Life Among The Dead

by Daniel Cotton

  “And, as I remember, I told you it wasn’t mine. Some kid must’ve left it in here. You sure ask a lot of questions. Do you have any more?”

  “Can I see your locket?”

  “The fucking kid musta left that too.” He fishes the plastic bauble out of his pocket and hands it to her. She opens the charm with her thumbnail and makes that aw sound that all women tend to make when opening such trinkets.

  “The young ones are Vincent and Jack. The woman is Heather my… What is my nephew’s wife to me?”

  “Your nephew’s wife." Rash replies.

  “Heather, my nephew’s wife. And, for some reason she settled for my nephew Dan.” Up ahead Bruce sees a sign for the turn to Fort Breyers. “It’s Breyers, right?”

  “Yup.” She keeps looking at the happy family. “That rifle that belongs to your nephew is military issue. He’s a deserter?”

  “Look here,” Bruce takes the locket from her and closes it with a snap. “He did what he had to do to get his wife and kid out of a bad spot; he got a lot of people out of a bad spot. Have you ever been to Waterloo? It wasn’t the safest place to be even before the dead started running amok. He may have more balls than brains at times, but he’s a damned hero in my book. There wouldn’t be a New Castle without him.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by that.” Rash says apologetically. “I’ve been wanting to leave the regiment for months now myself.”

  “Sorry for my outburst. I thought you were bad mouthing him. No one badmouths a Williamson, but a Williamson.”

  The road to the fort is bumpy and dusty. They bounce along in silence until Bruce thinks of something to ask his passenger.

  “So this whole plague thing. What started it?” He asks.

  “I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “Nobody does. They tried to find the root of it all through experiments and testing on the dead, and came up with nothing.”

  “Is it just the Midwest, or has it spread further?”

  “It’s coast to coast. We don’t know where it started either. We had contact with other bases via radio, one by one they disappeared. We know Canada and Mexico are gone as well. Rumor has it all of North and South America are one big lost cause.”

  “What about across the pond?” Bruce asks.

  “Some say it’s isolated to the west. Others say the zombies have overrun the entire world. It’s all conjecture though. I imagine the top brass might know, but who knows if they’re still around.”

  “Even if the world is lost, my kingdom will stand strong.” Bruce is nodding his head. “We’ll take it back, inch by inch like ants building an ant hill. I bet my little brother, Wallace, has a settlement out East in Vermelho. Probably not as nice as mine, but quaint just the same.”

  Rash lays her head on her window and listens to the man talk with her eyes closed.

  “We’ll connect our realms straight across America. Just wall up all this unused land and put it to good use.” He looks out his windows into the dusk at the empty fields that surround them. He points out his vision for the future of society. “I’ll put a casino there. Some strips clubs along there. I can see adult bookstores sprinkled throughout along with a bordello, or two. We can put a playground right there for the kids. You know, I’d like to keep it a family place.”

  Troubled thoughts erase the slight smile Rash wears. “Do you know what I think it is?” She asks in a voice that is low and sad.

  “Preservatives?”

  “It’s Mother Nature telling us all to fuck off. She’s telling us our time on this planet is over; we’ve over stayed our welcome. You can’t really blame her, just look at us. Look at what we did to one another before the plague. Even after the most catastrophic event in our history, we’re still nasty creatures, no better than the zombies themselves.”

  Bruce runs her theory through his head. It blows his out of the water. He lets her words sink in before casting them out, not wanting to think too deeply about it.

  “Do you like Queen?” He asks while slipping a CD into the player. “I don’t care how gay they were. Queen is the best rock band ever.”

  #

  Bruce keeps his music low so the girl can drift off to sleep. The sky is dark and all that is left of the world is what his headlights illuminate, an old chattered road of compacted dirt.

  Eventually, his lights show him the gates to a military base. They have arrived at Breyers. He hadn’t seen the place until he was right up to it. There are no lights evident anywhere beyond the walls. He takes that as a bad sign.

  Bruce is tired. He figures whatever the status of the place, it will be the same in the morning. He reverses his truck a few yards before killing the lights and the engine.

  Rash wakes up and tells him that she is hungry. The old man roasts the bodies of his pigeons on an open flame. The night is quiet beneath the crackle of the gasoline accelerated barbecue pit he dug.

  Rash drifts back to sleep. Bruce will follow soon. He pulls out his journal and a small flashlight. He has been given a lot to write about today.

  #

  Log entry 2

  I now know how we can advertise New Castle. I have a slogan that will really bring the tourists in. New Castle: We won’t eat you.

  I found a small town today that had the opposite business strategy. A little place called Sinclair. Don’t bother to come out and see it. I actually closed the place to tourists. By now all the fine old cannibals of Sinclair should be zombies. I realize there is only a subtle distinction, but I like my cannibals the way Mother Nature intended. Dead.

  Maybe I’m just getting old, does anyone else find it a might soon for people to leap to the unthinkable? They were about to munch on this adorable soldier girl named Rash. I know. Don’t worry it’s just a nickname. I can’t say I blame them. I have the urge to munch on her myself. Of course that’s in a good wholesome way.

  She’s joining me on my adventure and then back home. I have put a lot of thought into taking a queen. I may let Rash apply for the position, if she survives the strenuous audition process.

  We just had a romantic squab dinner, perfectly seared. Now we’re sleeping together. Yeah, I know it’s a little soon for that being only our first date. What can I say? I’m irresistible.

  My new girlfriend and I had talked about the plague. As I suspected the military has no clue what’s going on. She says it’s coast to coast and may stretch from Alaska all the way to… Whatever the southernmost country is. Whether it’s a complete international incident or not is anybody’s guess.

  She has a theory that it’s some form of natural selection. I hate to say it, but she may be right. I read somewhere that if all the honeybees died the human race would follow in about four years’ time. The same can be said for every species except for one. Us.

  Humans are the only animal that can be lifted out of the ecosystem and actually make the planet better. It’s a sad fact, and honestly one I choose to ignore.

  Fuck Mother Nature. That bitch can suck it. We won’t go out like that, a bunch of honeybees. New Castle will spread out like a cancer to take it all back. It’ll take time, but I can see the Earth returning to its former glory of Cadillacs, porno, and the American way.

  10

  The sun’s rays shine down in the early morning. They gently enter the Road Master to greet its occupants and start them on their day.

  “It’s fucking morning already?” Bruce yawns. His bunkmate is awake and just stares out through the windshield, looking at the gate. Her hands are laid on the dash. Bruce realizes that it’s been a long time since he has awoken next to a beautiful woman. He can get used to this. “What do you see out there?”

  “Death.” She states simply. She had wanted to find this place a lost cause before they had found Sinclair. Last night, however, out of her love for Zee, she wished to find a thriving base. She wonders if the cannibals knew the fort was overrun. Why else would they decide to eat us instead of being saved?

  Bruce can see undead soldiers wanderin
g behind the gates. They limp aimlessly, trapped within the walls. Rash leaps out and is running towards the gate screaming.

  “Why do the cute ones always have issues?” Bruce asks himself as he follows her. He stops to grab a rifle from behind the seat. She hadn’t taken one, and he isn’t about to let her go uncovered.

  Rash strips off her camouflage blouse and hurls it at the gate. Bruce can’t make out her unintelligible screams. She falls to the dirt crying. Her head is down and her shoulders are hunched in her white tank top.

  Come on, Bruce say something, the old man thinks of the right thing. He isn’t good at all with this sort of thing.

  “Aren’t those pants military issue?” Bruce ‘more balls than brains’ Williamson says. He walks towards her, hoping he can console her in some way. The distraught soldier stands up before he reaches her. The morning air is chilly and he can’t help but notice she didn’t have anything on under her wife beater. Her nipples poke through the thin, white fabric as she walks past him back to the truck.

  “You might want the shirt if it gets cold.” He calls to her. She doesn’t answer him and just climbs aboard the black pickup. The dead behind the bars are staring out. Their faces are pressed against the steel, reaching for the humans. Rash’s shirt is at their feet and Bruce isn’t about to get it.

  “Are you looking at my girl?” He asks the corpses. “Show some respect.”

  Bruce takes his seat behind the wheel and starts the truck without a word. He places his hand on the back of Rash’s headrest so he can twist around to back up. He turns the Road master around and drives away from the Army of the damned that watches them leave. They return to the main road, once again head east resuming their journey.

  “So,” Bruce says. “Zee was a real hard charger?”

  “The hardest. He lived to serve his country, he died because some assholes wanted to eat him. Assholes he wanted to help.”

  “It’s pretty fucked up.”

  “How far is New Hampshire?” Not wanting to dwell too long, Rash changes the subject. Zee would have said ‘it’s what I signed up for.’

  “At the pace we’re traveling we should be there by tomorrow.”

  11

  They fly past towns without stopping. No other travelers are on the roads. The outlook for humanity is getting bleaker and bleaker the further they go. Aside from the two road trippers and Bruce’s kingdom, there may not be anybody left in the world now that Sinclair has been wiped out.

  They stop only to fuel the truck’s thirsty tank. Most of the hours are filled with lively conversation, the rest with silence. The country is a blur. There is no longer any time for sightseeing. They just want to get to Vermelho, and hurry home.

  “Tell me again about New Castle.” Rash occasionally asks. It seems the old man can’t stop talking about it. She wants to see how many times he will take her bait. So far she has been able to get him started every time, and each time he says something completely different.

  “It’s great! You are going to love it.” His new description starts. “The people are wonderful for the most part. There are always a few bad apples. We only have the one, Mrs. McCleary. Steer clear of her; she’s a crazy old biddy.

  “We have electricity. We get it from Parson’s Dam. I was a principal investor in the dam actually. That’s where I got all my money. They told us we were stupid for putting it up where such harsh winters occur, but we proved them wrong. It’s been delivering clean reliable energy for over thirty years. It will continue to run indefinitely for years to come, even without human involvement.”

  “Any cute guys?” Rash asks.

  “Apart from me? None what so ever.”

  “I think I should go back to Sinclair. At least there they know how to eat a girl.” Rash laughs when Bruce turns his head fast to look at her with an exaggerated expression of shock.

  “Potty mouth. I’ll have you know I am an expert at…” Bruce is interrupted by a sudden sprinkle of rain. It is nearing dusk, the overcast sky is darkening quickly with black clouds. Droplets of rain start to speckle the windshield. It is slow to start, but soon the wipers can’t keep up.

  “April showers.” Rash says.

  “Usually, I love the rain. Not today.” Bruce is trying to get a clear view of the road. He has to chase the brief spots of clarity that the wipers leave as they squeak across the glass.

  “Why do you love rain?”

  “Because it depresses everyone else. I get a kick out of all those cheery fucks being brought down to my level.”

  “Grouch.”

  The truck’s giant tires cut through the accumulating puddles. Bruce has slowed their progress to a crawl. The rain is coming in through the makeshift sunroof Dan had insisted upon.

  “Great idea, Nephew.” Bruce says, trying to stay out from under the dripping ceiling.

  “We should probably stop.” Rash suggests.

  “No, I think it’ll let up.” Bruce says. He is pressed up against his door to avoid the rain inside the cab.

  “But, you can’t see.”

  “I can see enough. We’re getting close.”

  “You’re too far over on this side.” Rash tells the driver. She stuck her head out of her window to see.

  “Sorry.” Bruce says. “Maybe we should stop for a bit.”

  The truck comes to a halt and Bruce turns off the engine. They sit and listen to the fat raindrops that pelt the roof. An old shirt is stuffed into the unevenly cut sunroof.

  “Too bad we don’t have caulk.” Rash says looking at the rapidly saturating cloth over their heads.

  “I have plenty… Oh, you said caulk.” They both laugh. “I believe I was about to tell you about my prowess in eating…”

  The truck jolts.

  “What was that?” Rash asks in a panicked voice.

  “We had to stop!” Bruce says as he turns the key to start the Road Master again.

  “I meant back there, not on the shoulder.”

  The truck jolts again and is starting to tilt towards Rash’s side. They can feel a new sensation of movement. They are sliding sideways downhill. The earth below the tires has softened; the vehicle’s own weight causes a mudslide. They cling to the sides of the interior trying to be as still as possible, as if their stillness will influence the truck’s descent. It’s just wishful thinking.

  As the Road Master picks up momentum it starts to turn making doughnuts all the way down. The helpless passengers inside are pressed against their doors like a teacup ride gone horribly wrong.

  Everything is suddenly still. They have stopped abruptly and feel relieved since they expected to crash into something. The rain continues its deluge and they cannot see the world outside.

  Rash and Bruce bicker about whose fault it is, Rash for wanting to stop, or Bruce for not stopping sooner. They sit at an angle; the driver’s side is slightly elevated.

  “Will we be able to get out of here?” Rash asks.

  “Yeah, of course.” Bruce replies though he isn’t entirely sure. The angle at which they sit is slowly becoming more pronounced. He is well above Rash now. They are sinking. Bruce doesn’t want to tell his passenger about his observation. He doesn’t want to scare her.

  “Are we sinking?” She asks.

  “Looks that way.” She’s too smart, Bruce thinks. “New England mud season; all the snow from the winter melted, collected in this ravine. That downpour must’ve loosened it like quicksand. I’ll get out and hook my winch to a tree or something. It’ll be easier to get out while the stuff is soft.”

  “Do you need help?” Rash offers.

  “No, you stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  Bruce opens his door and can barely breathe with all the rain falling on his face. It feels like drowning. He drops himself to the soft ground and starts to wade towards the front. The mud is up to his ankles and the Earth threatens to remove his boots. Every step sucks him deeper.

  “Ok, Mother Nature, when I wrote that you can suck it, this isn’t wh
at I had in mind.” He says to the spirit of nature. “You just can’t let good people be, can you? With your tornadoes and floods. Your earthquakes, and zombies. Your goddamned mud season. Well, I’ll tell you something, you vindictive cunt. Bruce Williamson won’t go down without a fight.”

  He pulls at the winch removing slack from the spool of steel cord. His feet sink deeper and deeper into the mud, the more he fights against it the further he descends into the black slime.

  The muck is up to his waist as he pushes through it and away from his truck. Every step he takes makes the next one that much harder. By the time he is able to hook the line around a tree he is up to his armpits. Mother Nature is going to win. He is unable to walk back to the Road Master and he is growing shorter by the second.

  “Rash!” He calls out fruitlessly. He doubts she can hear him over the pelting rain. After his one yell for help, he can yell no more. The thick mud has reached his mouth.

  #

  Rash is on pins and needles as she waits inside the lopsided truck. She keeps expecting him to enter and say it’s all going to be OK, or feel the truck start to pull itself out of its entrapment. None of this happens.

  The rain stops as suddenly as it had started and the setting sun once again shines down. Rash can see they are in a grove of trees. Her side of the truck is completely enveloped in the mire. She rushes out through Bruce’s door and falls to the squishy ground. Bruce is nowhere to be seen.

  “Bruce?” She calls out for him as she wades towards the front fender. She can see the steel cable lying along the ground, submerged in sections like a lake monster. The golden sunset shines down on the surface of the moist Earth. Patches of the glare dull as gravity pulls the rain deeper. Rash traces the tow line, her eyes catch sight of something stuck to the cable.

  The soldier rushes to the lump in the ground, sinking in to her knees. Her hands are in frenzy to clear the thickening clay from around what turns out to be a hand.