by T. W. Brown
Dammit. I set the brake and opened my door, nodding to Randi that it was okay to let the tiny girl go. She dashed to me and I turned, catching her hands and swinging her up into my lap. She was actually trembling, and her speech had reverted to Spanish at a pace that I couldn’t make out so much as one syllable. I held her close, stroking her hair and making gentle “shushing” noises in an attempt to get her to relax.
I looked up, realizing that everybody had crowded around in a semi-circle. I felt a teensy bit self-conscious. And I took a moment to scan the faces. What I saw was a mixture of everything from attempted detachment…Aaron; loss and longing…Barry and Randi; loneliness…Emily…dammit, dammit, dammit; to what could only be some sort of protectiveness…Teresa.
“C’mere, Emily,” I whispered, but loud enough to be heard over the idling truck engine.
The girl glanced uncertainly at the others, then dashed over to my outstretched arm. She was so petite it was with no effort that I brought her up as well. I made soothing reassurances that I would be right back.
“Promise?” Emily’s face came up and her eyes seemed to drill into my soul. I noticed everybody’s eyes widen in anticipation as to how I would answer.
“Well…I can’t actually say I promise to that, Emily,” I finally answered slowly. “But I can promise that I won’t do anything dangerous beyond getting rid of this truck.”
“But why do you have to take the truck?” Thalia joined in the discussion now. Great.
“Because,” I kissed both their foreheads, “if I take it away, those monsters are stupid. When the truck rolls down the hill, they’ll just think that’s the direction to go.” Both girls nodded, seeming to accept my answer.
“Plus,” Aaron said as he climbed in the passenger side of the cab, “I’m going with.”
I handed the two girls down and pulled my door shut. I waved as I began inching forward. The group began to dissolve, everybody turning to the task of putting our newly acquired supplies away.
“I love you, Papi!” a tiny voice called.
“I love you, too!” I called back. After a brief pause, I added, “That goes for you as well, Emily!”
We rode in silence, back through the canopy of interwoven pine branches. We reached the road, but still saw no sign of the zombies that’d been following us. I turned left, deciding that the sooner I changed their course, the less likely any would end up finding us.
“Hold up!” Aaron grabbed my arm.
“What?” There was still no sign of any zombies, but we were coming up on another bend in the road.
“Down below,” Aaron rolled down his window.
I stopped the truck, rising up in my seat to try and get a look but couldn’t really see much past the open air. The embankment was steep, falling off sharply only a few feet past the edge of the narrow road. “I can’t see a thing,” I said, giving up and sitting. “Shit.”
“What?” Aaron turned back and discovered what had prompted my expletive.
The leading edge of the zombie mob was rounding the corner less than twenty feet away. I shifted into reverse, getting some distance. I reached the previous bend we’d rounded.
“Get out!” I said. “Make for the brush and head up the hill. I’ll be right on your heels.”
Aaron jumped out and I brought the truck back, aiming the nose for the edge of the embankment, hoping the truck would roll all the way down to the road below and make enough noise to draw he mob with it. I tapped the gas and jumped out my open door. As quickly as possible I scrambled back, skirting the rear bumper. I dove into the thick brush and moved up the hill. I caught up with Aaron and selected a tree close by to hide behind. The crashing sound of the truck seemed insanely loud. We were up enough that we could see part of the highway below.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed.
“Yep,” Aaron agreed.
The largest mob I’d ever seen was moving along the highway. There were hundreds…thousands. And now, they were all looking up. Up at the truck I assumed was rolling their way. Some had already changed course and were veering up the hill. About that time, I saw the leading edge of the mob that had been pursuing us.
“C’mon,” I whispered, “take the bait.”
Slowly, they began to turn. At first I thought they might hesitate, balk at the steepness of the slope leading down. Then, the first one took a step and tumbled from view. A moment later, it was like a zombie waterfall. The stream was changing course!
After an hour, Aaron and I began to trek back to what I hoped could be our home for a while. Just before sunset we emerged into the clearing at the base of the gentle slope where the caretaker’s building sat.
A pair of little girls squealed in delight and came running at us down the hill. I glanced over to see the beginnings of a smile curl Aaron’s lips.
10
Vignettes X
Peter heard the door open. He tensed up automatically, ready for the next beating he was certain was about to come. The hood was yanked from his head and he had to squeeze his eyes against the harsh glare of the sun pouring through the windows. He had no idea how long he’d been in this room tied to the chair, but it’d been a while.
Two dark shadows moved across his field of vision, limited as it was, and a third came up to stand over him. A rough hand grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks like the grandma-from-hell.
“So,” a deep voice full of amusement came from the still indiscernible shadow, “what exactly do you think you were doing around our place in a military vehicle?”
“Well…” Peter’s voice was raspy, and his tongue was swollen and kept getting in the way.
“You ain’t military,” the voice answered for him. “But in going through your things, I think you might be just a bit better than a soldier.”
“Huh?” Peter was hungry, thirsty, sick of sitting in his own filth, and now he could add confused to the list.
“Answer me one question,” the voice said. Peter could just begin to make out a face, not exactly black, but a darker mulatto, with a well-trimmed beard that held a fine, thin line along the jaw, the head was shaved clean. “You a doctor?”
“Umm…yeah,” Peter managed.
“Paris,” the man said, “get me some water for our guest.”
“You got it, Shaw,” the shadow closest to the door—obviously named Paris—answered, and ducked through.
“Now,” Shaw stood up, one hand toying with the grip of the pistol on his hip, “your next answer is even more important.”
Peter’s vision finally acclimated, allowing him to get a better look at his surroundings. The room was small and had the feel of a workshop. There were empty shelves and a peg-board. The window providing all the light was facing directly east and was at least a couple stories up. The other man in the room besides Shaw had a shotgun on one hip. Both men were rather large, easily a couple hundred pounds each and over the six-foot mark in height.
“We need a proper doctor.” Shaw bent down and drew a large blade that he slipped between flesh and the leather thong binding him in place. With a flick of the wrist he cut it, freeing Peter’s left hand. The blood returned in a surge causing the fingers to burn and tingle.
“And if I agree,” Peter flexed his free hand a few times, “I get to live. That it?”
“You want to bargain?” Shaw laughed. “That is a good amount of sack you’re showin’, Doc.”
“Well,” Peter knew full well his situation, “as I see it, doctors are sorta rare. That should have at least a little value.”
“Whatcha got on yer mind, Doc?”
“I’m gonna guess you don’t have anything beyond basic medical supplies. So first thing is I’ll give you a list of essentials.” Peter glanced at his right hand still secured to the chair, then back up at Shaw.
The larger man laughed and cut the bindings to Peter’s right hand. “That all, Doc?” Shaw asked, stepping back.
“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged, rubbing both hands together, “I w
ant my stuff back, but I imagine you won’t just toss me back my weapons.”
“Prob’ly not today.” Shaw handed the large knife to Peter handle first. “But I imagine you’ll get at least some of it once we get to know ya better.”
“That seems fair.” Peter leaned down and cut his legs free, then handed the knife back.
“Keep it.” Shaw shook his head. “You might be able to stick somebody if you got frisky, but you don’t seem like the stupid type. You’re smart enough to know that there knife won’t do you a lick of good against all the guns we got.”
“Gotcha some water, Doc,” Paris announced as he entered the room holding a couple of bottles.
“Thanks.” Peter took both, twisting the top and polishing off the entire thing.
“Name’s Shaw, Jonathan Shaw.” The big man extended a hand. “Everybody just calls me Shaw. The waterboy there is Paris.” The tall man with the seventies style afro, dark skin, and big smile nodded. “The big hick with the shotgun is TJ.” Peter nodded at the tall, grim-faced man that looked like Opie Taylor on steroids leaning against the wall.
“Peter King.” He took Shaw’s outstretched hand and did his best not to wince at the firm vice-like grip the other man demonstrated.
“Welcome to The Basket, Dr. King,” Shaw smiled.
Dr. King, Peter thought, I like the sound of that.
Garrett slipped over the waist-high wooden fence and into the yard of the large house. He’d had no luck finding anything of value in the first half-dozen houses. Perhaps it would’ve been wise to bring his Toy. He knew that it was too late for that now, and it would just be a waste of time since he’d already gone this far.
He did have to grudgingly admit that that tiny creature had shown some ingenuity. On two occasions he’d gone into houses to discover the undead occupants locked inside rooms. And in a few cases, they’d been taken down and killed. He wasn’t sure if it was at the hands of his little Toy, or at the hands of the man she’d been living with prior to him. The one who’d supposedly taught her how to get the monsters’ attention at the front gate before slipping over the wall for supplies. And it didn’t actually matter. What mattered this very moment was that he find food. And when he got back, he’d make The Toy earn every bite of every meal.
Trotting along the side of the big, expensive looking house, Garrett noticed it was all closed up. Glancing at some of the windows, he realized that they were boarded up from the inside. Perhaps there were others inside. Could he find something even better than food? The possibility made his pulse quicken and certain parts of him stir.
Rounding the corner, he climbed a small set of stairs that led to a covered back porch. There was a black square of plastic at the bottom of the door, a pet entrance. Garrett pushed it with his big toe, but something solid was blocking it from the other side. He tried the door, not surprised to discover it locked.
Bracing his shoulder against the door, Garrett pushed, testing the sturdiness of the frame. It was strong, but not impossible. The only problem was that, by breaking it in, he would lose any chance of surprise. He’d have to be ready to kill immediately. Having recently found a sturdy bladed machete in one of the groundkeepers’ sheds, he was actually anxious to use it.
One good thrust with his shoulder opened the door. Garrett laughed just a little at the illusion of security these rich people had lived behind. He peeked inside and discovered a kitchen. It was pristinely clean. Not simply tidy, no, this kitchen had been scrubbed and polished. Even with a light coating of dust, there remained a chemical smell, like bleach and something else.
Stepping in, Garrett pulled the kitchen door closed behind himself. There were three closed doors and an open arch-way. It was gloomy and dark because of all the windows having been boarded up. Garrett listened carefully for sounds of any movement.
Nothing.
He walked through the arch into an enormous dining room. A long table with high-backed chairs was decked with immaculately placed settings and a long-dead floral centerpiece that had blackened flowers of all sorts sprawled around the dry, muck-coated crystal vase. Garrett could barely see into the next room due to the imposed darkness. He walked over to the hastily nailed up sheet of plywood and tugged. It took a couple of pulls, but eventually he tore it free with only a modest amount of screeching as the nails ripped from where they’d been pounded into the wall and sill.
Sunlight poured in, chasing darkness away, or at least into small shadowy pools in the corners. Garrett walked back into the expansive kitchen and began opening cupboards and drawers. All he found were useless china settings and indescribable utensils. He considered the three closed doors and decided on the one beside the largest refrigerator he’d ever seen in his life.
The doorknob turned and revealed a walk-in pantry. It was a jackpot on his first try! He scanned the shelves, mouth already watering at some of the possibilities. His eyes stopped on a can of pears. What would his Toy do for such a luxury? He moved to the second door and opened it. Nothing but cleaning supplies. Garrett approached the third door and noticed the hint of the sickly sweet smell of death mixed with the sharp stench of shit. Cocking back his weapon, Garrett yanked open the door and leaped back in anticipation of the monster that would come stumbling back. Instead, in the inky darkness of what had been a giant linen closet, a boy hung from the sturdy piping that ran in a neat, parallel manner across the ceiling. Garrett scowled and shut the door.
He decided to give the house a walkthrough to see if there might be anything else worth taking. He was already certain that he would need to make a couple of trips just to empty out the pantry. He crept deeper into the interior, noticing once again that smell of death drifting down a large staircase that led to the well-lit-by-the-sun upper level.
Halfway up, Garrett paused. There it was again, a squeak of a loose floorboard. Something upstairs was moving. It had to be one of them. Well, now he’d get to use his newly acquired weapon.
Heedless of the noise he made, Garrett hurried up the rest of the stairs. There was a large, open room with long couches arranged facing in to a wall-mounted flat-screen television that was the size of the living room window of his mom’s house. There were two hallways leading off from this room. There were several windows up here, most with the curtains open wide to allow in torrents of sunlight.
Garrett walked to one that looked out front. He was less than pleased to notice that a few of those filthy creatures had followed him and were staggering up the long driveway or simply standing at the fence, apparently too stupid to walk along it to the open driveway entrance.
Squeak.
Garrett spun, the silence making it difficult to tell just how far away he was from the source of the sound. However, he only had to stand there for a moment before it came again. It was behind a door along the wall to his left. Creeping slowly, Garrett approached the door. The smell grew stronger, quickly confirming that there was indeed death on the other side of that door.
Breathing through his mouth, Garrett took in one more deep inhale. He closed his hand on the knob, turning it as slowly as possible to minimize his noise. Carefully and slowly he opened the door. The wave of stench rolled out in an almost tangible, physical sheet that coated him with its vile nastiness. For the first time in a while, Garrett gagged.
His eyes blinked at the slight stinging sensation. He wanted to pretend what he was seeing didn’t bother him, but the still human part of him cringed nonetheless. The squeak sounded again. It hadn’t been a loose floorboard after all.
Kirsten winced for probably the hundredth time. The blue-grey hand swiped at her, missing by a handful of inches, but seemed to be only a fraction of a millimeter. She tried to be careful, but a few times she’d jerked enough to cause the line around her throat to tighten.
Glancing up, she noticed that the sun was clearing the houses and trees now, bringing its full power to bear on her skin. Well, she thought, at least it will dry the rivulets
of slobber running down my front.
Her eyes scanned the growing crowd on the other side of the gated entrance. It had at least doubled in size since she’d been tied to the wooden post. There’d been some concern on her part that so many of those things pressing towards her would somehow enable them to eventually reach her. That fear had subsided eventually, but she still couldn’t help the wincing when one of those thing’s hands would swing through the air wildly, fingers extended fully instead of clawed or curled like they were already grasping her. That’s when the hands seemed so close that she could not will herself to keep from reacting.
She tried closing her eyes a few times. That had only made it worse. The sudden breeze from one of those swiping hands was made far worse by not being able to see. So, she was, in a matter of speaking, stuck.
Her eyes drifted down towards the ground, drawn by a sudden movement and that horrid sound that was almost like a hungry baby crying for its mommy. A face pressed against the bars, its eyes milky and shot with the tell-tale black of death, its mouth open wide showing grey gums and stain-flecked broken teeth. He couldn’t have been any older than ten. Kirsten did her best not to feel sad, but this was becoming more and more impossible. She thought that by now she would’ve become immune to the visual tragedy of violent death. Certainly she’d seen enough of it. Well, then why wasn’t she…what was the word?
Desensitized.
You poor thing, she thought. She’d actually started to voice that sentiment, forgetting, albeit only momentarily, about the clothesline cutting into the corners of her mouth and keeping her tongue forced into the back of it.
Kirsten studied the wretched thing. All of the lower lip was gone, allowing for her to get an even better look at its putrid, dead mouth. There were bites taken out of both arms, which she could see clearly as the thing clawed at the cement ground in an attempt to reach her. She realized what it was that was so beyond the norm and had her upset. It wasn’t the child-zombie, she’d seen plenty of those. It was the fact that it had squirmed its way to the front, and now lay sprawled underfoot of the gathered mob. Her eyes had been staring at it, but her mind was just now allowing Kirsten to process that. She could see the small body bending and bucking under boots as well as bare feet. She could hear ribs snapping and popping over those moans, groans, and cries. There were sharp pieces jutting out from the creature’s skin.