by Tracy Sharp
You saw them? In daylight?
“Security breach. Suspicious activity,” the computerized voice said.
Rye stopped typing mid-sentence.
“Probably more dead guys,” Daphne said.
“I wish. The security system doesn’t monitor motion. It tracks heartbeat.” Rye glanced at the four camera feeds. Three were clear, but on the fourth one was a herd of zombies. Four or five — it was hard to tell from the way they were walking as if someone was hoarding them.
“See, dead guys.”
“Dead guys don’t have heartbeats,” Rye said.
The laptop chimed. Rye? You still there?
Gotta go. I’ll try to get to New York. Rye closed the laptop.
Two more zombies came into view. The dead were crowding around a floral pattern sofa.
“See that?” Rye pointed to the monitor. “Look at them. It’s like they are being instructed.”
A shadow appeared and grew larger. The zombies dispersed in different directions. Two lizard aliens walked around the living room.
“Are they using the dead to search for humans?” Daphne asked.
“Like hunting dogs.”
One of the aliens looked directly into the small camera hidden in a light switch. Like a laser, the red eye burned Daphne with fear.
“Don’t worry. There is no way they can get to us.” Rye pressed the Alt and S keys on the laptop.
“Initiating secure phase,” the computerized voice said.
“This room is sealed. We are safe.”
Rye’s words didn’t chase away the terror the clung to Daphne like a frightened child. The three cameras not on the aliens blinked and switched to different locations. Three zombies were shambling down a long hallway toward the master bedroom. Two were stumbling around Rye’s old room. And four were turning circles in the kitchen.
“How the hell did they find us and why didn’t I feel them?”
Rye zoomed the camera in and locked on the zombies. “These walls. They are built to withstand an F5 tornado. It blocked the electronic waves, which is kinda crazy, because I think that’s how they found us.”
“How?”
“The generator. These things are finally adapting to sunlight. Their vision isn’t great. I’m willing to bet their hearing is out of this world.” Rye chuckled at his joke. “Snakes have vibrating skulls that help them to hear. These things are reptilian. The low hum of the generator probably caught their attention.”
The aliens moved out of the camera’s eye. Seconds later, they appeared on the kitchen camera. One of them tilted its head, waving a crimson tongue like a flag. A faint knocking sound could be heard throughout the video. The zombies stopped roaming aimlessly and walked toward the aliens.
“Holy shit. Those things are really controlling the dead,” Rye said.
“How is that possible?”
“Power at forty percent,” the computerized voice said. “Initiating power save phase.”
The lights in Jake Boone’s hidden office dimmed to resemble a quaint Italian restaurant. Three cameras went black.
“Don’t worry, the main one will stay on until we run completely out of power.”
“When will that happen?”
“Power save phase complete. Exactly four hours of uptime remaining,” the computerized voice said.
Rye smirked. “There’s your answer.” He looked at his watch. Neither hand ticked. “Shit. I have no idea what time it is.” He shut down all the computers except the one connected to the room’s system. He let out a laugh that ricocheted through the room.
“What?”
Rye pointed to the bottom right-hand corner of the laptop. “It’s eight thirty. Dark outside. Maybe these things haven’t totally adapted to daylight yet after all.”
A moment of relief hit Daphne like a second wind. She let out a deep breath. “So, now what?”
The main camera showed the aliens with nine zombies behind them in a single-file line leaving the house.
“We hang out here until morning. Then we find a way to get to New York.”
There was no movement on the camera for the next fifteen or twenty minutes.
“I’m going to shut this down for a while to save some power,” Rye said. He ran his finger over the touch pad. After a few clicks, just as he was about to power down the laptop, a blur flashed over the camera.
“Wait,” Daphne said.
Three men — not aliens, not dead, but three living, breathing men — were in the living room. One flipped the cushions from the couch to the floor. He said something, but Rye and Daphne couldn’t make it out. Rye increased the audio volume on the camera.
“No one’s here. We’ve searched this goddamn neighborhood at least four times. Braun’s been through here himself.” The man pointed to the spray-painted wall. “Clear. No survivors. That means there ain’t shit here.”
“I know what it means, Randy. But I’m in charge here. Not Braun. That van out there is new. Did you see all of that shit in it? Someone is here.”
“Can you two continue this pissing match later? Grant, you tell us every chance that you get you’re in charge. We get it. Before this shit, Randy pumped gas. I took tickets at the theater. And you were the big shot real estate agent.”
Randy laughed. “Tell us, Grant, is this a good neighborhood to buy into? How about the violence? Is it bad here?”
Grant flashed a machete. “I can lop your head off with one swipe.”
“Try it.”
“Neither of you are trying anything. Grant, put the goddamn blade away.”
“That’s good advice from Chuckie Boy. You better listen to him,” Randy said.
“And you shut the hell up. We shouldn’t even be here. We don’t hunt at night,” Chuck said. “Braun will be pissed if he finds out. There are rules.”
“There’s nothing here, Grant. Let’s just raid the van and get out of here before those creepy crawlies come back.”
Grant walked out of the camera’s view.
“Not my van,” Rye said. “We should have brought the food in.”
“Nothing we can do about it now,” Daphne said.
Grant appeared again.
“Okay, you two get everything out of the van. I’ll sweep this place.”
“Fine, but if you’re not out there when we’re ready to go, we are leaving your ass,” Randy said.
The living room cleared.
“I should go stop them,” Rye said.
“With what?” Daphne picked up something from the desk. “A paperweight with a fossilized shell?” She turned the rock over, examining it.
“It’s an ammonite,” Rye said.
“Whatever. Did you see the machete that guy has? This will do nothing. We just need to stay here and wait them out. We can get more food.”
“Oh, really? You think Target is open?”
“Shut down the computer and let’s try to get some sleep,” Daphne said.
***
A dull ache traveling up and down Rye’s spine jarred him from sleep. Just one of the casualties of a war with bad posture. He rolled his neck, almost begging it to pop. He let out a quiet sigh as a soft cracking radiated down his back. When the pain eased, he opened the laptop.
“Two hours and fifteen minutes until power is depleted.”
The computerized voice woke Daphne. She blinked her eyes, trying to shake grogginess.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Seven thirty. It’s probably safe now. We should go. This place will seal up like a tomb when there’s no more power.”
Rye struck a few keys on the keyboard.
“Preparing for beam up phase.”
Daphne looked at Rye.
“What? My father liked Star Trek.”
Sunlight invaded a small crack created by the lifting ceiling. The smell of rot tickled Daphne’s nostrils.
“Heat may rise, but the smell of death definitely sinks.”
Rye grabbed the laptop and its cord
and started up the stairs. He turned and reached for Daphne’s hand. “Come on.”
Daphne hadn’t given much thought to it last night when Rye took her hand, but this time she appreciated the feel of human touch. Warm flesh. It comforted her. Rye let go when he reached the top of the stairs. He raced to the window. The van was in one piece. All the doors were open. There was no visible damage.
“At least they left Sammy in one piece.”
“Why did you name your van Sammy? Old girlfriend?”
Rye shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the song ‘Chevy Van’? AM Gold?”
Daphne shrugged.
“‘Gave a girl a ride in my wagon’? Sammy Johns? He sang the classic ‘Chevy Van.’”
“Never heard it. But it’s kinda funny. You gave a girl a ride in your wagon.” Daphne smiled.
Rye shook his head. “I really could use a Gatorade. Let’s check out the damage.” He opened the front door. A box of canned goods littered the street beside the driver’s side of the van. “They didn’t get it all.” He ran toward the van.
“Be careful,” Daphne said, trailing.
“They didn’t get anything. It’s all still here.” Rye tried to jump from excitement. Something swiped at his ankle, knocking him to the pavement.
“Rye.” Daphne grabbed the piece of splintered wood and ran toward him.
The sound of chattering teeth reminded Rye of an old toy he used to play with. Wind the teeth up and watch them go. The chattering was followed by a moan. A zombie, torn apart at the waist, latched onto his ankle. With his free foot, Rye planted the sole of his shoe on the chomper’s forehead. The impact freed Rye from his grasp. The dead guy looked familiar. Grant — or was it Randy?
Rye bounced to his knees and then to his feet just as Daphne jammed the wood into the back of the man’s head.
“They’re not vampires,” he said.
Daphne pulled the wood from the zombie. “It worked, didn’t it?”
The sarcastic banter was short-lived. Another dead guy rounded the corner of the van. He lunged at Daphne, snagging her flannel shirt with the tips of his fingers. She swung her body in the opposite direction. The movement tore the sleeve from the shirt. Rye planted a kick in the zombie’s stomach, sending him tumbling to the street. With everything she had, Daphne forced the splintered wood into the side of the dead guy’s head. The wood snapped in half, but it went deep enough into the guy’s skull to end any threat.
“Definitely Chuckie Boy,” Rye said. “The dead must have gotten them last night.”
“There were three. Where’s the other one?” Daphne asked.
Rye eased around the front of the van. About ten feet in front of him was a dark-gray plume of smoke, rising from the asphalt. A body was barely visible through the cloud. “I think we’re safe.” He moved closer. There was no flesh, just bones. Underneath the remains was a charred circle.
“Looks like the aliens got that one,” Daphne said, peeking over Rye’s shoulder.
“Yeah, I don’t think the dead care about cooking their meat first. Anyway, at least the food’s still here.” Rye opened the back of the van and took a Gatorade. He tossed one to Daphne.
“Are we becoming desensitized to this?” she asked.
Rye gulped the drink. “I think we have to be. Otherwise, I’d be scared shitless that there are giant lizards out there that can turn a man into charcoal.”
“Don’t forget the dead,” Daphne said, opening her bottle.
“Those things? Please, I can outrun those bastards.” Rye grinned.
“Okay, Mr. Tough Guy, what do we do now?”
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“Huh?”
“Those boots look to be at least twelves. I’d say you’re about a six and a half or seven?”
“Seven. Why?”
“My stepmother wore a size seven. Go raid her closet. I’m kinda over you looking like the construction guy from the Village People. I’ll get the food back in the van.”
“Then what?”
Rye started kicking his legs like a Rockette. “New York. New York.”
Chapter 5
The gas needle inched closer and closer to the E, but the van chugged along. Mellow seventies songs offered the perfect soundtrack for a good-bye. Soon, Rye would have to part ways with Sammy. The van had logged close to two hundred thousand miles, and that was before Rye bought it from an aging hippie who smelled as though he hadn’t bathed since the Grateful Dead’s Winterland show in 1969. The odometer no longer worked. It stopped just shy of three hundred thousand miles. But Sammy kept going. And Rye was going to abandon the van. Leave it for the scavengers to pillage. Rye’s emotions wavered from hurt to guilt to stupidity for attaching such strong feelings to an inanimate object.
“You okay?” Daphne asked.
“Patchouli. You a fan?”
“What?”
“When I bought Sammy, she reeked of the stuff. I mean, it was like she got sprayed by a hippie skunk. It took forever to get the smell out of here. I hate it…you don’t smell it, do you?”
Daphne shook her head.
“Sammy’s been good to me. Keep a car well maintained and it will run forever. I had to replace the brakes once…and she’s got a slow coolant leak, but she’s been loyal.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“Did you have plans for the future?” Rye asked. “I did. Sammy and I were going cross-country. I had the trip planned for the fall.”
“We’re kinda doing that now,” Daphne said.
“No. It’s never going to happen now. We can’t risk it. If Sammy breaks down, we’re screwed. Besides, there’s no time to sightsee.” Rye exhaled. “I guess I’m just a bit emotional. I had the rest of the year planned. Now, the future isn’t about visiting the Roswell UFO museum. It’s about surviving, you know?”
“I had a cruise to the Bahamas booked for next April. They say the crowds aren’t as thick then. I’m not really a people person.” Daphne put her hand on Rye’s. “It’s natural to feel this way. The damn world has practically ended. But hey, we’re still here. We’re goddamn survivors.” She flexed her arm.
Rye feigned a smile. “For now. But we are the bottom of the food chain. Zombies, Braun, whoever the hell that is, and then the lizards.”
“What’s happened to you? An hour ago, you were auditioning for the Rockettes.”
Rye smiled. This time it was genuine. “You’re right. It’s silly, but I’m having a hard time saying good-bye to Sammy.”
“Good-bye? I’m not following.”
“Sammy can’t make the trip to New York. I guess I’m just being sentimental. I’ve had a lot of good times in this van.”
“It’s not silly.” Daphne paused to think if she really wanted to talk about her past. “I lived in a car for about four years when I was a teenager. A 1977 Toyota Celica. I understand getting attached.”
For the next two minutes, Rye and Daphne didn’t say a word. They listened to Sammy Johns sing about giving a girl a ride in his Chevy van. By the end of the song, they were singing the chorus. Daphne didn’t know the words, but she did her best to keep up. The guilt gripping Rye faded as the song did. Aliens, zombies, humans: they could steal away the future, but they couldn’t touch the memories.
“You didn’t tell me it was a dirty song,” Daphne said.
“The content is questionable. But it’s nowhere near ‘Afternoon Delight’ dirty.”
Daphne turned the radio down to barely a whisper. Abandoned cars littered the road. The sign in front of a burger joint read Cheeseburger Special: Noon to Two. The windows of the restaurant were shattered. The front door hung open, swaying in a steady winter wind. On the opposite side of the road, fire smoldered over what used to be a gas station. In such a short amount of time, the landscape switched from a scene inspired by Thoreau’s Walden to Apocalypse Now. Three zombies staggered along the roadway, paying no mind to the van.
“Is it just me, or is
there less of those things out today?” Daphne asked.
“This is the country,” Rye said. “Not too many people around here.”
“So, exactly where are we?”
“I’m not really sure. Google Maps isn’t working today for some reason.” Rye’s face morphed into the face of a twelve-year-old brat. “I don’t know. We should be getting close to the Virginia border.”
“So, that puts us about ten hours away from New York.”
“Give or take a bit for traffic.”
“You missed your calling as a comedian.”
“You think? Maybe I can take it up as a second career after we finish playing Star Wars.”
“Speaking of space, you got a plan to get us to New York in light speed?”
Rye jerked the wheel, throwing Daphne against the passenger window. “Sorry, broken glass in the road. Can’t afford a flat here.”
Daphne rubbed the side of her head and looked at her hand to make sure there was no blood.
“There’s a small airport just across the Virginia line. Maybe there is something there we can borrow.”
“You know how to fly?” Daphne asked.
“I’ve watched a few YouTube videos. It doesn’t look that hard.”
Daphne’s expression turned to stone.
“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Yeah, my father taught me. We’re good.”
Daphne shook her head. “I’m getting a Gatorade, want one?” She stepped over a pile of trash and headed to the back of the van. “What’s with all of these radios?”
“Before this shitstorm, I had a ham radio hobby. There’s a whole paranormal and cryptozoology network. It’s where I get most of the names of the people who have gone missing.”
Daphne handed Rye a bottle. “You really think aliens abducted them?”
“I’m sure some of them ran away. Some were probably murdered. But I really believe some were taken by aliens.” Rye paused. “Look, there.”
An overturned semi blocked a good part of the road. Spray-painted on the truck’s undercarriage were the words Clear and No Survivors. Cars flanked the shoulders of the road. All doors were opened on the cars. Several were missing tires. A pile of bodies stacked against the grill of the truck emitted a molten orange hue. When the wind hit, flames danced over the pile like charcoal on a grill.