America Undead: Out of the Darkness & Into the Dark

by David Smith

  "They paid. Trust me, they paid. And this may be our only chance at something better. They've been living here all this time, being able to get outside, have kids and raise food. It's sustainable, as long they can defend it which I'm guessing they can since they've been doing it this long."

  It wasn't long until the shooting stopped and was replaced with the sound of voices and vehicles, muffled by the distance. We walked back through the woods toward the house and stopped where we had turned back before. Walking back, I noticed the sharp pain in my heels of blisters forming from walking in wet boots.

  The bodies lay piled on top of each other where they fell and the residents were walking through them, checking for any that weren't completely dead and stabbing them through the head. Others were pulling bodies out by their feet, separating them from the pile as a truck, like the one back at our bunker, drove around pulling a trailer for the bodies to be loaded into. There were guards armed with an assortment of assault rifles standing just in the edge of the woods on our side of the road.

  "What are we doing?" Beth whispered.

  "Waiting." I responded.

  "Waiting for what?"

  I thought for a moment as she waited for a real answer. "Are we sure we want to do this? I mean, this is kind of a big commitment."

  "Well, it was your idea. It's looks to me like they've got it pretty good. We give it a chance and if we don't like it, we leave."

  Stephanie suddenly got up and started past us. "Forget this. Just let me do the talking."

  I grabbed her wrist as she passed me and pulled her down. "Hold on! I'll go, alright?"

  We were less than one hundred feet into the woods and from the road where they were loading up the bodies. "Hello!" I shouted and the one guard I could see, through the trees, drew his weapon up and started scanning around. I could tell he couldn't pin down from which direction my voice had come.

  There was a woman behind him, walking through the pile with a sharpened broom stick and she stopped in her tracks and looked in my direction. She had straight, dark brown hair hanging down from a black and gold ball cap and pulled back into a loose, low bun in the back. She wore a tank top and jeans tucked into a pair of tan, western style boots with a fleur de lis stitched on the sides. She was in her late twenties and had a square jaw and keen eyes, shapely arms, darkly tanned from a life working in the fields, I imagined. She was crouching slightly, holding her broom stick in front of her like a spear. Her stance and her demeanor was like that of a fearless Aztec warrior ready to spear a Jaguar.

  "Don't shoot! I'm coming out!" I yelled. I didn't want to make the same mistake as Dad so I gave Beth the 700 and took the pistol from her and tucked it under my belt in the back. I still had the lever action rifle so I would use it as a peace offering.

  "Show yourself!" The soldier commanded.

  "If things go bad," I said to Beth "both of you, run like Hell and don't come back."

  I walked out with the rifle held high above my head, fingers extended. When I came out of the woods toward the guard, another one came to back him up. I crossed the ditch and stepped onto the road.

  "Stop there!" the first one shouted. "Put your weapon on the ground!" He was about my age but taller and well fed. His military fatigues were a size too small, faded and worn. He looked a little nervous but was holding it together.

  I did what he asked, slowly, then stood back up and incidentally made brief eye contact with the Aztec warrior princess. There was something more there than defensiveness, something softer; a little fear, maybe sympathy.

  "Is there anyone else out in the woods?" the second one asked. This one spoke and moved with the confidence of a proven warfighter. The size and shape of his arms showed even in the loose fit of his military uniform, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms which ended in hands that looked too thick to curl into fists. He had an unkempt, collar length, bright red beard and piercing eyes. His face was bent into a permanently angry expression.

  I didn't want them to know about the girls but didn't want to be caught in a lie either. "There are."

  "How many?"

  "A few."

  "Are you from Walmart?"

  "No."

  "The Vultures?"

  "Who?"

  They looked at each other then back at me.

  "Turn around, keep your hands up and walk backward to me." The bearded one ordered.

  I knew they would see the pistol so I had to tip my hand. "I've got a pistol in my belt." I said carefully.

  "Okay, do it."

  I did as he asked and when I got to him he stepped on the back of my calf and took the pistol in one motion, forcing me to my knees, hard. I started thinking this was a mistake when I heard the safety on the 9mm click.

  "Tell the rest to come on out."

  I prayed they had already gotten a head start and that Beth was smart enough to keep them alive and find some place away from all this. Just as I was about to call out there was a shrill scream from the woods then I was kicked in the back and my face hit the asphalt, busting my nose. I looked over to see the more experienced soldier run across the road and take cover behind a tree. He started to move forward again when there was a gunshot and he dove behind another tree. Suddenly, Stephanie came out of the woods with her hands up.

  "It's okay!" She shouted. "We got it!"

  Beth came out after her, holding the shotgun with the rifle slung across her back. The soldier seemed to instinctively know the danger was over. "Call it in." He said to the younger one with a smile.

  He then walked over to me and helped me to my feet. As I turned, there was another scream.

  The Aztec princess had a crawler clinging to her leg, gnawing on her shin, just above the boot as she fought to free herself. She raised the broomstick up and rammed it through the back of its head but it was too late. There was fresh blood soaking through her jeans, just above her boot. The pain showed in her face but the fearlessness and strength never left.

  The two soldiers looked at her then back at each other. "You gotta do it, kid." The bearded one said to the other. He looked at her, unable to move. "You said you wanted to be on special teams. This is part of it."

  "Dammit." The woman cursed then reached out her hand. "Give it to me, I'll do it myself."

  "He needs to do it." He replied and stared at the boy. He then pulled the pistol from his thigh holster, held it out to the boy, flipped it and held it by the barrel, the hand grip facing the young one. They stood, motionless, for so long I could have gotten up and walked away. Finally, he flipped it back, walked over to her, stomping on the dead and shot her in the side of the head, just behind the ear. He walked away as she fell, lifeless, and told the boy, "Not everybody's cut out for this. There's no shame in being a farmer. Every job here is of equal importance. You got me?"

  The boy nodded. "Follow me." He said to the three of us. I keep saying boy. This was really because of his disposition and not his stature. He was a big one. I'm average height, not sure exactly how tall, just average from what I've seen and he stood about a head taller than me. I was also very wiry then, thin but lean and hard. He was thick, undefined but not fat, and had a face like a giant baby.

  As we walked I noticed the fence. What appeared to be the original, that came with the house judging from the dull finish, was four-strand barbed wire on thick, wooden poles all of which stood about as high as my neck. Two feet behind that was a slightly newer chain-link fence with steel poles, approximately ten feet high and topped with razor wire. It made the place look like a prison.

  The population, as we passed by them, looked strong and fit and all in good health. They all had the same expression; indifferent to the job set before them like they were doing nothing less mundane than weeding a garden. Some of them even talked and joked lightly with one another.

  Finally, we reached a gatehouse on the far end of the property that led into the front yard. The fence along the front of the house wasn't like the rest. It was made of wrought iro
n bars with a spear-like tips, ten feet high, each one set into concrete at the ground. Every ten feet was a brick pillar, a little taller than the bars where a cross member was set into the mortar at waist level and another, a few inches from the top.

  We reached a brick gatehouse, like I had seen in pictures of an American Embassy in some foreign country, the name of which I couldn't recall, in the history books. The gate was made of the same iron as the fence and two armed guards stood just inside. I looked up and two of the guards on the roof were tracking our every movement through their rifle scopes.

  After a moment, a man came out from the front doors of the house, heavy wooden double doors, and walked around the dried up fountain on the brick driveway and up to the gate. He was tall, slender but barrel chested and carried himself like a man of thirty although his clean shaven face told a story of sixty-five long, hard years. He wore a tan, sweat-stained shirt and faded camouflage pants, untucked with tie strings hanging over the toes of his tan, suede boots. His eyes were ice blue and the look in them, cold and hard as steel. I looked him in the eye then back up at the roof.

  "Just a precaution," he said. "I assure you. Hand over your weapons and come inside. It’s safe here and if your want your guns back you can have them after we get to know you a little better.” He said, mainly to Beth since she was the only one still carrying.

  "I'd rather not, if you don't mind. Until I get to know you a little better, of course." She responded very deliberately and cautiously.

  "Well, it’s not okay. I don’t know how long you’ve been out there but in here, we have rules. That’s to keep you safe as well as ourselves. If it’s the walkers you’re worried about, that’s the worst attack we’ve had in months and as you can see, everything’s okay. And no one here is going to harm you. We’re civilized people and we have ways of dealing with people who aren’t.”

  They stared at each other for awhile, neither one backing down. Finally, he spoke. "Look around you. If we wanted to hurt you, we already would have. Or...you can go back out there with just the two guns you do have between the three of you."

  "Beth!" I whispered at her harshly. She looked at me for a moment with the raised eyebrow we all feared.

  "Fine!" She said and handed the guns to the man-child who had walked us there, who fumbled with them, not sure how to hold his and ours together.

  I understood her hesitancy but despite what happened to Dad, it was hard to argue with the man. I still didn’t trust him but Stephanie needed a place like she had before but without the cannibalism. She needed a place with the luxury of security, a place she could heal and forget and grow up some. If we stayed outside for long, she was either going to get us killed or get herself killed by Beth.

  As the gate opened and we walked in past the truck, I tried not to look at it. I didn’t know if they had any clue that I had anything to do with it but I didn’t want my face to tell them if they didn’t. We turned left, around the front of it and walked past an oval shaped fountain that had been dry so long, even the algae stains were hardened and crumbling. We made it to the front door and it was wide enough to drive a truck through and tall enough to require a ladder to use the knocker, which was probably just for decoration.

  The house was like a palace inside. One grand staircase to the left of the front door led up to a balcony on the second floor that would have, at one time, overlooked the entire front room. Instead, thick, hand-hewn beams crossed what used to be the opening from left to right, a forty foot span, and floors were built on top of that out of plywood to make more rooms. The ceramic tile floor was chipped and cracked in places, but hospital clean.

  We were led into a small room just to the right of the stairs wherein was a table and a few metal folding chairs. It was small only because it too had been modified with 2x4’s and plywood, having just the one door and a three foot space near the ceiling where the sunlight could be let in from the original window on the other side of the plywood. We were all searched before sitting down in the chairs, we on one side of a table and the leader on the other.

  "I'm Bob Jennings but everyone calls me Captain."

  His name hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew this had to be the same Captain Jennings that Mom had told me about. I immediately went from feeling like a guest to a prisoner and the tiny room got even smaller. I thought about giving him a fake name but decided it was best to get everything out in the open. If he was going to kill me, I would rather die knowing I had been courageously honest.

  "Dane. Dane Sampson."

  "I'm Stephanie." She chimed in and the Captain ignored her.

  "Sampson." He said, getting very still and staring a hole through me with his cold, blue eyes. "Might you know a...Charles Sampson?"

  I looked back at Beth who was sitting with her arms crossed, staring a hole of her own into the Captain. I looked back at him and he didn't seem to notice or care.

  "He was my father." When I said that, he didn't even flinch. I think he had prepared himself for it, or something like it.

  "Really? I was in the Navy with your Dad. But I didn't know he had any children." He replied. I could tell he was searching. My heart started thumping, my skin itching.

  "He didn't. Not till...after."

  "Old Chuck." He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "Where is he now? I'd sure like to catch up on old times."

  Now he was lying straight to my face. He had tried to kill my family and now he was trying to find out where they were so he could do it again. I was shaking inside, using everything I had to keep my fingers from balling into fists. There was nothing I could do right now but take it. The two guards behind us, I'm sure would kill me before I could even get close to him.

  "He died a couple of days ago."

  "I am sure sorry to hear it son. He was a good man."

  I couldn't take his patronizing anymore and the words just fell out of me. "The men in that truck out there killed him."

  He stopped talking with his mouth half open. "Did you see what happened to the men?"

  "I killed them back." My voice trembled and to this day I don't even know if it was out of anger or fear. I knew that I was either about to tear his throat out or get gunned down trying. I waited for the worst.

  "Well." He said as he sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and looked down at the floor, then shrugged his shoulders and looked back up at me. "I'm not gonna lie to you. Those were my men out there. I'm not excusing what they did but...times are tough, especially on the outside. Things get...confusing." He was choosing his words very carefully. I'm not even sure why. "People get scared and do things they don't mean too. I'm sure those men were scared out of their mind. And I'm sure you were just as scared and did what you thought you had to do." He was wringing his hands and his face softened a little. "It's a damn tragedy, that's all it is and I am truly sorry for your loss."

  I couldn't understand why he hadn't had us killed yet. I wasn't confused and I don't think they were either. He couldn't have made it this far in life and been stupid enough to think that Mom hadn't told us about what happened back at the house. I thought for a moment, maybe the years had changed him but dismissed it because he had lied about how things went down to begin with. He was putting on a show for someone, but who? I couldn't think of any reason he would do it on our behalf. The only other ones here were his guards and I was sure a man like him wouldn't surround himself with anyone but the most loyal. A lot of people had seen us coming in and surely, not everyone here could be so cold as not to wonder where we went if we were to disappear. That was the explanation I would accept for the time being. The guns weren't enough to keep control over the people. He also had to keep a certain image of temperance, compassion and trustworthiness.

  "When can we get our guns back?” Beth interrupted.

  "Hold on little miss.” He chuckled. “There’s a process that has to be gone through. First of all, you all need a few days to rest, I’m sure. Just to decompress from what you’ve been through out there.
Everybody’s got a job to do here and for the next few days, that’s yours. After that, if you choose to stay, you’ll be given options and those who work the fields don’t carry. That’s the job of the guards and recon teams.”

  "Okay, I want to be on recon.” She retorted.

  He looked at her from under his graying eyebrows, a little frustration showing in his cold blue eyes this time. “Actually, we don’t have women on the recon teams, too dangerous.”

  I could see her opening her mouth to argue in my peripheral vision and quickly interrupted her.

  "Sir, she’s not seen the sun in 14 years. I’m sure she just doesn’t want to feel locked in.”

  "Of course I can understand that. I assure you, you will not be locked in here. You can be outside almost anytime you want. We have a lot of outside work to do here and a lot of freedom too, within reason. The one thing we do not tolerate is a person who has no use that benefits the rest of the population.”

  I wondered what use Stephanie would be to them. I had not found her of any use but I did tolerate her because in my young way, I loved her. Beth, on the other hand, I knew she could do whatever it was they handed her. The only question was, with her strong-headedness, would she?

  "We won’t be of any trouble and we’re ready to work. We’re used to rules and chores.” I had gone into cooperation to the point of brown nosing mode. For the time being, I wanted to assure him that I knew nothing of his history with Dad.

  "Glad to hear it.” He said as he rose from his seat and offered a handshake. I started trying to convince myself that maybe these people weren’t all bad. Those men shot Dad down in cold blood, I was sure of that. But, no reason to let a few bad apples ruin the whole bunch. Shaking his hand was the hardest thing though, made me feel weak and dirty.

  There was something in his eyes when I shook his hand, or in the way he held the handshake just a little too long for comfort, those eyes not breaking their stare even though I felt mine try to do it a few times. It was like he was waiting for me to reveal something. At the time, I chalked this interrogating glare up to him being generally cautious of people he didn’t know.