by Deb Rotuno
“Hot damn,” Derek sang low when decaying flesh met unforgiving metal. “Gotta love iron.”
“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Brody stated, pulling out a crowbar. “Save the bullets.”
Sasha worked her ass off to get them to follow her, but as soon as they were lining up along the fence, my son started forward.
Grabbing his shirt, I said, “Not this time. We’re doing this silent. And don’t get too close. They’ll still pull you in, Freddie. Okay?”
He nodded, staying by my side. My pride in him was palpable. He’d done everything we’d asked of him the entire time we’d been gone. He’d shown skill in the fight just before we reached 97, remembering everything he’d been taught. After hearing how he’d frozen the first time he’d shot a zeak, I’d worried he’d do it again, but he’d shaken it off. He’d simply told Sara, “They’re sick.”
The fence was full of reaching, grasping hands, snarling misshapen faces, and snapping teeth. The bastards were hungry. There was a shit-ton of them too, which made me think that some of them got in from either Portland or the highway before someone had locked their asses inside the fence.
We used knives, crowbars, and machetes, not to mention Derek and I used our compound bows to eliminate them. They fell at the fence, allowing more to shift forward.
“Dad! We got more. Mom’s side!” Freddie called, and my head spun to the other side of the gate, where Quinn, Lexie, and Sara were clearing more. They seemed to have come from the other section of trees.
“Go!” Derek snapped, jerking his chin before releasing an arrow. “We got this side.”
I ran past them to the other side of Quinn, opting for my knife because they were lined up right there.
“This place may be too overrun, Jack,” Quinn grunted as he jammed his weapon into the eye of a woman whose face was half-missing. “It may not be worth it.”
“This fence alone is worth it,” Lexie told him, and I had to agree with her. “Cleaning house will just take time.”
There weren’t as many on that side, and we cleared them out quickly. I walked to Sara, merely squeezing her shoulder and kissing the back of her head, but I glanced over when there were yells and commotion.
“Oh shit,” Sara whispered as we all watched Hank drive a knife into the zeak that had pulled Brody in so hard that he lost his balance.
“I’m okay!” he snapped, standing up, but Hank pushed him to one of the brick posts. “Hank, damn it!”
“Let me see you!” Hank yelled back, and it was rare the man ever raised his voice, so we all sort of came to a standstill as he looked Brody over. “That was too damn close, son.” He finally released him.
“How does a man that size lose his fucking balance?” Lexie murmured to no one in particular.
I sniffed, glancing to her and then to Sara, whose eyes were narrowed. “Mmm,” I hummed softly, “been wonderin’ that myself.” Stepping closer to the gate, I called to Hank. “I think we’re good to head on in. What about you?”
“Yup,” he agreed, using the crowbar to crack the lock. “But we drive in, then back up to the doors for easy escape if needed.”
He and Derek pushed the gates open enough for the trucks to be pulled through, only to shut them back. Derek quickly grabbed our spent arrows, and they hopped in before we pulled closer. Quinn and I backed up straight to the front steps, and then we all piled out once again.
“I want to sweep this place in teams,” Hank stated, looking up at three damn stories of rooms. “I want to know if this place is salvageable, if we can live here, or if we just raid it and go.” He eyed me for a moment, his face unreadable. “Jack, you and Brody take the downstairs. The rest of us will work through the rooms.”
He suspected something, which made me smirk and nod. He either knew Brody was off a bit, or he suspected it. Personally, I was pretty damn certain the man had been drinking the night before, but it wasn’t the time to say anything. Or maybe I’d wait to call him out on it.
“Hey, Dad…Jack?” Sara called softly, pointing to the door where a light on the wall glowed dimly. “This place has power. It’s weak, but…”
Quinn backed up a little, gazing up at the roof. “Solar…maybe wind too, but I’d have to look at the back. I don’t see any windmills…”
“Well, this place is a wet dream,” Brody muttered to himself before reaching for the doorknob of the front door. “We’ll split up, okay?” he said to me.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” I nodded, turning to everyone else. “You guys take Sasha.”
“I wanna stay with you,” Freddie piped up.
“Freddie, you’re…” Sara started, but I stopped her.
“No, he’s good. He can stick with me.” I knelt in front of him. “You’ll stay by my side, do what I tell you, and no arguments. You’ve been awesome so far, but in here… These things could be anywhere. Got it?”
He nodded fervently. “Okay, Dad. Got it.”
I stood up, kissing Sara’s forehead. “Watch yourself. Stick with Derek or your dad, okay?”
“You two be careful.”
Brody opened the door slowly, and it was dim, but there were enough windows to light the whole damn lobby, not to mention there were a few wall lights that were glowing softly.
“Fuck, we get that shit working right, we’re talking refrigeration, hot water, even cooking indoors,” Derek mused aloud. “We gotta get Jesse up here. We were just talking solar panels the other night.”
“You think you can do something with it?” I asked him softly.
“Maybe. Worth a damn shot, anyway.” He slapped my shoulder, pointing to Brody, who had his back to us. “Watch yourselves,” he said, ruffling Freddie’s hair, but he bent down to whisper something in my son’s ear, low enough I didn’t catch it.
Freddie’s eyes widened, but he looked to Derek and nodded. “Okay.”
The wooden floors creaked under boots and sneakers. The air inside the place smelled stale, with a touch of death to it, which told me there were zeaks somewhere, just not out in the open. Freddie and I drifted to the right, while Brody took the left. The rest of them aimed for the stairwell just off to the side of the main sitting area. Sara gave me one last glance before following her dad, but I was happy to see Sasha by her side every step.
Freddie and I walked carefully around the front desk, checking offices and restrooms. The room at the very end of the hallway was marked as a conference room, and Freddie pressed an ear to the door.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “It’s quiet.”
“Okay,” I said softly, pulling him behind me. “Then you watch my back.”
I turned the knob on the door, slowly pushing it open. The stench hit me before the zeaks inside could register movement or noise. Luckily, there were enough windows to allow light in, because it only took one motherfucker to start a chain reaction.
Pulling the door closed quickly, I sighed, looking to Freddie, who was braced and ready. “Okay…silence is no longer an option. Get ready, son,” I told him, shouldering the compound bow and pulling out my .45. “There were about six inside, okay?”
He nodded, raising his rifle. “Okay.”
“When I kick this door, it’ll shove them back. You aim high and shoot fast.”
When he looked ready, I kicked the door as hard as I could, which sent the zeaks inside back several steps. Freddie took out two on my left, and I popped off three rounds. The sixth zeak was bad off as it was. With arms missing and a broken jaw, not to mention what used to be a damned expensive suit, he merely fell toward us, and Freddie took him out before I could shove him back.
Holding up a hand to signal for him to wait at the door, I stepped inside the room. It was a mess, with blood and chaos everywhere. Tables were overturned, windows were smeared, and a few bodies were so ravaged that they couldn’t get up off the floor after they’d turned. I ended them quickly, calling clear.
Freddie peeked in, wrinkling his nose like his mother, which made me smir
k and ruffle his hair.
“Good job.”
“There’s another door,” he said, pointing to the last door down the lobby hallway. “First-aid?”
“Looks like it,” I agreed softly, pressing my ear to the door. “We’ll do this the same way, though I don’t think anything’s inside. Our shots would’ve roused them.”
Freddie nodded, engaging his rifle as I slowly opened the door. It was a simple clinic office, most likely to treat easy wounds, scrapes, and colds. Nothing major. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I noted everything my parents could use, should we forgo keeping the place. There were some spilled shelves and probably some missing meds, but no zeaks, no blood, no chaos.
I faced Freddie, who looked up at me tense and wide-eyed. “We’re good.” I closed the door and led us back down the hall and into the main part of the lobby.
The fireplace was enormous, and situated around it were a bunch of leather sofas and chairs, not to mention plenty of tables. Two large bookcases flanked either side, filled to the damn top. There was no sign of Brody, and no sound either, so I led us the way he’d gone.
We passed by what looked to be a souvenir shop; the last headline on the newspaper stand was that the president was dead. We were six months into the virus, so this place had to have shut down right about the time Sara had started for the cabins.
I heard thumps overhead, gunfire, and raised voices, but it ended quickly, along with Sasha’s deep bark.
“Mom?” Freddie whispered, but I stopped him.
“Mom’s smart, and she’s in good company with Grandpa Hank and Derek. If they need us, they know where to find us,” I vowed to him.
“You’re not worried?”
“I’m always worried,” I said with a humorless laugh, “but you have to trust who you’re with, kiddo, who your mom’s with, and you have to trust your mom too.”
He nodded, swallowing thickly. “Are we lookin’ for Brody?”
“Speaking of trusting,” I muttered to myself, sniffing the air once and finding it somewhat clear. “Something like that,” I answered him. “C’mon.”
We entered a dark pub-type room, and my eyes narrowed to focus. There weren’t many windows in there, but it was filled with a handful of small tables and soft chairs. Along the right side of the room was a dark-wood bar, glass shelves filled with mugs and wineglasses, and a few abandoned bottles of alcohol. The clink of glass from behind the bar caught my ears, and my temper unraveled as I peeked over the top.
The asshole hadn’t gotten very far in his search, or maybe he had but couldn’t resist coming back in here. He was behind the bar, rummaging around in shelves and stashing a bottle or two in his backpack.
Backing slowly away, I pulled Freddie from the room, setting him atop the souvenir-shop counter. “Don’t move from this spot, son. No matter what you hear,” I told him, my temper barely under control.
“But, Dad…”
“Not an inch. Hear me? I need to have a chat with Brody…”
Freddie frowned, and it was almost a pout, but he nodded, setting his rifle across his lap.
I pointed to him one more time before stalking back into the bar.
“Find anything?” I called loudly, smirking when the bastard slammed his head on the cabinet door.
“Not much,” he sighed, shrugging a shoulder before slinging his pack up on it, and I noticed it was much heavier than before. “There’s still the kitchen to check out.”
He started for the dining room, but I said, “You know, Brody… I keep asking myself why you stay with us.”
“The hell are babbling about, Chambers?” He sighed wearily and turned to face me.
“Well, I’m just wondering… I mean, you don’t seem to be all that happy at… What’d you call it? Oh yeah, Camp Chambers.” I grinned at the name. I rather liked it, but I shrugged at him. “You have no respect for Hank, even though he’s repeatedly saved your ass. You blame my wife for your father, and you despise me and just about everyone around you, so…what gives?”
“Sara did that shit on purpose!” he snapped, pointing to me.
“No, she didn’t, and you know it. You know damn well she would’ve done anything to stop it.”
“You weren’t there!”
“Neither were you, asshole!” I countered, stepping closer to him. “You left them. You knew you were taking two people away from camp, and the results were devastating, but you can’t blame them when shit fell apart.”
His face reddened, and he set the pack down as he stepped closer. “You have no fucking idea what you’re saying. Maybe you should mind your own damn business.”
“She is my business. The camp is my business. It’s all our business when you stay blitzed out of your fucking mind, Matthews. You’re gonna slip up, get someone killed, maybe even yourself. That’s my fucking business! Because it’s my family—my wife, my son, my parents. I’ll fucking kill you before I allow you to endanger them anymore.”
“Aren’t you just the All-American hero?” he taunted, shaking his head. “Jesus, Chambers, have you always been this way? A sanctimonious dick?”
“You mean protecting people from self-serving, self-centered pricks like you? Feels that way, doesn’t it? I mean, I had to the first time I met you… And you were a useless drunk then too. Tell me, fuckwit, how many bottles in the bag?”
“I told you to mind your own business, Chambers. I’m not fucking kidding. You might wanna watch that wife of yours… You never know what she’s up to when you’re not around,” he threatened with a grin, pointing to me.
My head fell back with my laugh, and that seemed to piss him off that much more. “Oh, she’s not you, Brody. She’s a thousand times better than you, but…” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You knew that. Even back then, didn’t you? I bet that fucked you up, knowing she saw through your bullshit and lies, watching her toss you away like yesterday’s fucking garbage. That she still sees through it and couldn’t care less whether you stay or go.” I pointed to the bag. “How many?”
“Go to hell,” he sneered, starting to leave the room again.
I was quicker than he was and snatched up the backpack. There were three bottles inside, but I dropped the bag to the floor, smiling at him when I heard glass shatter, smelled the smoky scent of bourbon hit the air.
“Uh-oh,” I sang with a chuckle. “Umm, oops?”
I knew he’d snap soon. Some things never changed, and his temper was one of them. I’d heard enough from the people who had dealt with him before I came to the campsite that his temper was quick, sharp. I knew that when drunk, it was worse. But I owed him an ass kicking, simply for one thing.
“Oh, yeah… One more thing,” I told him, swinging hard at his face, my fist meeting flesh and teeth as I pinned his ass to the floor by his throat. “That’s for daring to ever come at my wife with a broken bottle. Hank didn’t break your neck, but I sure as fuck will. You’ll stop drinking, or you’re on your own, Brody. That’s my business.”
I pushed off him, standing up straight, but he shot up from the floor quicker than I expected. Wrapping me up, he tackled me to the table behind us, sending candles and withered flowers to the floor. The weight of us combined was too much for the damn thing, and it gave way, collapsing beneath us.
His fist connected with my stomach, but mine met his face. Using my legs, I launched his ass over my head, hearing another poor table meet its demise. I rolled over just in time for a barstool to come crashing down over me. Brody came at me again, but I dodged his swing, putting my boot to his ass and sending him through the swinging kitchen door. The sound of metal and clanging was satisfying as he hit some sort of storage table. Pots, pans, and metal utensils fell to the orange tiles around him.
He snatched up a butcher’s knife, but he was untrained, undisciplined with it, so disarming him was simple, easy.
“You won’t win this, Brody,” I warned him. “I told you that years ago. Only this time, I don’t give two shits whether you’re drunk
or not…”
“How does a prick like you get to keep every-fucking-thing?” he asked with a grunt, shoving me into the metal table.
Pans and spoons skittered across the tile as we fought. He swung hard at my face, catching the scar above my eyebrow and reopening the damn thing. Blinking the blood from my sight, I shoved him full-force into a door, the wood creaking at the pressure it was under.
“You really need to own your shit, Matthews,” I sneered in his face. “Not everything that’s happened is someone else’s fucking fault.”
“Fuck you, Chambers. I should’ve killed you back then, you pompous asshole,” he wheezed when my hand constricted around his throat.
Grinning, I huffed a laugh. “You can try.”
Holding Brody by the throat as he clawed for my .45 strapped to my leg, I pulled my fist back, but the wooden door cracked down the middle, sending both of us to the floor. Suddenly, the stench of decay was overwhelming, snarls and growls and reaching rotten hands grabbed at us, but two gunshots went off, killing the two zeaks trapped in the pantry.
I pushed off Brody, leaning back against the wall, but when he moved, the sound of the rifle engaging, along with a low, deep growl and clicking nails on tile, met my ears.
“Don’t move, Brody,” Freddie warned him.
I turned my head to see Sasha by my son’s side, her head low, her teeth bared, but it was nothing compared to the fierce look on my son’s face.
“Freddie…”
“He…He tried to hurt you, Daddy,” Freddie stated, his voice wavering a little.
“Yes, well, we both owe you for saving our necks, pal,” I told him, my breathing still heavy as I gazed over to the two zeaks in the pantry. “I thought I told you to stay put.” I spit blood to the floor, gazing up at him.
“But Derek said not to trust Brody, that I was to watch your back…no matter what.”
Grinning, I sighed, rubbing my face and frowning when my hands came away with more blood on them. “Put the gun down, son.”
Freddie didn’t move, nor did he take his eyes off Brody, who wasn’t quite sure where he stood, I could imagine.