by Lowry, Chris
She stopped what she was doing with her hands and checked the time on her watch..
“It's two,” she said. “Do you want to go now?”
I did the math in my head and shook it no. If we left now we'd still need to hunt a new ride in the dark, or be stuck in the car for a few hours in the dark. We had enough supplies in the car that I didn't want to abandon.
“Let's get some more sleep,” I suggested. “We'll wait for light and take off.”
I moved back to the bed and settled in. Anna slid under my arm and pressed close to me, her nose touching mine. This time she didn't ask what I wanted, just held me and breathed with me, and in seconds she was asleep. I followed soon after.
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning we were up with the sun. Or rather the square patch of comforter we had nailed across the windows had a bright outline of light around it that bathed the room in a soft morning glow.
I opened my eyes to find Anna staring at me.
“Morning,” I croaked.
She crinkled her nose and sniffed out.
“Breath?” I rolled away.
She nodded and I did the breath out into cupped hands thing and smelled. There were some habits we lost after the Z showed up and the world went to hell. Daily showers were one of them. Oral hygiene another. I made a mental note to get back into the habit of brushing twice a day. It just cost a couple of sips of water.
Anna rooted in her pack and handed me an unopened toothbrush as if she could read my mind. Then I saw she was doing the same. We brushed in silence for a few moments standing over the kitchen sink and spared a little water to rinse and swish.
“Better?” I asked.
She leaned in and kissed me.
“Minty fresh,” she said and left me standing there with the taste of her lips on mine.
It took less than five minutes to fold the mattresses against the wall in case someone else needed them, stack the blankets and load the car. Anna settled in behind the wheel, and I rode shotgun.
She turned right onto the road, opposite of the way the truck full of boys took the previous night and cruised through town.
We had only gone a couple of hundred yards when I spied a couple of Z bumping against a wrought iron fence around a cemetery and the object of their attention kneeling in front of a tombstone.
“Stop,” I said and Anna pulled over. She followed my gaze.
“What's he doing?”
“I don't know. Praying?”
A man knelt in the cemetery over a grave, making funny movements with his hands. Maybe he was shoveling the dirt with his hands to plant flowers.
I stepped out of the car and shut the door. A couple of Z noticed me and began to shuffle around the fence line in my direction. Anna grabbed her shotgun and followed after me as we stepped through the gate and pulled it tight.
I held the rifle low but ready to swing toward him if he did something I didn't want, like pull a gun. I could hear Anna breathing next to my shoulder and motioned her a few steps away. If he aimed at me, she could get him, and vice versa.
I looked over my shoulder to make sure the gate was secure. The Z couldn't follow and they didn't try. They banged their rotting corpses against the wrought iron fence, thoughtless, mindless, moaning.
“Hey,” I called to the guy.
He didn't move.
I took four steps to the right to come even with him and saw he had in earbuds. Closer now I could hear a hair metal band screaming and saw he had a scrub brush in his hands, sudsy water sloshing across a black moss covered tombstone. He was cleaning the old marble and rocking out in the town cemetery.
I squatted down on one knee so we were on the same level and made motions with my hands. He caught sight of the movement out of the corner of his eye and jumped, spilling the bucket of water as he lurched up and tried to run. He saw Anna then and changed direction but his feet got caught on a raised piece of marble and he pitched forward onto flowers and grass.
“Hey! Hey!” I yelled and held up a pacifying hand, the rifle stock in the other so he could see I didn't mean to shoot him.
He popped the earbuds out and shuddered through a sob.
“Good Lord, you like to scared me to death,” he sat up and worked to catch his breath. “I think I almost had a heart attack. I thought one of them had gotten in.”
He gave a distracted wave toward the fence line.
I reached down a hand and helped him to his feet.
“We were calling out for you, but your music was too loud.”
We could still hear it blaring out of the dangling ear pieces, a guitar riff asking about Dr. Feelgood.
The man pulled out the player from his pocket and cut it off, then turned to us with a smile.
“I don't think I've seen people in weeks,” he had a boyish grin under a shock of white blond hair. “Except for them.”
He motioned to the fence again.
“What are you doing?” Anna asked as she stepped over to examine the tombstone he had been cleaning.
It was from the late 1800's, the marble chipped and weather worn, but in the places where the moss had scrubbed free, the inscription was clear and easy to read.
“I'm cleaning their stones,” he said as if it were the most self evident thing in the world.
“Why?” asked Anna. “Is he a relative?”
“No,” said the man. “Just doing my civic duty.”
“Are you a vet?” I asked. The inscription was for a Civil War soldier.
The man rapped the scrub brush against the bottom of his still shining boots.
“Flat feet.”
“Then I'm with her,” I said. “Why?”
“I don't think they should be forgotten,” he answered.
“Have you seen these?” I pointed to the things he kept not looking at around the fence line. There were a few more showing up so that seven were lined up around the cemetery now. I could see two more on the road and following the moans like a siren song to food. Us.
“I don't think they should be forgotten either.”
Nuts. Either he was, or I was and it could go either way. I mean after all a beautiful girl did ask me if I wanted sex last night, and I said no. Or if I didn't say it outright, I indicated no, let's wait, and put off til tomorrow. What if that was my last time having sex? What if I got bit today, or shot? Or Anna lost control of the car and we careened off the edge of a canyon like Thelma and Louise at the end of their movie. I couldn't think of any canyons between here and Arkansas that would be as dramatic as that, but Alabama had enough ravines and ridges that a tumble down one in a car would be a steel death trap.
“Are you crazy?” I asked in my most serious voice.
He nodded and sighed.
“Probably I am,” he said. “But even if that's true we need to eat lunch. Come on,” he began walking to one side of the cemetery as we watched. All of the Z on the fences turned and followed to that side and it was then I noticed he had led them away from the gate, and stacked them up on the opposite side.
He turned around and made a beeline for the gate.
“Come on,” he called. “We have to move fast.”
He jogged through and we followed after.
“You can bring your car,” he told us.
I nodded for Anna to drive behind as he jogged down the street. He wasn't built like a runner, but like a soft boiled potato and sweat popped out on his forehead after several steps.
“It's not far,” he huffed.
I wondered if he was leading us into an ambush. I could hear the car rumbling behind me, so I didn't worry if it was. At least Anna could make a get away.
“They can't move so fast,” he said and glanced over his shoulder.
The Z were following but he was right. Their lumber was no match for our slow jog. This wasn't a tortoise hare situation we had going, it was more like turtle snail, but the idea was we were moving faster than they were and so long as that held true, we'd be safe.
He led us straight to the front of the discount store in the middle of the strip mall that stood across from the courthouse and around the side to a door in the alley hidden by a dumpster.
Anna parked the car in front of the store and followed us in, as the man shut and locked the door.
“Welcome to my home,” he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
His home was a discount store. He had boarded up the bottom part of the wall of windows that looked out over main street, but left the top uncovered so natural light flooded in. Smart.
Row after row of canned goods and packaged food filled each aisle, and he had set up a small bedroom where a display had once stood.
“Help yourself,” he offered. “I had to clean out all the meat and dairy, most of the vegetables, but the rest is pretty good.”
Anna wandered up and down the aisles and I sat with the white haired man in folding camp chair across from his recliner.
“Don't suppose we need names,” he said. “You're just passing through.”
I nodded.
“Do you have any news of the road ahead?” I asked. “Anything we should be on the lookout for?”
I was looking for a warning or directions, but he shook his head.
“I've been here since it started,” he shifted up the footrest and leaned back in his seat. “I'm the pastor for First Baptist, but I moved out of the parsonage and into here because it's closer to the food. And safer.”
So it was his Spam we had stolen from the home we stayed in last night. Or acquired since it was abandoned. I decided not to tell him.
Anna came back with a couple of cans of shredded chicken and a can opener.
“Do you mind if we keep this?” she asked. “You have eleven more.”
“Don't suppose I could use more than one at a time.,” he smiled. “Look at all this. How long do you think I can last?”
It wasn't a larger store, one of the mid-size discount chain that took over after Wal Mart built a superstore on the edge of town to kill off the Mom and Pop's, then moved away when it wasn't financially viable for them to keep serving the community. I had seen it before the Z in several towns.
“Maybe a year,” I guessed.
It could be longer if he stretched rations. I could see a display of Ramen noodles that would last for three months alone.
“That's what I figured,” he said and patted his belly. He had spindly tiny legs, scrawny arms but a rotund little pooch across his midsection like a small volleyball. “They should have this figured out by then.”
“This?”
“The virus,” he pointed to the boarded up windows. “The CDC or the government has to be working on a cure by now right? It took them about eighteen months to get a vaccine for Zika and that only affected third world countries. This is a much bigger problem.”
That was an understatement.
I wondered if he had watched the new much before it went off the air. Maybe my perspective was different since I had escaped from a metro with a population that bordered five million and he lived in a town with less than ten thousand. I saw how much damage was done.
“It's pretty bad out there,” I said. “I don't know if the government still exists.”
“Of course it does,” he said too quickly as his eyes darted from Anna to me as if daring us to contradict him.
“They're just hidden in bunkers and safe spots, working on it now. They'll have the cure in no time, you'll see.”
“Is that why you locked the people in the Church?” Anna asked and wiped a smear of chicken off the corner of her mouth. She washed it down with a bottled iced tea.
“Sure it is,” said the pastor. “I led as many as I could into the sanctuary before it got too dangerous for me to keep trying. I locked twenty more in the Second Baptist Church too. When they get the cure we can help those people.”
His eyes gleamed in the slanted sunlight and I wondered if he had been touched by madness. I know it touched us all, what was the saying, if we weren't a little crazy we'd all go insane? It was crazy to still be alive in this world, crazy to be roaming across the country instead of holed up in a store full of food, but maybe as it turned out, just as crazy to stay in one place.
Especially with people you know. Or knew.
Each day was an exercise in survival, and one day you might have to make a choice to kill someone under your care, one of your flock as it were, before they ripped into your skin and turned you Z.
Thinking about that might drive me a little crazy too.
“It might take longer than a year,” I lied. “Do you have access to the roof?”
“I think there's a ladder in the back.”
“You should think about putting in gardens if you have seeds. Maybe some water collection tarps, just in case it takes longer than you expect.”
He nodded now, getting excited.
“You know what, that's a good idea. You just paid for your meal in spades,” he rubbed his hands together. “I appreciate the suggestion.”
“You're welcome,” I said.
He pushed himself out of the recliner and puttered around the soup section with a knapsack in hand.
“Let me give you some soup to go. Tomato soup,” he showed us the familiar red and white can. “I hate it. Tastes like that mush with spaghetti-O’s, and I had those every day growing up. Hated them.”
Anna tried to wave him off.
“But you might end up needing that.”
“If I run low I can always visit my parishioners homes, I know they have some food laid up.”
He filled the backpack with soup cans and two boxes of saltines, and a second with re-fried beans, but only the store brand. He kept the name brand for himself.
One backpack full of food for each of us. Maybe there were still kind people left in the world, pockets of them who weren't just looking out for themselves.
“The car's up front,” said Anna.
We could hear the Z moaning through the boards. It was a plaintive woeful sound like the wind brushing across the open end of a rotting log. Sporadic.
“I have to do this every morning, just to be sure,” said the pastor. He walked to where the front door once was, hidden now behind a layer of plywood and yanked on a string.
Bells connected to the other end jangled.
He gave it a few more tugs and the moaning grew louder, then led us to the back door and peeked through a window with a mesh screen inset.
“All clear,” he announced. “Try to stay safe out there.”
He pulled open the door and ushered us out into the empty alley, then closed it behind us. We could hear it bolt shut.
“Weird,” Anna whispered.
“But lucrative,” I patted the full backpack on my shoulder.
We moved to the end of the alley and watched the knot of Z gathered under the bells just in front of the door. The path to the car was clear if we moved quickly.
“Ready?” I asked.
She nodded.
We jogged toward the car. Anna opened the driver's door and I slid around the back end to get in on the passenger side. Our movement attracted the Z who turned to us en masse and began shuffling our way.
The door was locked.
I pounded the window and Anna reached over to slip the lock up.
An engine roared at the far end of the street as a Dodge Charger raced toward us. It slammed through three Z and sent them flying and squealed to a stop. The window rolled down and a young black kid with a gold tooth leaned out.
“Brian sent me,” he said. “He needs your help.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jamal was a tall lanky kid who stepped out of the still running car and kept a watchful eye on the Z as they lumbered toward us.
“He wants me to bring you back as fast as I can,” he said. “I'm Jamal.”
“Jamal,” I said and fingered the trigger on my rifle.
I'm not saying I don't have trust issues, and that a total stranger who knows you isn't som
ething to be wary of, but he's lucky he used Brian's name.
“We've got to move,” Anna called out through the open passenger door. “They're coming.”
She was right. The Z were just yards away and getting closer.
“Go park at the church,” I told Jamal.
The pastor ran around the side of the building, his voice raised in a mournful screech.
“You killed them!” He dodged around the herd of Z and puffed toward Jamal.
I had to hand it to the kid, he was fast. He ducked back into the car and spun it around like a stuntman, knocking down two more Zombies and missing the pastor entirely. He laid down two black strips of rubber as he raced to the edge of town.
“He killed them!” the pastor shrieked at me.
“Sorry padre,” I said.
“That was Mrs. Hooper and Doctor Carter,” he screamed again, pointing to the based up body parts smeared across the pavement.
A Z lunged for him, and he sidestepped the swipe without looking.
“Those were people!”
“I'm really sorry,” I said again and slid into the seat. We had to get out of there or the Z would grab him, or try for us and if that happened there wouldn't be any of his townspeople left. He may think they were people, and they were, once. But now they were monsters, predators intent on trying to take us down, and I wasn't going to let that happen.
“Get back inside,” I told him and shut the door.
Anna pulled out and avoided hitting any other Z though a few bounced off the side fenders which sent them reeling. Each thump drew a screech from the pastor and I watched him in the rear view mirror as he danced, juked and jived away from the ever growing crowd of Z.
“He's not going to make it,” Anna said.
“Probably not.”
“I hope he shut the door to his place. We can resupply when we come back through.”
I liked the way she was thinking about supplies, but got a hitch in my breath. What did Brian want? And why did she assume we were going back?
I needed more information and it was waiting for me in front of the big brick monstrosity of church. Jamal leaned against the side of his car, a pistol slung low on his hip like an old fashioned gun slinger. He even had the bottom of the holster tied with a string of leather.