by David Rogers
She took a long look across the lake, scanning from one side to the other, but saw nothing that wasn’t always there. Just water, rippling and rolling in small sways like it always did, with the angled morning sun glaring off it as usual. Some birds floating or flapping around, showing no signs that anything was disturbing them. But no boats. No nothing.
Candice considered for a long moment, unhappy, then went inside to the pantry to retrieve cereal and a Ziploc of instant milk for breakfast. She mixed the milk with water in a tall plastic cup, poured some of it across a bowl of Captain Crunch, and sat down to eat. As always she didn’t linger over the cereal, or the rest of the milk when she finished eating and was faced with the rest of the cup’s contents. The milk wasn’t real milk, whatever the label said. It didn’t taste like real milk, not even after months of getting used to it.
So she ate and drank with as little tasting as possible, just to get it all down, and washed her dishes so they could be put away. Then she pulled up water using the deck’s water lift, winding the winch to raise and lower the small bucket from the lake below. As she got it into a pot — pouring it through a dishtowel laid in a colander — and on the fire to start heating so it was safe to use later, she kept thinking.
When the water was on the heat, she went back inside and took one of the maps from the supply mom and Austin had stocked. This one was already opened, but hadn’t been used much. The paper was still stiff and firm as she unfolded it. It took her a while to get oriented, but the lake helped. From there, she found where she was, and looked south and located Belle Glade. Then she used her finger to measure against the map’s scale before checking how far away the town mom and Austin had gone to was.
Over thirty miles.
Candice refolded the map to isolate that section, the part from the house down and around the lake, and went back out on the deck with it. The water wasn’t boiling yet, so she sat down in the chair to look at the map some more. And to think.
People, adults, usually walked between three and four miles an hour. Austin said so. So even if they’d lost the bikes, and even if they’d had to do a lot of detouring and side-tracking to dodge zombies, they would be back by now. The distance could be walked in a day if someone wanted to. And Candice knew mom and Austin would want to. Two days she’d said, and back on the third. Yet this was the fifth. Even if they’d started back on the third, they’d be here by now.
They could be hurt. Candice frowned and shivered a little as she considered that. If they were both hurt, which seemed the least likely of any scenario in that category, that would explain it. If they couldn’t travel, they would have found shelter however they could and stopped to try and heal. But there weren’t many things that could have put both adults into a condition where they couldn’t walk.
If mom couldn’t, but Austin could, Candice knew Austin would simply carry her. He was a good guy, and was tough and strong. Even all the way from Belle Glade, Candice knew without even having to think that Austin would have brought mom back. If Austin was the one that was hurt, she knew mom would have come back if only to check on her and get the car so she could bring Austin back. Even if Austin was very hurt, mom would have figured something out, and gotten him out and back here where it was safe.
The lid on the pot started rattling as steam pushed against it. Candice removed the lid to still the noise, and went back to thinking while the water boiled and killed off anything bad in it.
It could be something worse than an injury, she made herself admit in a voice that was small and tiny even just in her head. It was possible. That’s why she hadn’t been allowed to go, why she was never allowed to go. Zombies were dangerous, and they were everywhere.
Candice knew mom and Austin were tough and smart and had a lot of practice dealing with zombies. Even so, something really bad could’ve happened. They could be … but she really didn’t think so. Even thinking it made her shiver as she convinced herself they were both still alive. They weren’t dead. Not both of them.
Injury was more likely. Even accepting this though, Candice knew five days was too long. One of them would have gotten back here by now. They were only supposed to be gone for two, and this was going on more than twice that now. Thirty miles seemed like a long distance to her, and maybe it was since she wasn’t as tall as mom and Austin which meant she couldn’t walk as fast as they could. But two days was more than enough to do thirty miles and come home.
She looked at the map some more, trying to think. The area wasn’t like back in Atlanta, where she’d grown up in the suburbs and everything was covered with cities and towns and roads and people. Well, zombies now, but that was the point.
There were hardly any towns, and no cities, anywhere near where mom and Austin would have gone. Four little towns, two of them very, very tiny, if they’d gone straight from here to Belle Glade. And even the pair of larger towns could have been easily bypassed without trying very hard. And lots and lots of open space without any towns, even teeny tiny ones, where they could have stayed about as safe as travel these days was until they got to Belle Glade.
Something was wrong.
Candice knew it. She made herself fold the map up, put it in her pocket. Mom had been very clear. Very clear; stay in the house. It was safe here. They’d left Atlanta because mom wanted to find a safe place for her. Not for mom but for her; and they’d left Georgia and come down to Florida for the same reason. Candice knew it, knew it in her heart and her head. They’d not only risked a lot to get here, but had spent a lot of effort so they could stay here. So she could be kept here where mom and Austin could keep her safe.
But … something was wrong. There had to be something wrong. Five days was too long. And whatever mom wanted, whatever mom had ordered, Candice would have to leave the house eventually to get more wood for the fire. The day after tomorrow at the latest.
There was a big difference between going out looking for wood, and contemplating, even thinking about thinking about, going off after mom and Austin.
Mom would be mad. Really mad. Even if Candice found them, even if they needed help, mom would be furious. But if they needed help … wasn’t it worth the anger? To save them?
Candice also felt that if there was a chance she could help, that her going down there could get them back here safely. That it would be the best thing for her long term. Mom wanted her to stay in the house because it was safe here. But what happened if they vanished and Candice was alone?
She shivered again. The past several days had been bad enough. If it went on like this, even if nothing ever happened, not even when she went out to bring wood back, there was danger in being alone. The food wouldn’t last forever either, not even with all that had been brought back and it just being her eating it. Sooner or later, even a long later, she’d have to go looking for more than just wood.
Not even the garden would probably be enough. Not even the garden plus fishing — if she could figure out how to cut the fish up and get them ready to eat — could hold her forever could it? The lines that normally trailed from the deck and out into the lake to catch whatever might bite the hooks weren’t even out right now because she didn’t know how to turn the fish into something she could eat.
Candice knew forever was a long time. Longer than one birthday to the next, and that was already an eternity. Sandy had been fourteen; she was almost eleven. Just getting to be as old as Sandy had been before … before, was a length of time she couldn’t even imagine in her head. Day after day, here in the house, doing chores and going out to get what she needed. Every day of that endless stretch of time, by herself.
Alone.
No, she decided. Mom might be mad, but she’d been mad before. Even since everything had changed and the zombies had come. If getting in trouble, a lot of trouble, was all she had to put up with to avoid that … she could handle that. Anything was better than this.
But she had to think about it. Figure it out. Even Austin, with all his toughness and knowledge from b
eing a soldier and bodyguard, and the months since September, didn’t just head out of the house without a plan. Mom certainly didn’t. The two of them had spent all evening before they’d left planning the trip they were still out on.
She’d need things, like food and water. The pistol, and bullets for it. Warm clothes for when night came, if it came to that.
And a plan. She needed a plan.
* * * * *
“Mr. Happy?” Candice asked, standing in the doorway of the house Happy occupied. The front porch was empty except for some drained bottles, the chair, and a little cooler — just a plastic box, since there was no ice — which meant he was either inside or on the back deck. The cooler was nearly empty.
In the living room, she saw bottles everywhere. A lot of them. Empty, some with little dried streaks of color in them when the glass was clear enough to see, and all different shapes and colors. Some of the labels were a little faded, but she knew they’d all held alcohol. Some were broken, but most weren’t. Piles of them were building against the walls, and especially the corners, in places; but they covered the floor except for a little T-shaped clear path that ran from the front door to the back, and from that to the back hall.
There were only two things the man did, even in the entire time she’d been here with mom and Austin. He drank, and got more to drink from the stash he had in the house. Candice had never seen it, but Byron and the others had; on the occasions they’d been inside the house. Austin had heard about it from them, and he and mom had mentioned it occasionally. It was supposed to be box after box full of bottles, stacked in two of the bedrooms. Happy had apparently taken them all from a liquor store before coming here and starting to drink them.
Candice didn’t get it, at all. She understood adults sometimes drank alcohol, but it smelled funny. Austin had let her taste a beer he was having one time, and it had made her gag. But Happy liked it, a lot. Even though it made him act funny and strange, even though mom said it wasn’t good for him. He just kept drinking. Mom and Austin both said it was going to kill him if he didn’t stop, but he never did.
“Mr. Happy?” she called again after glancing behind her to make sure nothing had appeared along the quiet street or from anywhere else to threaten her.
There was still no answer. Candice decided she’d waited long enough and entered the house. She closed the door behind her out of mom-instilled reflex, then went down the clear path of bottle-free floor to the back door, which was standing open. As she approached, she heard faint snoring, and when she reached the doorway she saw Happy sprawled untidily in his chair.
His head was on one shoulder, which was slumped at a severe angle as gravity and his own slack muscles pulled him down and toward the plastic deck furniture’s arm. Drool spilled from his mouth, dribbling as much on his beard and arm and shirt as it did on the chair or deck. Everything he wore was as filthy as ever, but this was actually the first time Candice had ever been close to him.
He smelled. Bad.
It wasn’t just dirt or sweat, or both after a day, even several days, without a shower. It was overlaid with a funk, a distinctive odor, that swirled within the mere unwashedness. His shirt had so many stains on it she realized some of them, most of them, completely obscured the cloth and rose from it like patches that had been applied one spill at a time. The pants were no better. He didn’t wear shoes. But that just left his feet and toes bare for her to see the nails had gone untrimmed for so long they were curling over the ends of his toes, and dirt and foulness was caked across his skin.
His beard and hair were as wild as ever, the beard alone doubling the size of his face and completely covering his neck from the front. And some of the sides. And the beard was even more disgusting than his shirt, with drool and spills and even insects matted in it by his eternal drunken careless and carefree approach to the world now that zombies were here.
Wrinkling her nose, Candice looked around quickly as she tried to adjust. The smell really was horrible. There was another cooler out here, crammed full of bottles unlike the one out front. Another was cradled in the man’s arm, the crook of his elbow attached to the arm he was leaning his head against. An empty one was on the deck next to his chair, near at least a dozen others.
Byron usually cleaned the bottles up, getting them into the house, when he visited; but he’d been gone for over a week now. Before he and mom had gone off, Austin had regularly done the same for the front porch, again moving them into the house so they wouldn’t clutter up the outside of the house. Always, both of them, doing it when Happy was passed out, as he was now.
“Mr. Happy.” Candice said tentatively. The drunk snored on. She tried again, louder. “Mr. Happy?” Happy didn’t move.
She considered. Touching Happy when he was asleep was a bad idea; Austin and mom both said so. He reacted with enthusiastic abandon if he was disturbed, swinging and kicking and ready to fight. It was the only time Happy was ever anything other than happy. But she really needed to talk to him.
Finally Candice bent down and picked up two of the bottles. Her intention was to throw them against the others on the deck, breaking them and making noise, but then she looked at Happy’s completely disgusting, bare, feet. She paused, thinking, then shrugged and started tapping the bottles together to make noise. Tentatively at first, then harder as she became more confident the bottles were sturdy enough to take more impact without breaking.
The sound rang out, getting louder as she clinked them together harder. It started getting annoying, to her ears anyway, but Happy remained in the chair, unaware. She moved closer and kept tapping, then finally as close as she dared without being in reach if he woke up swinging. Clink, clink, clink. Snores. Clink, clink, clink.
Finally Happy stirred. His snores turned into some soft moans and groans. She kept tapping the bottles together, and finally his eyes opened.
“Izzit happy hour?” he slurred, blinking his eyes blearily and looking around. “Oh, hey there Candy Candy. Howzit going?”
“Mr. Happy?” Candice said, lowering the bottles. “I need to talk to you.”
“What time is it?”
“Morning.”
“Wrong!” he said, pushing himself upright in the chair. His hand, his entire arm, missed the arm of the chair and he fell over sideways. Bottles skittered across the deck, rebounding off the railing that they were too thick to fit through. The man hit and sprawled on the deck with the chair more or less atop his legs. The bottle he’d been cradling caromed into the corner of the deck against the railing, spilling what remained.
“Are you okay?” Candice asked anxiously from near the door, where she’d instinctively jumped back to when he moved.
“Ow.” Happy said, though he didn’t sound like he was hurt. “Wrong! “Wrong, wrong, wrong.” He sat up. “It’s not morning time.”
“It’s not?” she asked cautiously.
“It’s time for a drink!” Happy said, kicking the chair off him to one side and sitting up next to the cooler. “Now let me see…”
“Mr. Happy, I need to talk to you.”
“Hang on, hang on, ah, here we go.” he said, extracting a clear bottle that held equally clear liquid. He spun the cap off with a quick twist and slide of his fingers, let it drop to the deck, and took a long swig.
Candice waited, as he swallowed from the bottle. And kept swallowing. And then swallowed some more. Finally he lowered it, let out a wet belch, and smiled. Then he looked at her and visibly flinched. “Candy Candy. What are you doing here?” he asked as the liquid in the bottle sloshed around.
“I need to talk to you.” she said again.
“Sure thing. What can I do … do … do for you?”
“My mom, and Austin, they’re missing.” Candice said. “They left to help Byron five days ago, and haven’t come back.”
“I keep telling and telling you fuckers.” Happy said with a lolling back and forth shake of his head. “Happy’s got the answers to the apo … apoca … fuck it, the dam
n zombies. You stay here and have a fucking drink, and it all just fucking works out.”
“I don’t think it will.” Candice said anxiously. “Work out I mean.”
“Why the hell wouldn’t it?” Happy said, sounding both amused and indignant. “It’s sure as hell working for me.”
“I need to find them. I wanted to know if you’d help me go look.”
“Candy Candy.” Happy said. “Candy Candy sweet Candy Candy. Lis … lis … listen to me. This will alllllll work out. You just gotta fucking kick back and let it happen.”
“No, they’ve been gone too long. Something’s happened. I need to find them.”
“You know, we haven’t talked. You never come around.”
“I’m supposed to stay in the house.”
He peered at her. “So why are you here? Here? Here?”
“Because I need your help.”
“Help.” Happy snorted. “Help. Let me … let me tell you a story.”
“Okay.” she said reluctantly.
“Once upon a time,” he said, before he paused to belch again, “there was a guy who lived … lived near here. He had a pretty nice, yeah pretty nice, fucking life. A job he liked, sure as shit. Married, real great looking girl too. We f—”
Happy stopped, blinked at her, and smiled. “Hang on.” He lifted the bottle and took another long drink. “Ah. Anyway, he was married, and they loved … yeah loved … each other. House, great little house. Yard, ri … ri … riding mower. With a beer holder.” he said slowly, nodding at the end and smiling wider.
“Worked outside every day, got to play in the swamp an’ the lake every day. Huntin’ and fishin’, show tourists around and they’d pay for it all. And he had a dog, a great fucking dog. Real good fucking dog. Loyal, smart bastard, went everywhere with him.”