by T. W. Brown
So who are these mystery guests? I stayed focused on the open window. I imagined that, whoever this was, they were making sure the place was clear. Eventually, a shadow flitted around the window. A hand appeared, then another, followed by a head as this person pulled themselves up and out just enough to look around before climbing all the way out, grabbing the packs and handing them in to the person inside. I dropped my glasses and turned to Melissa.
“Ian and Billy,” she said with a smile.
“Are you certain?” I had to ask.
“Well, you saw Ian with your own eyes,” she said.
“And the person inside?” I grinned. “You certain it’s Billy?”
“Positive,” Melissa beamed.
“We still waiting for dark?” Jack asked. I could tell he was expecting me to toss my previous edict.
“They don’t look like they’re going anywhere,” I said with as much finality as I could manage. Of course I wanted to rush down there and see my friends. I had no doubts that they would come with us back to our new home.
“How late do you plan to wait?” Melissa asked.
“Just a little past sunset.” My hope was that we’d have enough ambient light left to keep an eye on where Ian and Billy were camped, but still have enough cover to minimize being seen. Once we got down there, my priorities would be: hook-up with Ian and Billy, forage for supplies, and oh yeah, reel Lee back in.
“It sure seems a lot farther than it did up on the hill.” Jack panted, coming up beside me at the rear bumper of a burned out husk of a pick-up truck with the charred remains of a body still sitting rigidly in the cab.
“Four blocks up,” I whispered. “Still no movement.”
We waited until Melissa reached us. So far, our tactic had been one of us moving to a spot, then the other two following individually. This let us keep an eye on the gray building. Since it was on open ground and water was on the far side, it stood to reason that we would see them if they left.
“I heard a commotion back and to the left,” Melissa reported when she reached us. It could be anything, but most likely, Lee was on the move. I wasn’t surprised that he would start foraging without us. If he thought anything he found was his, and not for the group, he was in for another of many surprises.
“Got a loner up ahead,” Jack announced.
“I’ll go first.” I drew the long, sturdy blade from the sheath bound to my right thigh.
Slipping out from behind the truck, I crouched low and arched a little to the right, hoping the thing wouldn’t see me coming. It halted and its head jerked around. Slowly, the body followed and a low moan drifted on the warm, night air. Arms out, it began a slow shuffle towards me. Damn. So much for the element of surprise. Rising up, I rushed in. I couldn’t tell age or gender, it was too dark. Not that it mattered. I came in fast and at the last second, zigged. It couldn’t adjust in time and I struck. There was a satisfying ‘thok’ and the familiar buzzing sensation in my hands as the machete cleaved into skull.
Glancing around, I could see other shadows moving. Some, drawn by the moan of one of their own, turned and were coming towards me. The side roads of this tiny town were dirt or clay. Nature would have them reclaimed in a year or two. Zombies were coming from all over. Not many, but then, it really only takes one. Right?
I waved my arm, signaling Melissa and Jack to move. It was time for a mad dash. They came from behind the truck and had covered almost half the distance when Jack stopped, turned, and looked back the way we’d come. Melissa paused, but kept coming. I’d heard it, too. Something or someone had kicked in or crashed through a door.
“Jack!” I hissed. “Move your ass! Whatever that was, it’s gonna bring heat, we gotta go!”
Melissa sped past me, shooting me a worried look that may have simply been my imagination considering how dark it is. I started walking backwards, trusting that Melissa had my back. For some inexplicable reason, Jack was drifting back towards that sound. He was almost back to the truck when Lee came barreling around the corner. He stumbled and sprawled on the ground. Something—I assumed it to be his handgun—went skittering across the ground, vanishing into the darker shadows of a pair of non-descript buildings across the street.
Jack rushed to the fallen man and reached him just as several zombies stumbled out from every side. He pulled Lee to his feet and handed him the shotgun he’d slung off his shoulder.
“Christ!” I spat, putting my machete away and bringing up my M4. This would be the first time I’d used one of the new weapons. Readying it, I glanced once over my shoulder, Melissa had made it to the window of the gray building. Somebody was pulling her in.
Bringing the weapon to my shoulder, I opened up on the dark shapes just clearing the corner of the building to the right. By the time the magazine was empty, I’d probably dropped four. Not good. Jack and Lee had at least fought free of the mob. Jack reached me and made a move like he was gonna head for the gray building.
“No way, man.” I grabbed his arm. “Follow me, you too, asshole,” I snapped at Lee and ran down a road to our left.
As I ran, I changed out my M4 for my Colt .45 semi-automatic. In my right hand, the always reliable machete. We had to take down a couple on the fly, and a few times we had to actually slow down to keep the main body of the mob interested.
We were quickly reaching the outskirts of this tiny town. To the right, we could make it to the on-ramp that would take us to the highway that passed by this map-dot of boondock. I jogged easy, ignoring the shaky feeling of my legs. The on-ramp seemed awfully steep, but once we reached the top, it was a simple matter of doubling back. We were heading down the off-ramp as the first of the pursuing zombie mob poured out onto the highway spreading out in both directions now that they had nothing to really follow.
We stayed in the shadows, not believing for a moment that all the undead citizens of this town had joined in on the merry chase. Finally, we reached the building where we’d seen Ian and Billy duck inside, where Melissa had vanished through an open window.
A head popped out, “’Bout time you got here,” Ian’s familiar voice said with his normal good-naturedness.
“Should I put on a fresh pot of coffee?” Billy Haynes’ voice drifted out of the darkness. I didn’t recall him having much of a sense of humor. Maybe being out in the wild with Ian had changed him a bit.
One at a time, they helped us through the window. They led us down a dark hallway to an office where a pleasant glow emanated. I walked in to what had been some sort of large storage closet. It had no windows, which allowed them to have a pair of lanterns lit and hanging.
“Well…” I went to shake both their hands, but it quickly devolved into a three-man bro-hug. After that I stepped aside to introduce Jack and Lee.
Lee was standing with his arms crossed, staring at the floor, looking unusually subdued. Jack was still in the doorway…holding his left arm. I could see the darkness oozing between his fingers.
“What the hell?” I walked over to the young man.
“When we were breaking free of that mob…a little girl…no more than five or six…I didn’t see her…” Jack’s voice faded.
I could see the small rip just above his wrist. It was bleeding pretty good for such a small wound. Probably from all the running. I looked back at Ian and Billy, “Anybody got a sweatshirt?”
Ian nodded and went to his pack. He tossed it and I snatched it out of the air, a sick feeling brewing in my stomach that had nothing to do with the now forgotten hunger.
“Have a seat, Jack.” I pointed to the floor. He did exactly what I’d hoped for. He looked down to see where to slide down. When he did, I shoved the barrel of my .45 into the wadded up sweatshirt, and against the side of his head.
Then…I pulled the trigger.
13
Vignettes XI
“We haven’t heard a word from Paris’ team since early yesterday morning,” TJ fumed. “Why the hell haven’t we sent somebody t
o find out what’s going on?”
“Because,” Shaw pushed his half-eaten plate of spaghetti away, he wasn’t going to be allowed to finish his lunch in peace, “it could be a number of things, and SOP is to wait three days. You know damned good and well that situations in the field can flip in a heartbeat.”
“Just let me take two guys—”
“No!” Shaw cut the man off. “We wait like we decided when everybody drew up the operational guidelines. Now…go get Dr. King.”
TJ stormed out of the room. Shaw waited a moment, then went over to his basin and dunked the wash cloth in it. He gave his face a quick wipe to ensure there weren’t any sauce-freckles.
Growing up with a third generation Marine Corps lifer as your dad had instilled a high degree of self-discipline, along with a rigid set of core-values. A clean appearance was just one of many tenets Jonathan Shaw subscribed to. Unfortunately, a doctor-diagnosed heart condition ended Jonathan Shaw’s military career in the third week of bootcamp. His father had said all the things a father should say about it “being okay” and “not his fault” but the disappointment in those eyes…
“You wanted to see me, Shaw?” Dr. Peter King knocked on the open door and stuck his head in.
“We might have a problem with that list you submitted.” Shaw waved a hand, ushering the man inside.
“Such as?”
“The convoy hasn’t returned,” Shaw said flatly.
“Any reason?”
“Besides zombies, an accident…rival factions?” Shaw listed the possibilities off on his fingers.
“So what did you call me for?” Dr. Peter King shifted uncomfortably.
“Did you send my boys into a trap?” Shaw asked, locking eyes with the doctor.
“What?” Peter blurted.
Shaw didn’t need to hear anything else. He’d seen enough in the man’s face to know he had nothing to do with the convoy’s tardiness. Still, the doctor had been out there in his territory. Perhaps he’d seen or heard something useful without realizing it. Holding up his left hand he silenced the nervous doctor’s babbling.
“Are you absolutely certain that you didn’t see anybody else roaming these parts?” Shaw asked.
“Unless somebody else was torching buildings or hanging folks,” the doctor snapped, “nobody.”
“Fine,” Shaw said, and turned his back dismissively, scooping up a stack of papers, leafing through them. There was a brief silence, then the sound of footsteps receding down the corridor.
Something didn’t sit right. The worst part was that he had absolutely no idea what it was. Well, he set the papers back on his desk, there was one universal cure for stress. He left his room and walked down the stairs to the storage basement.
“S’up, Shaw?” Greg Hitchcock, the man on door guard greeted him cautiously.
“Havin’ a really crappy day,” Shaw said as he unbuckled his gun belt and hung it up on the peg-board. “I’ll be in room six, bring me that liberal-bitch senator.”
“Sure thing,” The big man grinned and slid open the oblong portal in the door. “Bring the senator to room six!” he called.
Shaw went through the door to his right and down the long hallway. He found the door with a number ‘6’ painted on it. He went inside and sat down on the twin bed. Yes, sir, he thought, nothing cured stress like a good grudge-fuck.
Peter watched Shaw stalk down the hallway to the south stairwell. He was probably headed down to the cathouse. That’s what all the men called the basement where the women were kept.
The women down there were currently unassigned. That meant none of them were, as of yet, chosen to accompany one of the men. One of the so-called benefits of living in The Basket was the women. Every male resident was allowed to choose any female he pleased. There were rules such as: no man may make use of another man’s woman without permission, no man may strike a woman with a closed fist (apparently open-handed was okay), once a woman was pregnant she was moved to the top floor and you selected a new one, no female could be selected if she wasn’t of age to menstruate.
That last rule was one that he had some problems with. At least a dozen of the men at The Basket had girls in their early teens. When Peter had made a comment in front of Shaw and a few of his men, one of them, he thought it was Paris, said “Old enough to bleed, old enough to breed.” The women too old, or deemed too old—as well as not yet chosen—were housed in the basement. Any man not on duty was allowed to go down and take advantage of the ‘services’ of these females. From some of the stories he’d heard, it was mostly about fantasy, fetish, and abuse.
One of Peter’s tasks at The Basket was to inspect the females. He’d seen some horrific bruising, and in one case there’d been such incredible damage to a particularly petite young woman’s anus that he’d demanded to Shaw that she be placed off-limits. That’s how he’d met young Shari Bergman. The girl he’d examined did not even resemble the pop-music and tabloid celebrity he remembered seeing on television and on magazines in the check-out aisle at the grocery store.
Shaw’s answer had been something to the effect of, “You don’t close the whole park just because one ride is busted.” He’d ‘selected’ Shari as his companion that day. In the first days, she hadn’t spoken a word and simply sat, curled up in a corner of his quarters. Eventually, she’d started to relax. That’s how he found out about her sister on the top floor, her mother, the senator, in the basement, and that she had another sister that Shari hadn’t seen since the second day. She’d been brought to one of the rooms and never come back.
Climbing the stairs to the fourth floor, he went to his quarters. Unlocking the door, he called out, “Shari, I’m home.”
“Peter?” Shari peeked out from the storage closet that served as their bedroom. Actually, it was barely large enough to fit the full-sized mattress that sat on the floor.
“Hey.” Peter went over to the shelf and pulled down a bottle of vodka. After two long pulls, he wiped his mouth and turned to face Shari. “I think something bad happened to that convoy that left here yesterday.”
“Something like they got eaten?” her voice sounded almost eager and hopeful.
“Don’t know, but Shaw was pissed.”
“Good.”
“Look,” Peter walked over, cupping her chin in his hand, “we gotta talk.”
“About?” Shari looked a bit frightened.
“Well, I’m gonna try and go out on the next run.”
“Why?” Shari protested. Fear had given way to anger in a hurry.
“Because, I’m gonna get us out of here.”
“What about my mom and sisters?”
“I’ve only seen Erin. And it will be hard enough to get you and I out of here,” Peter braced himself for the big argument. Truth be told, this conversation was just a test. If Shari was not convincible, he’d have to consider leaving her behind.
“But…you’ve probably considered your chances, huh?”
Peter was slightly surprised. The last thing he’d expected was reasonable and rational. He was ready for tears. Now, it seemed that he may have underestimated Shari. Perhaps she, much like he’d done up to this point, was playing a role.
“I’ll do what I can, but my main objective is to get out of here.” Peter shrugged.
“With or without me,” Shari said with no trace of anger.
“I’d prefer you to be with me,” Peter replied.
“I’d like that.” Shari stepped into his arms and kissed his neck.
“Will you be okay with it if we have to leave everything behind?” Peter asked, his nose breathing in the sweet smell of her femininity. He’d hate to leave her behind, but it was not just survival—he had no doubt that his chances were probably better if he stayed here at The Basket—it was about his sanity. This place was one step above an asylum.
Between the constant male posturing, physical and sexual abuse of the females, and Shaw’s militant-extremist mindset, this was a testosterone
palace. He hadn’t fit in with those types in high school, or college. He’d had to convince his dad that he wasn’t gay simply because he didn’t play sports…well…except for golf. It didn’t matter that he loved watching sports like football and even hockey.
“Did you hear me?” Shari interrupted his thoughts.
“Sorry,” Peter kissed her forehead, “what did you say?”
“I said I think I want to try tonight.”
“Try?” Peter wondered what all she’d been saying while his mind drifted.
“You are such a guy,” Shari laughed, and walked to the bedroom leaving a trail of clothes.
Guy, Peter thought. He liked the sound of that.
Five bodies hung by their necks from knotted sheets. All of them began twitching and clawing at the air in earnest at the sight of him. Against the far wall, two more bodies lay in a heap, one of them ripped open, its guts spilled out in a congealed pile. Its head had been blown almost entirely away, probably by the double-barrel shotgun cast off in one far corner. The other body was in far better condition, but only relatively speaking. There was a bandage, dark with dried blood, on the left forearm; and a neat hole on the right temple. A tiny, two-shot Derringer-style .22 pistol still clutched in one hand; Garrett was transfixed for a moment by the lack of an exit-wound.