As Cold As The Dead

by R. M. Smith

  On the third night I woke up to noises outside. I couldn’t quite figure out what they were. At first I thought it was coming from the fireplace.

  Pop!

  Pop! Pop!

  “Hey Doc,” I whispered. “Wake up.”

  “What?” he mumbled.

  “I’m hearing something outside.”

  He sat up on the sofa, listening.

  Pop! Pop!

  He asked, “What the hell is that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Pop!

  “Sounds like gunshots,” he said. He stood up, wrapped the blankets around and went to the windows. He peered out.

  “What do you see?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Pop!

  “Oh shit. A zombie! Somebody shot it. I seen it go down.”

  “Somebody’s out there?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Somewhere. Someone’s picking them off with a rifle.”

  Pop.

  “They just got another one,” he said.

  “What’s going on?” Wendy asked getting up on an elbow.

  “Somebody’s shooting zombies. Must be using a sniper rifle. Something with a night scope.”

  Wendy asked, curiously, “Hexin?”

  “Hexin?” I asked. “What’s that?”

  “It’s not a what. It’s a he. A kid.”

  “Another survivor?” Doc asked turning toward us.

  “Yea, he must be,” Wendy said with a fascinated grin. “He loves shooting guns. His Dad gave him a rifle when he was like four. It used to bug the shit out of us when we came up here during the summer. He’d shoot that gun til late at night and then first thing in the morning. He’s seven or so now.”

  Doc asked, “Are you sure it’s him?”

  “No,” Wendy said. “I just know Hexin loves to shoot. Where are the shots coming from?”

  “The zombies are heading toward a cabin to the…right of here…the west of here.”

  “Well that’s where he lives,” Wendy said.

  “We should go over there in the morning,” Doc said sitting back down on his sofa. “See if he’s alright.”

  “I’m surprised he hasn’t come over here already,” Wendy said.

  “Why’s that,” I asked.

  “Oh he’s not a bad kid,” Wendy said lying back down. “He’s nosy. He likes to get into your face about shit, that’s all.”

  Pop!

  “And,” she added, “we won’t be getting much more sleep if he keeps shooting that stupid gun.”

  The next morning while eating a breakfast of dry cereal and small boxes of thawed orange juice, Wendy told us what she knew about Hexin’s family.

  “His Dad’s a professor at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. His name is Darwin Phelps. His wife’s name is Belinda. They’ve been living in their cabin ever since Dad bought his in the late 1990s.

  “They keep to themselves. Once I saw Mr. Phelps working on a boat near the lake and a few times I heard him clattering around with stuff in his barn on the other side of his property. I figured he worked on old cars or heaters. I really didn’t care either way. I only came to the lake to relax on long weekends or to get away from school.

  “Three years ago I came to the lake on a long weekend. Hexin was running around shooting squirrels. I complained about the noise to my folks but Dad said, ‘He’s just a kid. Let him be.’ While sunning on the lake shore Hexin came up behind me and scared the shit out of me. He kept calling me Whinny retard. Whinny retard this. Whinny retard that. Horse-face Whinny. I called him a little creep and told him to leave me alone but he kept pestering me. Finally I had to get up and go back into our cabin. That night the gunshots went off until way past midnight.”

  Doc asked, “What did you say his father’s name was?”

  She said, “Darwin but he likes to go by Phelps.”

  “You don’t think Hexin will shoot us, do you?” I asked dropping my paper plate into a trash bag.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Doc said. He handed me his empty plate. I took it and dropped it into the trash too. Wendy had already thrown hers away.

  “Let’s go over there,” she said grabbing her coat off the couch. “See if the little brat’s ok.”

  Doc laughed. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  We bundled up and headed back outside.

  I wondered if Wendy wanted to kill him, too.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jars of Teeth

  All around our cabin, down toward the lake, and strewn across the long back yards of the cabins, the ground was littered with frozen zombie corpses. Some leaned against trees, others lay on their faces, others on their backs. All had head wounds. Blood spattered the snow around them.

  “I’ll give the kid this much,” Doc said, huffing, pushing through the snow. “He’s a damn good shot.”

  “He should be,” Wendy smiled. “He’s been doing it long enough. His cabin is the next one over. On the other side of this camper.”

  Hexin’s cabin, a two story home, had a large deck built outside on the second floor. Long beams held the deck in place. Up top, a rifle with a night scope leaned against the railing.

  We scooted around the camper and approached the front door of his cabin. A snow covered chord of wood sat neatly stacked against the side of the house.

  Birds called at us from a nearby tree. One took off and snow sifted down. Early morning bright sunlight felt good against my face even though I was freezing to death.

  Wendy knocked on the door.

  The door was quickly opened by a man wearing gray sweats, eyeglasses and a long black goatee. He asked, “Yes?”

  A young boy joined him in the doorway. His hair had grown long and hung down in his face. He had a weird crooked smile showing rotten teeth.

  His hand on his crowbar, Doc said, “We heard shooting coming from this direction last night. We thought it might be coming from here.”

  “My boy’s been shooting zombies,” the man said with little patience.

  Doc continued, “We’ve been staying in a cabin a few doors down. We didn’t know anyone else was around. We came from St. Cloud.”

  Wendy asked, “Are you Darwin Phelps?”

  The man raised his chin to her looking through the bifocals in his glasses. “Yes. Why, you’re Wendy Lewis, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I thought I recognized you. Where are your parents?” He had a clear distinct voice.

  Wendy lowered her head for a moment. “They didn’t make it.”

  “Did zombies get them?” he asked, his chin still raised.

  She met his gaze. “Yes.”

  Phelps studied her for a bit longer. The air around us grew colder and colder. Doc and I remained quiet. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he finally said.

  “Thank you,” Wendy said quietly.

  The man looked to Doc and me. “And who are you two? Do you know Wendy?”

  “We’re travelling with her,” Doc said, his hand releasing on his crowbar.

  My feet felt like ice blocks. I needed to get out of the snow.

  Wendy said, “We came over here to see if Hexin was ok.”

  “He’s fine,” the man said, appreciative. “It’s good to see you again, Wendy. Thank you for your concern about Hexin. Please come in and get warm.”

  Entering the home we walked down a short hallway into a large room with shiny hard wood floors. Floor to ceiling windows gave full view of the deep white outside. I could see the lake from here, too, frozen over completely. A large fire burned in a huge fireplace made of shale rock. It was nicely warm inside.

  “Please sit down,” the man told us. “Do you all like tea?”

  “Yes,” Wendy answered.

  “That sun outside is great at warming up my home brewed sun tea. Hold on. Let me get you all a glass.”

  Wendy asked, “Do you need any help?”

  “No, no,” the man said waving her away. “Sit down and relax. Won’t be a minut
e.” He went through a doorway into a kitchen.

  We sat in the center of the room in matching leather furniture with wood trim. A hand carved coffee table glistened in the center sitting on a large hand woven rug. A grandfather clock ticked loudly in the corner.

  We all took off our coats.

  Hexin looked at all of us from the side of the room. He giggled, covering his rotten teeth with his hand and ran upstairs. Moments later gunshots started going off overhead.

  The man came back into the room carrying a tray filled with glasses of iced tea. He gave each of us a glass and then sat down opposite us in another leather chair. He asked, “So you came from St. Cloud?”

  “Yes,” Doc answered. “I’m Dick Cooper. I’m a pharmacist assistant.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dick,” the man said. “Or do you like to go by Doc?”

  “Doc yes, thanks. And I understand you like to go by Phelps.”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Doc nodded, smiling kindly. He took a drink of his sun tea.

  “And who are you, young man?” Phelps asked me.

  “I’m Jon Hutchens. I’m from California.”

  “California? Oh I bet this cold is hard on you,” Phelps said with a turn of his head. “My. What brought you here to sunny Minnesota?”

  I smiled. “I came to visit my cousin.”

  “Well that was nice.”

  “She didn’t make it,” I said with a solid nod.

  He winked at me. “I understand; and we also have Wendy Lewis, unless you’re married with a different last name now…”

  “No, it’s still Lewis,” she said sipping her tea. “This is good!”

  “Thank you,” Phelps said standing up. He set his glass on the coffee table. It left a ring. “Please forgive my impoliteness at the front door, I didn’t recognize you at first.”

  “It’s ok,” Wendy said.

  Phelps said, “It’s been quiet around here lately. Even more quiet than usual. I didn’t know if all of you were friend or foe.”

  “We’re no danger to you or Hexin,” Wendy said.

  “Well that’s reassuring,” Phelps answered.

  I sipped my tea. It was good.

  “Well, I suppose we all should get down to brass tacks here.” Phelps began to pace the room. “We could talk about the weather or the great taste of my sun tea all day but I think we have more important issues to discuss here…well two,” he corrected himself. “One, of course, is the zombies. They are a nuisance and need to be stopped. This apocalypse has been going now for what? Six days? Unbelievable that it all started due to an arctic cold front plowing through.” He stopped pacing and turned to us. “Did you see the front? The clouds? It encircled the entire top of the globe! Imagine the power behind such a weather phenomenon…” His eyes went distant. He shook his head, his hands on his hips. “And the zombies…appearing abruptly after the cold started filtering in. The news stations have all gone dark now…but the things they were saying. Just crazy stuff…I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  “What were they saying?” Doc asked.

  “They said an infection came riding in with the storm like foam on an ocean wave. The infection randomly contaminated the public.” He stopped in mid stride. He put a hand to his chest.

  “Are you ok?” Wendy asked.

  He turned back, his face turning red. “Just a bit of chest pain.” He came back and sat down in his chair. “It will pass.”

  “But I wasn’t infected,” I said. “I was inside the Mall of America when zombies started appearing in Nickelodeon Amusement Park.”

  “It was a random infection,” Phelps repeated, his hand on his chest. “Not everyone was infected by it. Only if the infected bit you or scratched you, then the infection took place.”

  We all were lost in our thoughts momentarily thinking about where we were when it all started.

  Phelps sat forward. “Now we need to figure out a way to remove this poison from our world. I have contemplated this ever since it started…and to this day I do not have an answer. Do any of you have any ideas?”

  “No,” Wendy said quietly. Doc agreed. I simply shook my head no.

  “It’s a bit of a conundrum isn’t it?” Phelps asked sighing deeply. “My wife, Belinda, was bit. She didn’t turn right away. I stayed with her until she did turn. I kept a close eye on her the whole time but couldn’t tell when the exact time was when she changed over to a zombie. It broke my heart to see her change. This woman, my wife of 37 years.”

  “I’m sorry,” Wendy offered.

  “Yes, thank you,” Phelps sighed, “but saying you’re sorry won’t bring her back.”

  “You can’t bring her back,” Doc said.

  “How do you know this?” Phelps asked.

  “We were kidnapped by a man who forced us to use our own blood to try and save his wife who had been bitten.”

  “Interesting,” Phelps said sitting back in the chair again. “Please tell me what happened?”

  Doc told him about Whittridge while upstairs Hexin continued his shooting gallery.

  Phelps asked, “Did the transfusions work even remotely?”

  “No,” Doc lied. “It was unsuccessful. I ended up killing them both.”

  During the transfusions, Angie’s turn to a zombie did seem to slow down; even to stop.

  “That’s a shame,” Phelps said his hands folded in front of his face, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair.

  Wendy asked, “You said there were two issues.”

  “Yes there are,” Phelps said with a long sigh. “One was, of course, the infection. The second is the zombie’s attraction to light.”

  “To light,” Doc repeated.

  “Yes,” Phelps said. “They are more attracted to light than to blood. Have you not noticed this?”

  We all looked at one another uncertain. I didn’t think we had even given it that much attention.

  Phelps said, “I can show you…in my barn.”

  Doc shifted in his chair but didn’t get up. Wendy and I didn’t either.

  “I understand we’ve all just met,” Phelps said. “It’s difficult to earn a stranger’s trust so quickly. However, I’ve opened my home to you. I’ve given you fresh tea to drink. Please, let me show you. I promise it will bring you no harm.”

  “What’s in your barn?” I asked.

  “My wife,” Phelps said simply.

  Doc pushed up out of his chair. He rested his palm on the top of his crowbar. “You can show me. These other two can stay here.”

  Phelps said, “Fine. In a minute, please. I need to take an aspirin first.”

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” Wendy asked.

  He waved her away. “I’m fine. Undoubtedly just gas. Doc, I’ll take my aspirin, grab my coat and meet you at the front door.” He walked away stopping only at the base of the stairs Hexin had gone up earlier. “Hexin. We’re going over to the barn!”

  “Ok,” Hexin yelled back.

  Doc put his coat back on. “Don’t worry you two,” he said with a wink. “I can take care of myself.”

  We both looked up at him uneasily.

  Minutes later Phelps called from the front door. “Ready Doc?”

  “On my way,” he said.

  “Wait,” I said. “I want to go too.”

  “Me too,” Wendy said.

  We put on our coats and headed to the front door.

  Out in the cold again, the brisk unforgiving cold. My teeth chattered. My legs felt numb. It was maddening.

  With shaking hands Phelps unlocked a padlock on the side of his barn and slid it open letting us in. Inside there were two vehicles, a Chevy 4x4 Blazer covered in slowly melting snow and a John Deere tractor.

  At the opposite end of the barn, a crumbling brick stairwell led down. We followed Phelps through a dim hallway constructed of moldering bricks to another room.

  He said, “These are the remains of my Uncle Alfred’s home. It burned down in
1985. Uncle Alfred was one of the first home owners on this side of the lake.” Phelps opened a closed door. “Now brace yourselves. You may find this a bit unsettling.”

  We went in.

  A zombie, an older woman, lay naked on a brass bed with no mattress. Her long gray arms and legs had been zip-tied to the frame. She strained her aged neck trying to get close enough to bite us. Her breasts were wilted and had become lined with deep wrinkles. Her nipples had turned black. A great deal of blood had run from the side of her mouth and from her right arm which had been savagely bitten. Parts of bare muscle flexed while she tried to break free. Blood and feces had puddled under the bed which had been fastened to the wall.

  Wendy took in a deep breath shocked.

  Doc pulled out his crowbar.

  “She won’t hurt you,” Phelps assured us. “This is Belinda, my wife.”

  Doc yelled, “What the hell is this?”

  “Please. Please calm down,” Phelps said, his hands making downward pushing movements. “This is what I wanted to show you. Here. Let me show you.” Quickly, he hurried around the bed and put his hand into Belinda’s mouth.

  “What are you doing?” Wendy yelled.

  Belinda clamped down on his hand. Phelps pulled it away with no injury. “You see,” he said wiping it off on a nearby towel that had been sitting on a low table. “She can’t bite me.”

  Doc stepped closer lowering his crowbar. “Where are her teeth?”

  Phelps set the towel down and picked up a small jar with teeth inside it. “I pulled them all out with some pliers,” he said.

  “Oh God,” Wendy moaned. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “No, no,” Phelps said. “Here. Here. Calm down.” He ran back over and pulled a chair up for her to sit on. Wendy sat down on it heavily. She covered her mouth. Phelps said, “You see, she can’t bite us. She can’t hurt us.”

  Doc asked, “What does this prove?”

  Phelps laughed quietly, “It means she is harmless without her teeth.”

  “What about her fingernails?” I asked. “Can’t she scratch you?”