.
“And I’ve already thought through the backtracking part, too, Sarah. There’s a divider in the roadway, tall enough, I think, to keep all the zombies in one lane while we drive up the other side.”
“But, Isherwood,” Gran said. “What will you use to block the bridge? Cars? Where will you get enough?”
“Yeah, that’s a tricky spot,” Isherwood nodded. “I did watch a bunch of videos on YouTube before the electricity ran out. Several on hot-wiring cars. I think I can do it.”
“Hot-wiring?” Uncle Jerry asked. “That old truck of mine’s been hot-wired for years. One of our kids lost the keys during the Clinton administration, and old Tad over there was too cheap to buy new ones. Hot-wiring’s easy. I got you there.”
“Whoa, really?” Isherwood said, relieved. “That’s awesome. Thank God. Though I did have a back-up idea of raiding the car dealership. They keep all their keys in a wall box in the general manager’s office. Of course, I wouldn’t able to do that without drawing attention until the hoard cleared out, so that would mean Uncle Jerry driving alone most of the way.”
“It’s probably best that you only venture out in pairs,” Monsignor insisted.
“We really need radios,” Isherwood said, sighing. Cell phone service had been one of the first parts of civilization to come tumbling down.
“Once you clear out all those zombies,” Lizzy chimed in. “We’ll be able to grab whatever we want from wherever we want. We’ll have a little shopping spree.”
“Okay, fine.” Sara said. “But, Smith, you better talk all this over with me next time, step by step, before you even think about starting the truck. You understand me?”
Isherwood moved his chair closer to his wife’s. He put his arm around her. Though she resisted at first, she eventually let him embrace her. “I’m coming back, okay? And when I do, this place will be a lot safer, for all of us.”