Life Among The Dead

by Daniel Cotton

  Dan proceeds in along the wall to his left. His eyes scan in vain trying to detect danger before it occurs. All he can see is that shaft of light. It cuts across a long rectangular silhouette that he reasons is a dining table. The intruder’s shoulder brushes a heavy tapestry. He is relieved.

  His back is to the drapery when he pulls it. Pale light floods the space making it seem more real. It is in fact a dining room. ‘Room’ is too small a word for it. Dan would call this a dining hall. The long table looks like it seats twenty. Expensive china and serving ware is stacked haphazardly in random piles on top of the table. The clutter seems unbefitting such a fancy room.

  After a look under the table Dan moves along the far wall where the crack of daylight originated. The drape is pulled back revealing a glass door that opens out onto a garden patio. From inside the house he can see flower boxes and large pots full of greenery. The soldier stands in place taking in details.

  Two doors are on the opposing side from where he is situated. The one on the right is blocked off. An ornate cabinet has been tipped over on its side to bar its use. Dan figures it to be the china cabinet. Whoever moved it had removed the dishes first.

  The drapery that shrouds the room from the garden patio had been pinned back by a hair clip. Somebody wanted it open a crack? Dan lines up where the beam would fall on the parallel wall. It would land on the blocked door.

  “Is it a warning?” Dan asks. The creaking begins to speed up again to a steady rhythm like an old rocking chair. He realizes there is only one way to find out what’s behind the door.

  Apprehensive, Dan rounds the table. He finds other objects are stacked at the head. A black steel lock box has been placed, the key left in the lock. A white envelope that is tinged with red fingerprints and smears lies beside a large caliber handgun.

  Dan pushes open the swinging door on the left, discovering an immaculate kitchen with all the amenities, modern appliances and fixtures. It is the kitchen every home owner dreams of, straight out of a magazine, or one of those ‘Fix-my-house’ shows. At the back corner Dan can see a quaint breakfast nook. The table is covered by canvas bags that look full. He doesn’t leave the dining room to inspect the kitchen. Along the wall to his immediate right is a door. I am so sick of doors, he thinks to himself.

  Dan lets the door swing shut and walks to the overturned hutch. Let’s see what’s behind door number two, shall we? The soldier shoves the abused piece of furniture aside. It squeals as it travels along the hard wood floor, leaving white gouges in its wake. He can’t feel too bad about it considering the circumstance. A piece of paper is taped to the door. It simply reads: Open please.

  He puts his ear to it. The creaking isn’t coming from behind, but a horrible smell is. He doesn’t feel right investigating further until he puts an end to the maddening sound.

  Dan walks to the foyer and the sound slows once again. He looks up towards the high ceiling, but it is shrouded by shadows. He can make out the shape of something dangling. Is that a chandelier?

  A sudden snap and the shape plummets to the stone floor below. Before him a woman lies like a broken doll. His first instinct is to rush to her aide, as she seems to be in pain. The past couple of days have taught him better.

  Her eyes are open, looking around the foyer. They lock on the soldier who just watches her. Dan can see she has no use of her arms. He wonders if she has broken her spine. Her facial movements grow frantic as she tries to move her disabled body. Her head lashes in Dan’s direction, her chin smashes into the hard floor repeatedly. The violent movement has caused the rope around her neck to loosen. A moan is able to escape from her throat.

  Dan puts a bullet into her head and stops her moving. He steps close and flips the body over with the toe of his boot. She is in a tasteful blue dress that reminds him of Donna Reed or June Clever. The blood stains on the fabric ruin the illusion. The sound has been taken care of, leaving Dan with the mystery smell to contend with.

  One hand is on the knob while the other aims his .38 into the widening crack. The smell hits him like a solid object. It is like nothing he has ever smelled before, so awful his eyes involuntarily squeeze shut. He forces them open, though they water as he looks into the room.

  It is a pantry that rivals the bathroom in his apartment in size. Several shelves, stocked full of canned goods and dry products, line the walls. His gag reflex tries to engage, he fights it by clenching his jaw as tight as he can. In the very center of the room stands a playpen.

  The smell becomes irrelevant as Dan drops to his knees to peer through the white mesh that lines the enclosure. He fears the tiny body inside is another zombie baby. The infant looks to be about nine months old to Dan, who admittedly is no judge in such matters. All around the body Dan can see bottles of varying fullness. The tyke holds one of the bottles with both hands and suckles on it.

  Its eyes are shut and the lids are red and puffy, the lashes are heavily crusted. A similar crust runs down the sides of the kid’s face along its chubby cheeks, tears.

  Dan believes the child is alive. To be sure he slowly brings a finger to its neck. He is ready to withdraw it at a moment’s notice like a coiled spring. He gently presses into the tender flesh and feels a faint beat.

  Dan scoops the child up. The small one is shirtless, and its skin feels dry and brittle. The bottle falls to the floor and the kid starts to fuss. Dan offers the bottle again, but the baby doesn’t take it, it just pushes the rubber nipple out of its mouth with its tongue. It seems so weak, it wants to cry, but can’t. The pants that cover the baby’s lower half are soaked through with urine. Dan can see someone had scrawled a few words onto the mattress of the pen: This is Jack.

  “Hi Jack.” Dan says in a soothing voice. He can see a door to the left and figures it opens to the kitchen. He must unlatch it to take the child out of the foul smelling, makeshift nursery.

  Dan rushes to the sink. He wasn’t able to see this corner of the kitchen when he first inspected it from the dining hall. A blue infant bathtub is already set up in the deep basin. On the cabinets above the tub is a note: Warm water, not hot. White means too hot.

  This puzzles Dan as he turns on the faucet and places the tub under the stream of water. A small round decal on the tub’s padded bottom turns white before his eyes.

  “Too hot.” Dan understands the instruction. He adds more cold to the bath water until the sticker turns blue. Dan strips off Jack’s pants while holding the limp child. The diaper releases on its own and falls to the floor with a sloppy wet splat. The soldier gingerly lowers the kid into the water.

  Next to the sink Dan finds a box of pre-soaped baby wash clothes and a bottle of no-tears shampoo. On the other side he spots a bottle of Pedialyte and a clean baby bottle. Jack’s body flops like a rag doll in Dan’s hands as he is lathered up. The stranger washes the child’s backside. He has to scrub a little harder to free the more stubborn clumps. Sufficiently cleaned the baby is taken out of the now dirty water.

  “Now what?” Dan looks around. Further down the counter, on top of a cutting board, Dan sees a couple of towels. They are printed with little rubber ducks and one has been partially laid out. He wraps the child up as fast as he can. Diapers and a container of baby powder sit next to this station. He forgoes this step and heads back to the tub.

  The electrolyte fluid is poured into the bottle. Dan is able to screw the top on one handed. He brings it to Jack’s mouth. The boy’s lips explore the nipple, and he finally takes it. The soldier rocks the boy gently as he sings to him. He kisses his damp head.

  He lets Jack hydrate himself from the bottle while he finishes drying him. Time for the diaper, Dan figures as he lays him down on the ducky towel. A note is on top of a stack of diapers: Tabs go in the back. The powder goes on his butt. A smiley face has been drawn after the word butt.

  “Is that too tight?” Dan asks after following the instructions. The color in the boy’s cheeks is improving and he is opening his eyes. Jack smiles from behind the b
ottle he has almost completely drained.

  Dan has him resting on his hip as he searches around the room. Jack’s eyes focus on random objects from pots and pans, to his bathtub, to Dan’s face. The soldier walks over to the breakfast nook, he bounces the whole way because the boy seems to like it.

  There is a highchair in the corner. On its tray sits a spoon and a jar of baby food. A bib is folded neatly with a note on it: Feed until satisfied, and then probably back to the tub. The bags on the table are filled with baby supplies.

  Dan wants to inspect the items left on the dining room table. He drags the highchair behind them as they leave the kitchen. The legs of the chair bounce due to the friction of its rubber feet. Jack curiously looks at the bouncing chair with amusement. He cranes his neck around Dan’s shoulder to watch the show.

  The highchair is positioned facing one of the dining room seats. Dan sits down and starts to put Jack behind the tray. It takes him a few attempts before he figures out he had to remove the tray first and manipulate the kid’s legs correctly through the straps.

  The lock box contains documents; Jack’s birth certificate, social security card, and his immunization record. The deed to the house is on the bottom as is the titles to both of the cars out front. Dan picks up the blood-tinged envelope. It isn’t sealed. He removes the single sheet of paper that is enclosed and starts to read as he spoons mashed carrots into Jack’s mouth.

  #

  November 28

  To whom it may concern,

  You might be thinking that I am the worse mom ever. You are not alone. I hate myself for what I had to do. I hate myself for what I couldn’t do. I will explain.

  My husband built this house. Ryan was a brilliant architect. He built many of the properties around the area that we rented out. As soon as he heard the news about what was going on, he went out to try and help our neighbors. We have always had so much and liked to give back and help those in need. He was planning on bringing as many people as he could home with him where they would be safe. All he managed to bring back was a bite on his hand.

  We tried to treat the wound the best we could, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding. The news talked about the dead coming back. It said anyone bitten would turn into one of them. The man I loved would soon become a monster, and try to eat our son and I. He forced me to shoot him. Afterwards, I dragged him into the basement.

  I could have sworn he was gone, but soon I heard moaning. I didn’t know if he was still alive and in pain, or if that was what they sounded like. I had to go down and finish the job. Needless to say he bit me before I could follow through with it. Don’t worry he is gone now. A half an hour later the news reporter said ‘you must shoot them in the head.’

  I had one thought at that point. What about Jack? I was all he had left, and I would soon be a zombie. I would try to eat my beautiful son. I was torn between euthanizing him and doing what I did. Jack is behind the door blocked by the cabinet if you haven’t found him already.

  I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. So I ran around and prepared everything for the savior who may never come. I didn’t know how long it would take for a rescuer to come calling so I prepared several bottles. I used the time I had left to freeze them. Jack and I played as the bottles froze. I played with my son for the very last time.

  He is always so happy. We laughed and made faces at each other while my insides burned. It felt like my nerves were on fire. The pain was unbearable as I tickled him and played peek-a-boo. He finally fell asleep, all tuckered out from our romp. I was feeling very sleepy myself.

  I put his bottles in with him and locked him away after one last kiss goodnight. I double checked everything for you one last time to ensure my boy would have a chance.

  Please God let somebody come for Jack.

  Cecelia

  P.S. I put the gun in my mouth but couldn’t pull the trigger. I saw what it did to Ryan’s head. I can’t do it. I know it seems stupid considering

  Oh God Jack is awake and crying. I can’t

  Forgive me if I hurt anyone.

  14

  “Wow!” Dan says putting the tear stained letter back into its envelope. A picture of Jack was in with Cecelia’s suicide note. The photo is crumpled around the edges. Dan can picture the woman who now lays in the foyer clutching it as she cried as she wrote out her confession. He imagines her running around and setting up everything for her hypothetical hero.

  “Your mom was an amazing woman. She was much too hard on herself. Jack? Is it?” Dan extends his hand to the boy who seizes it with both of his, covering the soldier with smears of carrot. The boy’s face is covered with the orange mash that oddly smells like tomato soup. Dan doesn’t mind the mess after all he has been through.

  “My name is Dan. Uncle Dan. You and I are going on a little trip.” The boy just rubs his eyes spreading the vegetable paste further up his cheeks and staining his fine eyebrows. Dan laughs seeing what Jack’s mom meant by ‘back in the tub’.

  “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He lifts the messy tot out of the chair and brings him back into the kitchen.

  Dan has to empty the plastic tub with one hand while holding Jack in the other. The water is filthy and he needs to refill it with clean.

  “I have a boy.” Dan talks as he washes the child. “He isn’t that much younger than you. I haven’t seen too much of him since he was born, but I think you’ll like him.”

  Dan dries Jack and gets a fresh diaper ready.

  “We aren’t that far away from my uncle’s ranch. You’re going to love it there. I always did as a kid.” The baby’s eyes are getting droopy and his head bobs. The sudden falling forward of his head causes him to wake up for a few seconds before falling again. Jack drifts off to sleep in his savior’s arms. Dan puts the kid down to rest in his playpen, after laying a dry towel over the soiled mattress.

  “Leaving me with all the work?” Dan asks the sleeping infant sarcastically. He wants to gather and load up the supplies. The soldier scoops the canvas bags off of the breakfast table taking three handles in each hand. The bags are heavy and full to the top with blankets and diapers. One contains small jars of food that clink together as they are shifted. Another has cans of formula and empty baby bottles.

  He heads out to the driveway where he debates which vehicle to pilfer. He chooses the SUV over the sedan for its storage space and because he has always wanted one. Each vehicle is already equipped with a car seat and it looks like Cecelia had inserted the keys into the ignitions and left them unlocked. She thought of everything, Dan applauds the dead woman’s forethought.

  Back in the dining room Dan inspects his new gun. It’s a silver .44 caliber revolver. He opens it and finds that 5 of the 6 bullets are spent. Ryan must have fired 3 shots when he was out trying to help people, Dan figures since Cecelia had shot him twice.

  Dan feels such a high caliber is too much gun for zombies. It’s over kill. You’re better off with a good rate of fire. A bullet in the head is a bullet in the head.

  “This would be better for werewolves.” He shivers. “I hope there aren’t such things as werewolves now.”

  Cecelia’s letter is placed into the lock box and he carries it to the foyer, passing the woman’s body that lays crumpled on the stone floor. Dan has a thought. This is Jack’s house, his birthright. He can reclaim it one day when he’s older. I can’t leave it like this.

  Dan drops the items off at the car and ventures into the backyard taking the scenic route around the side. He walks through the garden patio and is awed by the expanse of real estate. The backyard is huge. The grass is perfectly manicured like a golf course. The soldier takes in the lavish foliage and flowers that line the decks and porches and the gazebo. Stone fountains and birdbaths are tastefully placed and yet there is still enough room for a game of touch football. All the way in the back Dan spots a little white shed.

  “Even their shed is gorgeous.” Dan says when he reaches the small building. The giant estate is completel
y enclosed by the high foreboding wall. A shovel in hand he returns to the front of the house.

  He had thought of burying them in the back by the flowers, but opts for convenience since he has to move the bodies after all. Dan doesn’t need to go too deep; he just has to make sure it is wide enough for two.

  He is grateful that the air is so cold once he gets going. The physical work is making him sweat. It takes him about a half an hour of toiling before he can triumphantly stab the shovel into the mound of dirt he had removed from the earth.

  Thirsty and wanting to check on Jack he walks into the kitchen. His boots drop clumps of dirt onto the floor along the way. The kid is peacefully asleep.

  Dan opens the fridge and takes out a six-pack of beer. It’s a brand far out of his price range. He opens one and sips it as he walks back through the dining room. The rest of the beers are placed on the table.

  His first swig invokes an involuntary sigh. This stuff is well worth the larger price tag, he thinks as he climbs the stairs heading up to the second floor.

  Five bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, and that doesn’t include the nursery. He enters Jack’s room. All the furniture is tiny. The soldier can see the dresser drawers are partially open and empty. She must have grabbed all his clothes for me already, he deduces. A photo album rests on top of the dresser. Dan takes it. Jack will like this when he’s older.

  The book has pictures of his loving parents and pictures of Jack at different stages of development. It celebrates different milestones like when the boy first sat up on his own, and when his first tooth erupted.

  Dan pulls two blankets off of a bed in one of the other rooms on his way back down to the front door. He wraps Cecelia like a cocoon and carries her out to the hole. She isn’t heavy at all, Dan figures maybe 120 pounds. He lays her gently into the hole. After he releases her, an involuntary shiver runs through him. He still finds it unnerving to touch a dead body.