by T. W. Brown
“And that tone is a declaration that you won’t be sharing them.”
“You canbe taught.”
The two of us walked out to the front just as the door flew open. Melissa and Teresa barged in arguing about something to do with ‘first’. Melissa suddenly bumped Teresa with her hip hard enough to knock the younger girl off balance.
“Steve!” Melissa shrieked darting across the room. My only choice was to catch her. I felt legs wrap around my waist and arms around my neck. Then, all I could see was her. I felt tears on her cheeks as she kissed my face repeatedly.
“Bitch!” I heard Teresa say from close by. “That was a dirty trick.”
Melissa pulled back enough so she could look into my eyes. Hers glimmered with tears and her smile made me feel warm. She glanced over at Teresa her smile changing to a Cheshire grin. “You’re just mad ‘cause I beat you to the punch.”
“True,” Teresa conceded. “Now get your skinny butt off of him so I can give him a hug!”
“Fine.” Melissa kissed me again, this time more deeply. Slowly she unwrapped her legs and lowered herself to the floor.
“Welcome back, Steve.” Teresa made an exaggerated show of stepping directly in front of me. She wrapped me in a hug which I gladly returned.
Can somebody change so much in just a couple of weeks? I wondered. This sixteen-year-old girl that I had found hiding in the bathroom of a small convenience store that first day had transformed in amazing ways. A few years older, and she’d have been the one leading this group. I had no doubt about that.
“It’s good to be back.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Dr. Zahn already filled me in,” I said taking the burden of such a terrible secret off her shoulders.
“What?” Teresa spun around on the doctor with what sounded like genuine anger.
“Whoa!” Dr. Zahn put her hands up. “Ummm, no. Melissa, I think we should step outside for a moment.”
“I so don’t understand women.” I glanced at Melissa fully expecting Doctor Francis Zahn to tell her exactly what to do with that suggestion.
“Yeah, right.” Melissa kissed Teresaon the cheek and gave my hand a squeeze. What the hell?
The two left, and I could see Aaron, Ian, Jamie, and Billy on the porch in a cluster. The door closed, and I turned to Teresa with a look of confusion. I knew about Randi. In fact, according to Dr. Zahn, I knew more than she did. So what the—
“I’m pregnant.”
“Hell.”
“What?” Teresa had very tactfully put herself between me and the door.
“Sorry,” I apologized, and shook my head. “Just finishing a thought out loud.” I looked her over. Was there really a difference in the girl I was seeing? “Congratulations? I mean …dammit, I don’t know what to say here.”
“I’ll take the congrats,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the group gathered on the porch. “You aren’t going to be all weird about this are you? I know you’ve had a few issues with me and Jamie.”
“Teresa,” I stepped close and took her in my arms hugging her, “the world is a crazy place right now. A sixteen-year-old mother is the least of our problems.”
“I’ll be seventeen in November,” she said with a smile looking up at me.
“WOW! Just a year away from being old enough to vote.”
“Funny.”
“I take it by the congregation outside that this is common knowledge?”
“Only with our original group.” Teresa laid her head on my chest and exhaled. “Things have been weird here with you gone.”
“You mean Randi?”
“Well…” she paused. “It’s not just that. It’s a bunch of things that just seem strange.”
“We’ve got some things to talk about I guess.” I rested my chin on the top of her head.
“Yeah, but can we wait? I just want to enjoy today. You’re back. This is a good day. We don’t get enough of those.”
“Abso—”
“We’ve got incoming survivors!” Ian announced as he threw the door open. “Three by the looks of it. On foot and armed.”
“Of course,” Teresa said with a sigh. She and I followed Ian out onto the porch with the others.
“Is that a—” I squinted.
“Flamethrower,” Dr. Zahn confirmed.
* * * * *
3
Vignettes XIII
Garrett stood on the balcony. He pulled another can from the box at his feet and popped the top. Warm beer would never be his favorite, but it was better than nothing. He looked down the long driveway at the sturdy iron gate. His eyes followed the fence—a nine foot high brick wall—that circled the property. More of those things came everyday. The last trip outside searching for supplies had been a bust. He’d returned with barely a full knapsack.
Glancing over his shoulder, he could hear The Toy stirring. He puzzled over his inability to make it beg. The first one had given in so easily. He remembered the night the world had crumbled, leaving him to rule. He’d been standing in front of his house staring up at the living room window. What was left of his mother had been just standing there, torn open. Her guts spilling out of a hole in her enormous, sagging belly.
A car had pulled up and a young woman inside it had asked for his help. She’d been crying. Without a word, he’d climbed in. As they drove through the chaos of the streets of North Charleston, he’d seen. Empty police cars, ambulances, and even a deserted military troop truck at an abandoned roadblock. Then he’d known. The world was dead. He’d taken her to the baseball stadium. Breaking that one had taken less than a week.
It’d been more than a month with this one. And even though it was younger by at least half of the last one, this whore would not break. It wouldn’t beg for food or water, or for him to stop. Sure, he thought, it would cry, but that wasn’t the same. And on the rare occasion that he was honest with himself, he feared her. In those brief moments, shewasn’t The Toy. And shefrightened him with herdefiance.
Tossing the empty can aside, Garrett pulled out another. Tomorrow he would have to go back out there. Food was almost gone and this case of beer was all that remained besides a large, half-gallon bottle of Southern Comfort that he was saving for a special occasion.
The moans of the growing number of those things carried up to the house. Garrett shivered. That was another thing; there were so many now that he could hear them sometimes when the wind blew the wrong way. Hear andsmell them. Even if the windows were shut.
He’d seen up close what those monsters did when they got their hands on you. Lately, those things had replaced Ennis—the boy who’d done thingsto him—in the nightmares Garrett had every night. Even when he wasn’t honest with himself, those thingsterrified him. He’d kill himself before he’d let those things get their filthy, cold hands on him and rip open his belly like they’d done his mama.
Reaching into the box, the big man’s hand found the last can of beer. He’d consumed the whole case, and it wasn’t even breakfast time. The dull buzz from the alcohol felt good. He heard another cough from the bedroom. Garrett knew better than to try and go out for supplies today after drinking so much. Well, he thought as he finished off the last can in three huge swallows, there were other ways to keep entertained.
“Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood,” he began to sing in an off-key rumble as he tossed the empty can off the balcony to clatter on the rocky walkway below.
Kirsten stared up at the ceiling. The sounds of The Big Man’s snoring grating on her every nerve. He’d been incredibly drunk for so early in the day which she didn’t mind. When he was drunk, the episodes didn’t last nearly as long. Also, the violence wasn’t as prominent. For instance, this time, he’d kept calling her “Kimmy”. And kept asking why she always laughed at him. Then there was something about the police, but Kirsten wasn’t really paying attention. She did what she always did during these sessions. She stared at the ceiling and thought about nothing.
At some point
, she’d realized it had stopped. But The Big Man was still on top of her. He was up on his hands, his head looking around with… He was scared! Something had frightened The Big Man. Then she heard it, the low moans, growls, and cries of the Monster-People. But they couldn’t have gotten inside. The wall was too high and the gate was too strong.
She thought back to the last time she’d been tied to the post out by the front gate. It seemed like there were more of those things. She couldn’t see over the heads of the first few rows, but it had seemed like more. Not only were they louder, but she remembered thinking they looked smashed in pretty tight.
This couldn’t be good. If there were enough that she could hear them from her room on the backside of the house…there must be lots. Then, she remembered feeling that sensation that was both disgusting and a relief. She felt The Big Man shrink and slither out of her. He was finished. Only…he hadn’t. Then, he rolled off of her. Now, he lay there, snoring. On his back beside her. She could smell the beer.
An idea began to form. It had been a while since he’d tried to make her use her mouth on him. In fact, he’d only recently healed from that encounter. But, he’d untied her for it. For some reason, he wanted her untied and kneeling. If she could wait until he got really drunk next time, perhaps she could convince him she was ready to try it. It would be gross and disgusting, but if he passed out, like he was now, maybe he would forget to tie her up. Or, if he did tie her up, maybe he would be so drunk that he would do a bad job of it. Then, she could get away. She didn’t care to where. Just away from here.
The Big Man made a noise, almost like a soft cry, in his sleep. She heard, then felt the worm wetness as his bladder let go. All she could do was lie there, helpless. For now.
The Jenifer-zombie trudged slowly along the litter strewn street with over a hundred more just like her. Something had drawn them this way days ago. But whatever it was had not only escaped, but it was long forgotten.
They walked, and Jenifer-zombie walked with them. Sometimes, the geography would force them to change directions. Other times, a sound would vibrate dully in their heads, and other times, they would ‘see’ the heat. That meant something, but none of them could remember the concept of warmth.
Jenifer-zombie knew nothing. There were no longer even vestiges of her former self that knew what a doorknob was or how to operate it. If the heat vanished into someplace, she would claw, scratch, and bite at a wall just as soon as at a door. That was why none of her fingernails remained. That was why jagged bits of bone poked through the worn fingertips. That was why most of her teeth were jagged, broken shards decorating her grey gums.
Like so many others, it was increasingly difficult to tell that Jenifer-zombie had been a ‘she’ simply by looking at her face. The flesh had been rubbed or scraped away in places during the hours or even, sometimes, days that she spent in futility trying to scratch and chew through a wall or door. Only her matted-with-gore long hair and the one exposed breast from where her shirt had been torn could positively identify the Jenifer-zombie as having once been a girl.
A man from one of her brethren leading the pack sent up answers from many of the dead throats. With a suddenness, the pack changed direction and, while only slightly, picked up the pace. The briefest flash of a message, the only one that still fixed in the small piece of jelly in the otherwise dead brain of the Jenifer-zombie, signaled food. This was the only thing it understood.
Food.
Nudging aside others while simultaneously being nudged aside, the Jenifer-zombie struggled to get close to the front of the pack. Only those in the front actually fed. The ones in the middle either arrived after there was nothing left, or whatever was left was already joining the mob.
Only a few rows of heads remained in front of Jenifer-zombie now. There it was. The heat. Food. Three forms stood in an open field. They didn’t move. Sounds vibrated, but the Jenifer-zombie no longer recognized screams…or anything else. In fact, a scream was no different than a breaking window, an idling engine, or a gunshot. It was simply a vibration in the head that meant one thing: food.
As a pack, the mob, with the Jenifer-zombie close to the front, staggered across the overgrown but open terrain of a city park. The three figures remained stationary, none of them turning to flee as the wave of undeath neared.
Jenifer-zombie was one of a dozen that swarmed and latched onto the figure on the right. Jagged, bone-tipped fingers dug into the soft flesh of the belly. A tear opened quickly; hot strands and thick clumps tumbled into greedy dead hands. The momentary relief of the gut searing cold receded for the briefest of moments.
All three of the figures were pulled apart, leaving nothing behind to return and join the ranks. In less than two minutes, it was over. The mob, Jenifer-zombie now in the front ranks with blood smeared on her face, coated in a fresh layer of crimson, moved on.
From a nearby, dilapidated barn, a cluster of survivors watched, whispering feverishly. They watched until the field was empty. Then, cautiously crept out to the scene of carnage left behind.
“The lord has accepted our sacrifice,” a gaunt man proclaimed to the dozen emaciated figures gathered around. A murmur rippled through the group, punctuated by cries of “Amen!” and “Praise Jesus!”
“These who have given their lives await us in Heaven.” The man reached down into the tall grass and grabbed something. He pulled a mostly intact head up and held it aloft. The eyes shifted back and forth behind a pus-colored film shot with dark traces. The mouth open and closed soundlessly.
“Another of Satan’s imps has been captured in the rotting corpse. Our mortal flesh has served a purpose as we deplete the legions of the Army of the Deceiver!”
More murmurs of enthusiasm issued from the ragged mob. Two more heads were produced, both unrecognizable with most of the flesh torn away.
The group returned to the old barn holding the heads aloft, singing praises in raspy voices. Something vaguely resembling Amazing Gracedrifted from the loft, carrying on the late afternoon breeze.
Charlton Shaw sat at the foot of the bed pulling on his socks. The body behind him shook with quiet sobs, but he didn’t really hear them. His mind was fixated on the fact that his “army” had been reduced to sixteen men in the blink of an eye.
They’d driven back to that small town they’d been systematically clearing of anything useful. Heath. A dot on the map that probably hadn’t mattered before the dead had started eating the living. It was just outside of Heath that they’d encountered that tiny group of survivors: two weak men—although he was certain that there’d been a third somewhere nearby—and four females.
One of those females had been a hotshot senator. The type who wanted to forbid children from saying “The Pledge of Allegiance” on one hand, while protecting folks who burned flags—the American Flag—on the streets. The other three were the senator’s daughters. One of them was right outside the compound, hanging on a cross. One of them. The other two were missing, along with the doctor.
How had that punk-ass kid managed to weasel his way into their good graces? He’d showed signs, but Charlton had ignored them, choosing to believe that if he placated the snot-nosed brat by giving him his choice of women and treated him with honor and respect like he did those who served in Shaw’s “army”, that the young man would…what?
He’d made a mistake. He’d given one of the book-reading liberal types the same treatment as one of his warriors. But that was his second and less damaging mistake. His big one had been letting that computer geek live. He’d seen the damage first hand in Heath. That road was a crater. Fires were still burning out of control. There would be nothing left to salvage; but that wasn’t the worst. The worst part of all was the huge loss of men. Not a single one had survived that blast.
Shaw had personally led his men to investigate why the salvage party hadn’t returned. He’d started his search by heading towards the plume of black smoke t
hat had been so clearly visible from The Basket. He’d been stunned at the amount of damage. On the way back to The Basket they’d spotted somebody fleeing.
He’d gotten close enough to get a look through his binoculars. He’d been disappointed that it wasn’t the one that he’d let go that night back at the RV campground. But he was certain that the person in that SUV was somehow responsible for the explosion that killed his men. Plus, there’d been a female in the passenger’s seat.
They’d given chase. That lunatic had driven into downtown Newark. There was only one bridge in and out of the eastern edge of downtown. He’d seen to that weeks ago. They’d chase the scared rabbit. Thathad been his biggest mistake. They could have waited for it to poke its head out of the hole. Before he realized it, they were in the heart of downtown. The SUV had crashed and was in flames, but there was nobody inside. He and his men had fanned out…and been surrounded. Shaw was certain that they could handle a bunch of slow moving corpses. Only…there had been too many. By the time they had made it back to their vehicles and bugged out, the losses had been staggering. Most notable, he had lost Paris and TJ, his right and left hand men.
They’d been back inside the walls of The Basket for over a week, and he’d heard the rumblings. The men were angry. At him! There was only one way he could get them back. He would go out alone. He would bring back the heads of those responsible. He would find Dr. Peter King, and the little slut Shari, and her whore of a sister Erin. The doctor he would kill with his bare hands. The two whores would be strapped to a bed and used by every man in The Basket while their mother watched. Then, all three would be sent to a cross.