by TW Brown
“Yeah, I was a bit annoyed to see that Neil was still here myself.” The big man frowned and then glanced over his shoulder at Neil before turning back to me. “Hey…forgot to tell you that I was glad to see your dog is doing better.”
“Celebrate the small victories, right?”
“Amen, bruddah.” That was the first time his voice carried any sort of accent.
“Name’s Evan Berry, by the way.” I extended a hand to the man. “I don’t think we’ve ever actually been introduced.”
“Rickey Lepinski.” He accepted my handshake, and the first thing I noticed was how massively thick his fingers were. “Introductions are sorta falling by the wayside lately.”
I saw what I thought might be sadness filter into Rickey’s eyes. Now that we were standing face-to-face, I could actually get a better look at him. He was about six inches taller than me, but his chest was much broader. His arms were just as impressive with corded muscles flexing with even the slightest movement. His hair was long and jet black. Currently it was pulled back in a ponytail. His legs were tree trunks holding the man and I had to imagine he could’ve been a pro wrestler if he’d chosen that path.
I gave the man a nod and then joined in with going over the place as fast as possible and bringing anything and everything that might be useful down to where it was all being piled. As I did, I had mixed feelings. I understood why it was important to have everything in one location so we could grab the best and most useful stuff possible. My problem was that, if this zombie herd swept through here, everything we didn’t take would likely be destroyed.
At last it seemed as if we had everything scrounged up. There was very little rhyme or reason as people moved in and began plucking things they deemed important. I realized, after giving the stuff I’d grabbed a good once over, that we’d all basically equipped ourselves as if we’d be alone. I also discovered that this crap was heavy, and any lengthy trip would sap what little strength I’d managed to regain.
Marshawn leaned over to me and whispered, “Where do you think we should go?”
My mind went blank for a moment. Then a bulb flickered and sputtered to life. “There was a nice house with a wall and even an iron gate.”
Of course, there was also a dead Hispanic family inside the house as well as a group of zombies gathered out front. Hopefully they would’ve moved on by now. If not, and the numbers hadn’t swollen too big, the group I was with should be able to handle it.
I shoved all the memories of that family and their fate from my head as I informed the group of what I figured to be the best possible location for us to retreat, catch our breath, and figure out what to do next.
“Evan!” a female voice said from beside me.
There was something in her quiet tone that instantly grabbed my attention. She hadn’t screamed or sounded hysterical, but there had been something in her voice that sank into me like a fishing hook.
I glanced over at her and saw that she was staring back at the house. Specifically, her eyes were glued on the main entrance to the place.
Standing in the doorway was a small child. He or she—the degree of filth the child was covered in made it impossible to be certain of the gender—was simply standing there regarding us. His head cocked first to one side, then the other. I felt my stomach clench. How had a zombie child escaped our notice all this time? Unless, of course, there was a breach in the defenses that this child had recently walked through. I quickly dismissed that possibility since it was obvious that the child was coming from inside the house. That brought on another new chill as I realized that some, if not all, of us had slept in there last night.
All of those thoughts zipped through my mind in the blink of an eye. Which was also how long it took for the child to lift an arm and point in my direction.
“Chewie, come!” the tiny figure rasped from a throat that was in obvious need of water.
Before I could react, my dog rose up and padded over to the child. The child raised a single finger and the dog sat obediently. She was rewarded for her efforts by something the child produced from pants pockets that were so covered in filth that I swear I heard them make a ripping sound as a grubby hand plunged inside and produced something that my dog happily and amazingly gently accepted.
“Michael?” I said quietly.
The filthy face looked up from Chewie to me. “You didn’t commit murder to all the bad people,” he said with simple innocence. “They came and did bad things.”
Without thought, I rushed to the boy and knelt before him. “Michael, how…I don’t…” Just that quick, I was tongue-tied. A million questions tried to reach my lips all at once, but none of them would give way to the other, so I just stuttered and stammered.
“They did bad things to Chewie.” Michael looked down at the dog and a single tear crested his lower eyelid and rolled down his face. The grime was too thick and too dry to be cut through by one single tear and so it ran down his cheek quickly and plopped onto the ground.
“You know this kid?” a voice said from behind me, causing me to start.
“Yes, his name is Michael Killian.” I looked over my shoulder and up at Marshawn. When his eyes met mine, I mouthed the words, ‘I think he is autistic.’
“Hey, Michael, my name is Marshawn.” The man knelt beside me to put himself at Michael’s level. “Have you been here this whole time?”
The boy’s gaze drifted past the two of us, but never stopped until he was looking away and sort of down at the ground. His hands ran over Chewie’s head and took an ear in each as he began to massage them.
“You have very dark skin, that bad man would not like you.” His words were simple, but they left no doubt as to what “bad man” he was referring to.
“Why would you say that, Michael?” I asked, bringing my hands up to join his in Chewie’s fur.
“He kept saying the bad word to the three ladies who had skin like that. He made them cry.” Michael paused. He sighed heavily like the weight of the world was resting squarely on his shoulders. “That is when Betty got angry and slapped him. He did bad things to her and let one of the monster people bite her arm.”
I didn’t want to know what bad things he could’ve done that were worse than having her intentionally bitten. However, now that he was talking, I was hoping that Michael might shed some light on what had happened to the others.
“What about Carl and Selina?” I asked.
The boy just continued to run his hands through the thick fur of Chewie’s neck for several seconds. I wished I knew more about the young boy’s condition. Honestly, all I knew about autism was that it had a funny-colored puzzle piece as part of the logo.
“Are we gonna sit here and wait for the zombie herd to arrive?” Neil’s voice called out.
I bit back my initial replay which might’ve been something along the lines of how much I would like for him to do exactly that. Instead, I stood, turned to the people gathered, and let my eyes take in what now consisted of my new group.
There was me, Marshawn, Rickey, Tracy Gibbons, Neil (of course), Darya Kennedy (formerly Darya Petrov, sister to Don Evans’ righthand woman) and her son, a little boy not much older than Michael. Why had I thought there were more of us?
“Why don’t we try to distract them…send them in a different direction?” Darya asked.
We all looked at each other and then back to her. She seemed to wilt under the sudden attention of everybody now studying at her. I gave her a nod to continue.
“That’s how we kept the larger groups away from our last place. We sent out people with noisemakers and activated them to divert the zombies in a new direction,” she explained.
We all looked at each other with varying expressions of curiosity. Could we do this and not have to venture out into the unknown again? Of course, I already knew that I would have no choice but to leave again. The only difference being that I would prefer to do so after I’d had some recovery time. I hated to admit it, but my body was beat to hell
and back. As much as I wanted to get out there and not only hunt down Don Evans and his crew, I also wanted to find out if any of my people managed to survive.
“He took some of them,” Michael said as he nuzzled Chewie, burying his face in her fur and hugging her.
I felt my heart jump up to my throat. If he took some of the people from here, then there was a chance they might still be alive. That meant that, if I could find where Don Evans and his people went, then I might be able to save some of them. What I couldn’t say to these people who had fallen in with me was that this was basically my fault. I’d given up this location when I’d been being held prisoner. I could try to color it any way I wanted, but that was the cold, hard truth.
“Did he take Selina? Carl?” I repeated, doing my best to be as gentle as I could and not spook the boy.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw Neil stomp off throwing his hands up in the air. I didn’t know how much longer I would last before I beat the living daylights out of the guy.
“He made Carl walk,” Michael whispered.
I had no idea what that meant. All I could try to take from it was that perhaps the man was still alive.
“Amanda would not go on the bus unless the bad man promised to not hurt Selina.” Michael glanced up at me so fast and so briefly that I might’ve imagined it.
It took me a moment to recall who Amanda was. I finally remembered that she’d been the one we rescued during all the madness with Brandon Cook.
“So, are we going to try this noisemaker thing?” Marshawn whispered. “If it works, great. But if not…we are probably screwed seven ways to Sunday.”
I stood and looked around at my tiny group. Once more I could not help but flash back to so many of the zombie movies and shows where everybody looked so good. Maybe there would be an obligatory smudge of dirt on the cheek or something, but that was about it.
These people were exhausted. Clothing was hanging from a few, indicating the lack of food they’d consumed the past several days while still having to run for their lives. Looking down at Chewie, she was in no condition to make a long trip.
On a good day, she was not up for much past a couple of miles of straight walking. Her thick, black coat sucked in every bit of heat which meant I had to keep her hydrated. That would be a challenge on a trip that I wasn’t entirely sure of when it came to distance. Sure, I could deny myself water and carry enough for her, but how long would I last?
“Who wants to try to hold up here a bit longer and give this noisemaker thing a shot?” I asked the group.
Darya’s hand shot up before I’d even finished asking the question. Her little boy looked up at her and copied his mom. The next hand to go up was the other lady in our group, Tracy Gibbons. Having seen her fight, I knew it wasn’t because she was a coward.
Marshawn gave a shrug and his hand went up, followed by Rickey’s. That left Neil Pearson. Personally, I didn’t care which way he voted, the majority had already taken it. We were staying put and trying the noisemaker trick, but I still wanted to see what he would do. I was a little surprised when he raised his hand to make it unanimous.
“All we need to do now is find something to make plenty of noise with,” I said, clapping my hands together.
“I think I have just the thing.”
If it would’ve been physiologically possible, I would’ve bruised my chin when my jaw bounced off the ground. Of all the people to have an idea, the last person I figured would be Neil.
He seemed to realize that all eyes had tracked to him. He glared back with a look of what could only be defiance. Almost as if he dared any of us to challenge him now that he’d told us he had an idea.
“There were a few abandoned police cars down the hill at that medical center,” he said.
I could not help but laugh out loud. Considering our relationship, that was probably not the best reaction, but I was laughing at myself. How had I forgotten about them? And why hadn’t the idea occurred to me?
“If you have—” Neil started, his face turning red and his fists clenching at his sides.
“No, you are absolutely right.” I raised my hands, gesturing for him to relax. “I can’t believe I forgot about them.” Then a thought hit me. “When were you down there?”
Now the red in his face was from embarrassment rather than anger if his expression was any indication. He mumbled something that I couldn’t hear.
“I didn’t get that.” I made it a point to keep my tone even.
“A couple of the people that took off last night made it a point to take some of our stuff. I didn’t see how they deserved it seeing as how they were bailing.” He ran his hands through his greasy, brown hair. “I went after them.”
I didn’t see the big deal; apparently Marshawn did. He leaned over to me and whispered, “Drop it, I’ll tell you later.”
“So, who is going to make this little run?” Rickey asked in his deep voice.
“I’ll go,” I said.
“I’m game,” Marshawn offered.
“I’m in.”
Every head turned and I was glad to see that I wasn’t the only person surprised at Neil’s statement. He didn’t seem all that stunned by the reaction. Maybe he was one of those rare sorts that knows he’s a dick.
“Then we need to grab some gear and go.” I motioned toward the pile of supplies we’d piled up. “Everybody else gear up just in case this doesn’t work. It would be appreciated if packs were put together for the three of us.”
“I will watch Chewie,” Michael said, sitting down on the ground beside my dog.
I might’ve been the only person to hear him. I was certainly the only one to react. I knelt down by the pair. Chewie immediately rolled onto her back, offering up her belly to be scratched. It was nice to see her snapping back to normal so fast.
“Could you see if any of her food is still okay?” I hiked a thumb at the burnt pile of sacks of dog food.
“The bad man said dogs are a waste of sources.” Michael ran his hands over my dog’s belly, careful to avoid any of the injuries.
Neil muttered something, but I couldn’t make it out; which was probably for the best. I was about to venture outside the relative safety of the camp. There would not be any witnesses soon, but right now I needed to put all that behind me and operate as a cohesive unit.
I got to my feet and joined the two men in putting together the necessities for our little adventure. I grabbed a pair of canteens and checked that they were full. I selected a .22 caliber six-shooter and pocketed three boxes that held fifty bullets each. I added a pair of Buck knives, a machete, and a baseball bat. That last item I would simply carry.
It wasn’t the most effective weapon despite what pop-fiction had led folks to believe. It would take several swings—in most cases—to crush the skull and end a zombie versus one with a machete. On the other hand, nothing beat it for knocking something away if it popped out and surprised you.
I watched Marshawn gear up and was surprised when all he grabbed was a non-descript .45 caliber pistol and a pair of brutal looking machetes. As for Neil, you would’ve thought he was a soldier in the Middle East heading into a full-on war zone. He had two rifles—one slung over each shoulder—a large machete, a hand axe, an assortment of knives dangling from his webbed belt, some sort of filled pack where I guess he stowed his ammo, a shoulder-harnessed pistol that would’ve made Dirty Harry say, “Damn!”, and he was carrying a shotgun in his hands.
The three of us headed for one of the breaches in the wall and exited the grounds. Just before I stepped through the gap in the wall, I turned back to the group who stood watching us leave.
“Shore up all these spots where the wall was busted down,” I said. “And everybody be ready to do a grab-and-go if we come back with bad news.”
I waded through the tall grass and caught up with Marshawn and Neil who were making their way down to Johnson Creek Boulevard. This massive mob was supposedly on the other side of Interstate
205.
“Who found this herd?” I asked as I caught up.
“Me,” Neil muttered.
I could tell there was something he wasn’t saying. He wasn’t giving me the stare down of defiance. I really wanted to ask, but I figured if I pressed, we’d end up fighting, and right now, like it or not, I needed him.
“I was gonna split,” he finally admitted. “I know I’m not wanted or welcome. And after my throw-down with the deserters, I just wanted to bail.”
The funny thing was, I could understand his point. In the simplest terms, he was embarrassed. I really didn’t know what to say. He and I had been at odds since meeting. Setting that aside wasn’t easy. I heard Stephanie’s voice in my head telling me to get over myself.
“If you hadn’t gone for a…walk…” I gave a shrug, hoping it came across as me being accepting, “…then we would’ve been sitting around with our thumbs up our collective butts when this herd you spotted came rolling up to our door.”
Neil didn’t say anything, but that was sorta good. He hadn’t said anything that made me want to kill him. Of course, the reason he was quiet could’ve been what was just now reaching the interstate overpass.
2
Diversion
No movie could do this mob the justice it deserved. We had just reached the driveway entrance to the medical center, but we could see very clearly the far side of Interstate 205. They had already crested the ridge and were now coming our direction.
I wouldn’t have been so worried if there had only been a few hundred…or even just a couple of thousand. But this was a sea of mobile undeath. I have no idea how, but up until this moment, I hadn’t heard them.
I heard them now. It was a steady stream of moans that melded into a seemingly infinite one…interspersed with cries. And for me to be able to pick that particular sound out…there had to be a lot of those crybaby zombies in the mix.
My best guess? The wall of the undead had to be a half mile wide at least. They were destroying everything in their path like a plague of locusts. I could only imagine what they were leaving in their wake.