It stopped, forming a tremendous shadow against the grey backdrop. It moaned loudly, causing the fog to swirl in front of it. Its breath had the same stench as decaying meat and when it smote them, Aaron made the smallest gagging sound.
Jenn slapped a hand over his mouth. Next to her, Mike stooped and searched around beneath the fog until he found a rock. He threw it down the street expecting it to clack against the pavement once or twice and send the zombies charging after.
Instead the rock zipped through the air and, with the worst luck imaginable, hit a white speed limit sign hidden by the fog, not even ten feet away. The crashing noise of the rock striking the metal reverberated up and down the block.
“Run!” Stu hissed. The other zombies had turned and were charging down on them. Even if the little group only appeared as misty shadows, they couldn’t take the chance of being stumbled over by one of the beasts. They ran, but not quickly; the fog was too dense and there were obstacles everywhere.
Jenn leapt over a television that had no business being in the street, while Mike nearly tripped over an old bicycle that resembled a rusting pretzel. Stu kept Mike from falling and then said in an urgent whisper, “Move to your left!”
Who he was talking to, Jenn had no idea. She glanced back and saw Aaron’s tiny ghostly figure. He seemed to be floating along, his feet not even touching the ground. While his face was marred by the mists, she could see the lines on his right hand and the dirt beneath his nails perfectly. He had his arm outstretched, pointing ahead of her.
Before she could turn back around, she ran full into a parked car. Because it sat on four flats, the bumper hit her just below the knees and her momentum sent her flying onto the hood, the breath knocked out of her. The pain in her knees was immediate and intense. It was so sharp she felt like vomiting. She wanted to cry out, but her diaphragm had seized up.
And that was a good thing, because her situation had gone from dangerous to deadly.
She suddenly found herself alone in the fog. Mike, Stu and Aaron had disappeared, while a shadow blocked out the feeble light of the setting sun. It was one of the zombies looming above her. It seemed mountainous. With her legs aching and her chest unable to push air in or out, she had only one choice—to freeze in plain sight and hope the creature would turn away.
Instead, it bent to peer down at her and as it did, its face became more and more solid and frightful.
Its lips had been bitten off long ago and it only had one eye, but it had plenty of teeth. With a roar, it tried to take her in one tremendous gulp. As afraid as she was, she didn’t panic. She aimed her crossbow and fired, but even at a range of a foot the bolt didn’t have the power to kill the beast. The bolt punctured its forehead but it didn’t sink deep enough.
The shot snapped its head back. She scrambled to get off the hood before it could orient on her again, only it was too fast and pinned her down with one of its enormous claw-liked hands. Its diseased nails dug into the fabric of her jacket, squeezing, not just the breath out of her, but the life as well.
Chapter 7
Mike Gunter
Stu was on his left as they ran. Mike thought they were only just in front of Jenn and Aaron, but when he almost fell over the bike he looked back and saw nothing but the swirling fog. He slowed just as Stu said, “Move to your left.” A second later, a beat-up old car materialized in front of them.
It had been sitting in the middle of the street and he would’ve smashed right into it if Stu hadn’t warned him. He dodged left and two seconds later Jenn ran square into it.
The noise was only slightly less alarming than when he had thrown the rock.
He and Stu looked back, and both stumbled against the curb, their crossbows rattling on the pavement. Things took on a horrible nightmare quality as the zombie gazed down at Jenn with its one eye burning with hatred.
When she shot it, Mike almost cheered. Then he saw the beast slam her down with a hand that completely covered her chest. She looked like little more than a toddler compared to the monster, and he was sure it would crush her with just the one hand.
But, this zombie was in an eating mood, not a crushing one. Its teeth were only inches away from her face, when a high voice yelled: “Over here! Look at me! LOOK…AT ME…” It was Aaron. Mike couldn’t see him through the fog, but he could see the zombie turn its huge head and roar. The zombie left Jenn and stormed off into the fog. A second later, there was a high piercing scream.
“Get Jenn,” Stu said, jumping to his feet and shoving Mike toward the beat-up car. He then raced into the fog.
Mike went to the car where he found the girl gasping and wild-eyed. He pulled her off the hood and she sank into him, trembling, unable to hold herself up. “Hey. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
She tried to answer only just then, Aaron screamed again. The scream got louder and louder, and it was a moment before Mike realized the boy was heading right for them.
And behind Aaron was a crowd of zombies.
Mike pulled Jenn to the ground, hiding behind the car which shook almost immediately as a zombie crashed full into it. The power and energy of the beast went through the car, lifting up the far side and breaking windows. Mike and Jenn were sent sprawling.
They got to their knees as the zombie tore at the car in rage, smashing the doors and tearing off the hood. The two were stunned by the violence and neither knew exactly what to do or where Aaron or Stu were. Mike began to help Jenn to her feet when, unbelievably, Aaron crawled out from beneath the car. There was only a gap of about four inches between the street and the undercarriage and although he was a skinny little boy, he came out bleeding, covered in rust and oil.
Mike lifted him to his feet. He was as unsteady as Jenn, and wore a shocked expression that wouldn’t leave his face. Mike didn’t think he’d be able to walk, so he picked him up with one hand and let Jenn hold the other.
The fog hid them as they limped up the street, keeping close to the row of houses. After a block, Aaron seemed to recover somewhat, but Jenn couldn’t go any further. She stumbled and then struggled valiantly to stand. “We need Stu,” she whispered before whistling like a bird.
Stu seemed to appear out of the fog like magic. “I was just drawing them off. You okay, Jenn?”
She had one arm still strung across Mike’s shoulders. “My knees,” she answered quietly.
He took her crossbow as well as Mike’s, asking, “Can you carry her? We only have half a mile.” Mike lifted her into his arms; she was very light. Stu slung their bows across his back and started once more walking down the street in complete silence.
Mike started after. Jenn was awkward and stiff. “You don’t have to carry me if you don’t want to,” she said, her lips very close to his neck. “We’re not going fast. I should be fine. I just need an arm to hold onto.”
“Stu’s in charge,” he answered. “We should do as he says. Trust me, I’ll let you know if you get too heavy.” This turned out to be a lie. The streets were like all the rest in the city: cracked, rutted, strewn with trash and tree branches. Worse it was a slow, uphill march.
If it was possible, Stu was even more wary and careful than he had been. On a positive note, the fog didn’t reach the top of the hill.
Mike’s arms began to burn when they were only halfway to the top and soon his sweat mingled with a soft rain. Jenn raised an eyebrow when she felt the trembling. Mike said, “I’m still good.”
“Okay,” she said, with a touch of skepticism in her voice. A minute later he stumbled and Jenn demanded to get down. “I’m fine. It’s just a couple of bruises.” But it wasn’t. Her right knee buckled and she drew in a sharp breath. She changed her self-diagnosis to, “Maybe it’s a sprain.”
“Give me a moment,” he said, shaking out his arms as she leaned on him. Stu and Aaron waited just up the block. They had been pulling farther and farther away and now the two watched them, Stu with an odd look on his face. The look bothered Mike. He hefted Jenn into his arms and carr
ied her up to them. “You okay?” he asked Stu.
Stu lifted his eyebrows, giving him a look of innocence. “Just a strange day. A strange, strange day.” Mike would’ve agreed if that was what the look was all about. No, there was something else.
Once more Stu led the way. The last few hundred yards were uneventful.
Mike had been to the complex of the Hill People twice before. In both instances he had been there solely to help lug trade goods up and back.
It sat on the top of a bare hill and was surrounded by a forest of homemade spears. There were rank upon rank of them. Some were long and others short, and mixed in with them were concealed punji sticks; sharpened stakes set in small pits. Stepping on one would use a man’s weight against him, driving the stake into the sole of his shoe and, more than likely, maiming him for life.
The road leading to the complex had been pulled up and it too had been riddled with spears and stakes. There was a winding path through it that went back and forth in full view of the complex. The idea was that attacking bandits would be subject to a withering crossfire.
Beyond the stakes was a heavy fence made of black iron which had a painted plywood wall attached to it. The barrier wasn’t really zombie proof, but it trapped light and sound so that even up close, Mike thought the complex had a dead feel to it. Once they made their way through the maze, they found themselves in front of a set of iron gates, where a young girl was waiting for them.
She was small and thin with long blonde hair that hung loose, covering the shoulders of a faded jean jacket. She was probably no more than seven, which made Mike question whether she was the actual guard. “What happened?” she asked, her big eyes roving over Jenn and Aaron.
“It was the dead,” Aaron said. “They were everywhere. They almost got me like three times and they woulda…”
“Are you going to open the gate or what, Lindy?” Stu asked, gruffly. “If you let us in, I’m sure Aaron will tell you all about our adventures.”
With Stu’s dark eyes on her, Lindy Smith hurried to open the gate. As she did, Jenn said, “Make sure Aaron tells you that he was a hero today. I’m pretty sure he saved my life. That’s how he got all scratched up.” Aaron smiled, his cheeks red as a rose petal.
The gate could only be opened wide enough for one person at a time to slip through. Jenn slid out of Mike’s arms and limped through. She claimed she felt good enough to make it home without the need to be carried. Mike gave her his arm and together they walked through the complex which was as quiet on the inside as it was on the outside.
There were people about; mostly children and under-twenties. They came over and offered to help Jenn while at the same time sneaking looks up at Mike. Although most of them had seen him before, they were still just as curious about him as he was curious about them.
Compared to the Islanders, they were very clean. Clearly, they bathed daily, which was no wonder since they had easy access to both wood and fresh water. Their clothing was neat and spotless as well. Most of their garments were faded from use, but none were torn or patched as was commonly found among the Islanders. Alcatraz wasn’t called “The Rock” for nothing. It was a grim, hard place with little in the way of creature comforts. Tearing a pair of jeans was a daily event and it grew tiresome searching for replacements.
Despite their hard life, the Islanders were much more outgoing compared to the Hill People. They could afford to laugh loudly and sing and be themselves. It was the byproduct of knowing that they were safe. The Hill People didn’t have that luxury. Even the youngest of the children were quiet and reserved.
Although most of the older kids knew Mike from when they had lived on the island, Jenn introduced him to the people gathered around them. They treated him like a lost cousin and each shook his hand.
As the drizzle turned into a cold rain, she told them about their trip to Alcatraz and back. They oohed quietly when she got to the part about the fight on the bay and they marveled at her descriptions of the boats and the fog and the zombies coming up out of the water and nearly being shipwrecked by the rock.
“And he’s staying with you?” Colleen White asked with a surprised look. She was easily the prettiest girl in the bay area with her shocking black hair and her deep blue eyes. Colleen glanced around at the others with a brow cocked. “Shouldn’t he stay with Bill or Stu? What about Ron? He has a room.”
The sun, a hidden entity giving off a grey light, had faded down below the back of the hill, and the complex was hung in shade and shadow. Still Mike thought he saw a touch of pink come over Jenn’s cheeks.
Jenn didn’t know what to say, and she began to stammer. Another girl came to her rescue. “What’s it to you, Colleen? It’s not like Dale would let him stay with you. I’m sure Stu has his reasons. Besides it’ll be the Coven what has the final say. Are you going to take him to see them, Jenn?”
“I’m sure they’ll call on Mike in the morning,” Jenn answered. “Right now, I have to get home and get my fire going.”
“I bet you do,” Colleen said, giving Jenn a wink.
After that remark, Jenn wouldn’t look up as Mike put out an arm. She took it and hobbled to the next building. Because she had two layers of blackout curtains on her windows, her apartment was dark as a cave. The only light was an orange glow coming from the fireplace. It wasn’t enough to count fingers by and she left the door open as she looked for an oil lamp. It was nothing more than a mason jar with a hole cut in the lid through which a wick ran into murky-looking olive oil.
Twelve years before, Mike could find matches and lighters all over the place. Now they were hoarded and hard to find. Jenn took the jar to the fireplace, moved the screen away and began stirring the hot coals with a piece of kindling. She filled her cheeks and blew. The coals brightened, and she began feeding in little sticks and twigs, pulling them from a plastic bucket on the hearth.
Soon she had her fire going and used a burning stick to light the homemade lamp. “Here you go,” she said handing it to him. “Make yourself at home. The bathroom is the middle door. My room is on the left and yours is on the right.”
“Is there anything you need? Can I get some water or wood or, I don’t know, some ice for that knee?”
She laughed uneasily. “You saw the signs, too?”
“The signs?”
“Sure, everyone knows that October fog that can’t climb the hill portends snow. Then there were the pinecones, but I’m sure you saw them.” She unbuttoned her jacket and only then realized that it was torn. “Ugh.” She took it off, doing her best not to let it touch her. She threw it in the fire, where it almost smothered the flames.
“Say, when was the last time you had a proper bath?” she asked. “I remember when I lived on the island, we never had baths.”
A bath sounded good and he agreed as long as he did most of the work. It took him seven trips to fill the tub and he didn’t begrudge a second of the labor. Although they had a water tower on Alcatraz, it was completely dependent on rainfall; it was never enough.
While he luxuriated in the water, Jenn limped about and prepared a meal that would have been strange in the old world: a stew of fried crabapples, strips of venison, sweet onions and dandelion greens. Strange but good.
They talked as they ate their fill, mostly about the different people they knew. Sometimes they would bring up someone who had died, which would put a damper on their conversation and they would flounder about, looking for something positive to talk about.
“I can’t wait for the traders to get here,” Jenn said, grinning. “It sort of feels like my birthday when they come. If they have real chocolate, I might go crazy and trade everything I have for a single chocolate chip cookie. What do you want?”
He wanted the same thing that Stu wanted: bullets. Because Gerry felt the island was basically impervious to assault by either bandits or the dead, Gerry had been slowly trading away their arsenal.
Mike thought it was terribly shortsighted. They were safe enough on th
e island, that was true, but they had to come ashore sometimes and when they came up against bandits they were always outgunned. Even on the water, they weren’t completely safe. What had happened that afternoon was proof enough.
But he wasn’t going to get bullets, he was going to get goats and he could only hope it wasn’t a huge mistake.
“Gerry is gambling everything on getting goats and I mean everything.”
“So, you don’t have anything to trade just for you? That’s so sad. If you did want something just for you, what would it be?”
Mike just didn’t think in that manner. He only thought about what was good for his people. “I don’t know, a shirt? A nice one?”
“You can get a shirt anywhere. What do you really want if you could have anything?”
It took him a long time to come up with the impossible. “Batteries,” he answered, honestly. “I miss music.”
Chapter 8
Mike Gunter
Mike stayed the night in the guest room. It was easily the nicest room he could ever remember sleeping in. His father, as great as he had been during the apocalypse, saving his family and leading them to the safety of Alcatraz, had been a high school dropout who had worked a string of menial jobs.
They had been living in a trailer park when the zombies came. Mike’s bed had been a lumpy mattress and his sheets had been bought at a garage sale for fifty cents. His first bed on Alcatraz had been in one of the prison cells, and was hard as a rock. Like the rest of the prison, it had smelled of mildew tinged with evil. His current bed consisted of three inches of padding resting on springs that creaked loudly every time he shifted.
Jenn’s guest room was almost like a hotel room. There were doilies on the dresser, fake flowers and fancy oil paintings. She even had a pitcher of water next to the bed. He was so snug and the room so dark, that he slept in well past sunrise. Jenn accidentally woke him as she slunk around getting the fire going. One dropped cut of wood was all it took for him to go from sound asleep to fully awake in a heartbeat.
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