by TW Brown
We came out of the winding curves and saw what was left of a small gas station/convenience store that had suffered a terrible fire. It looked as if the fuel tanks had blown. The only reason we knew what used to be there at the location where a huge crater now dominated the landscape was because of the toppled sign that we had to weave around as we drove by.
Just past that we came upon what I initially thought to be just another small roadside church. That changed when Marshawn cursed and brought us to a stop as we crept around a particularly nasty three-car wreck. From the looks, somebody had come through and either pushed or drove these vehicles into the deep ditches that ran alongside the highway in this area. The zombies had been dispatched some time ago—via machete by the looks of things, I noted.
Up ahead, the church was also apparently an elementary school. Several zombie children could be seen just standing in the open field that had once served as the school’s playground. They definitely saw us. All of them were just standing there, but a few had come to the fence that lined the front of the school. They weren’t doing anything but watching…and that was incredibly creepy.
“You still say that the kid versions aren’t any different?” I mumbled, giving a tap to the back of Alex’s seat.
“They’re still zombies. They might behave different, but the end results are the same.” She turned in the seat to look at me. “And I never said they weren’t different. Only that they are still just walking dead and will bite and turn you like any other of its kind.”
“But what if they do have some sort of awareness?” I shot back. I couldn’t explain why this was sticking with me, but it was, and I couldn’t just let it go. “Maybe there has to be something else we can do when dealing with this kind of zombie.”
“Can you two do this later?” Marshawn snapped. “We need to get past them.”
A low rumble sounded and I turned to see Chewie straining against Michael’s grip as he struggled to keep her in the back with him. This was a new behavior, and I tried to look in the direction she was focused.
At first, I didn’t see anything beyond the distant zombie children. Then a flash of black caught my eye. I was leaning over Darya, and I heard her breath catch at the same moment I saw it.
“We need to go,” I hissed.
“What?” Marshawn started to turn around, and then he saw it as well. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Emerging from the woods were at least a hundred zombies. Leading them were a pack of coyotes and three huge dogs that looked at least related to the Pit Bull.
“How the hell…” Tracy started, but her voice choked off to a whisper as a sob escaped.
This little mob was coming from our right, just a few yards from the school. I leaned forward, straining my hearing. There it was. Faint, but after the second time, I was certain of what I was hearing.
“You need to go…NOW!” I smacked the back of Marshawn’s chair and he stomped the gas in response.
I rolled my window down as I shifted back to my seat. There was a house mostly hidden by the trees along the front. The chain link fence had been folded down. From the looks, I would say a large group of zombies had trudged through at some point. The ruined fence was fouled with strips of cloth as well as a few chunks of things best not looked at too closely. From beyond those trees, the sound came again. It was a metal on metal noise like somebody was smacking a pole into a sheet of corrugated metal. It was distant enough, or muffled perhaps, so that I had to concentrate to really hear it.
“What is that noise?” Alex whispered.
For the first time in our short acquaintance, she sounded a little frightened. I very briefly related my own prior experience with a similar situation.
“So they set up and wait for people to pass and then ring the dinner bell?” Tracy gasped.
“Something like that,” I said with a nod as we rolled past the church/school.
“How are we supposed to fight this? What’s next? Rats…birds…fucking mosquitoes?” Tracy snarled.
“I have only ever seen it jump to dogs,” I said, doing my best to sound calm and like I wasn’t just as terrified.
We cruised down the highway, and I couldn’t help but get to my knees and look back. Sure enough, zombies were just starting to stagger and shamble out onto the road. The dogs were still with them, but only a few turned our direction. Most of them kept going into the yard with the busted fence. We were just going around a slight bend in the road when I saw two zombie children emerge.
They came out to the street and might’ve looked our direction, but I am certain that I saw them cross the street. The problem with what I saw came from the fact that one of them was carrying something long and slender…like maybe a metal pipe? The other was dragging a square of what I am certain had to be metal.
Could the children be growing this coordinated in their ability to drive the adult versions? This was every kind of bad. I turned back to face front and gather myself. Once I was certain that I had my emotions under control, I shared what I’d seen with the group.
We were back up to speed, actually close to the posted speed limit of 55 miles-per-hour on this stretch of the highway, when the next distraction came into view. It was Alex who saw it first.
“A gun club?” Her voice had a tinge of excitement to it, like a kid anticipating a visit from Santa. “There has to be something there worth a damn.”
“Or…” Marshawn let that word draw out and then paused before continuing. “They could be heavily armed and waiting to shoot looters.”
“We aren’t looting,” Alex retorted.
“And I am sure they are going to be the sort to wait and ask us our intentions.” Despite his words, Marshawn was slowing down.
“Home of world and national champions,” Tracy read from the sign as we came to a stop at the turn-in. “You know, this doesn’t mean they actually have stuff on the premises. I imagine most people bring their own gear. It is a rifle club, not a shop.”
Marshawn eased the steering wheel over to turn in when a muffled report sounded. It was almost instantly followed by the ‘ting’ of a bullet striking the hood of the big Durango. The vehicle jerked to a halt as Marshawn stepped hard on the brakes.
“Yeah…I don’t think so,” he said as he cranked us around and floored it so that we accelerated away rapidly.
“What the hell!” Alex exclaimed, looking back at the entrance to the rifle club as it faded away. “Why would they do that?”
“Maybe they’ve met the wrong sort,” I offered with a shrug as I sat back and watched the scenery zoom past. “I can’t say I’m all that angry…or surprised, considering what I’ve bumped into out here.”
Alex opened her mouth to say something, but instead just sighed and turned back to face the front. I couldn’t help but notice all the farmland passing us by. Much of it looked to have already been tilled and perhaps even planted. Maybe we would have to return to this area over the next several weeks. If we could just reach our destination and it panned out the way I was hoping, we might be able to make a halfway decent life for ourselves.
A small voice in the back of my mind started whispering to me that I might never see it come to fruition even if it was a success. As soon as we got settled, I would take a few days, and then I had to go find Don Evans and rescue Carl, Selina, and anybody else who didn’t want to live under his rule.
At last, we passed a Ranger station on our right as we came to a sweeping bend in the highway. Estacada was right around the corner which was one of the places that I intended to use as site for scavenging supplies.
“So much for that,” I whispered to myself as the small town came into view.
The small shops and eateries that sat to our left had been torched. It had been very deliberate from the looks of things. Whomever had done this had used a mountain of tires from the Les Schwab Tires, setting them on fire and using that fire to bring down all the other establishments at this end of town.
We slowed to a cra
wl as a series of spike strips became visible in the road ahead. Then we noticed the collection of fire trucks that had been parked to form a giant square around an already fenced in tower at the other end of the small town. That was also where a line of RVs were parked, sealing the road off that would allow us to turn into the little downtown area. Along the roofs of the RVs, a group of people stood, all of them with a variety of weapons either slung over the shoulder, or cradled against the chest.
“If anybody has any ideas, now is a good time to share them,” Marshawn called out as we rolled to a stop.
“Attention vehicle occupants,” a voice called out. “We ask that you please step out of your vehicle. Do not display or reach for any form of firearms.”
I looked between the front seats and took in what waited for us. I could count ten people on the RVs and there was movement on the tower. Now that I got a better look at it, I could see that it was some sort of fire department training structure. This small town was apparently faring better than the big city. I couldn’t say I was all that surprised. The population in rural areas such as Estacada were known for being much more prone to owning a variety of weapons.
I opened my door and stepped out first, making a point to raise my hands above my head. “Everybody else just stay put. If this goes bad, try to get away,” I said from the side of my mouth, doing my best not to move my lips as I spoke.
I walked around to the front of the vehicle and stopped when I saw a group of five individuals climb down, converse briefly, and then saunter over with the casual confidence of a group that at least feels like it has the advantage. I wasn’t going to dispute that at the moment.
The man leading the ‘welcoming committee’ had a serious no-nonsense look about him. Wearing what looked like a felt cowboy hat, he stood around six and a half feet tall. I would guess him in the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound range. His gray beard was probably well-kept during the pre-zombie era, but it was just starting to show signs of being a bit scruffy with a few hairs jutting out and starting to curl. He was barrel-chested and looked maybe a touch larger than he really was due to the heavy sweatshirt, leather jacket, work boots, and faded coveralls.
He held a shotgun casually in his hands as he approached. I noticed a pair of pistols dangling from his hips as well as pouches that most likely held more ammunition. He carried some sort of scoped hunting rifle over his shoulder and had a nasty-looking knife strapped to one leg.
“How many more folks you got in that rig?” the man asked by way of greeting when he came to a stop about ten feet away from me.
“Just a few.” I wasn’t going to just start handing out information. “And a dog.”
“And what brings you out here?” the man pressed, looking past me and eyeing the Durango with a concentrated squint.
“Actually just making our way out to the hills,” I answered. Again, I wasn’t going to tell this man a thing. If he thought otherwise, then he was sadly mistaken. “And we don’t want any trouble. We just want to move on…hopefully set ourselves up someplace safe and ride this out.”
“Safe?” the man barked. “How long you been out? If you’ve been hiding out in one of them shelters, then you might’ve missed the news, friend. Ain’t no place safe these days.”
“Yeah…well hanging around the metro area is a bit worse than out here. If we are gonna have a shot at making it, then getting away from Portland was a priority.”
As I spoke, I let my own eyes do some drifting. Unless I was mistaken, a couple of the guys backing up this fella were carrying grenades. I knew that folks living away from the city might own a few less-than-legal weapons, but I absolutely did not expect to see grenades.
“What do we have here, Ken?” a dark-haired man wearing jeans, a dress shirt and tie, and shiny, black boots asked as he strolled up.
If this was a movie, I’d just found the bad guy. This man screamed ‘politician’ from his clothes to his way-too-friendly nature as he sauntered up. I noticed he only carried a single pistol on his hip.
“They say they’re passing through…leaving the city and heading out someplace safe,” the man, apparently his name was Ken, replied, sounding a bit derisive when he said that last bit.
“Where exactly is this safe place?” the politician asked, his smile not slipping in the least as he stepped up beside Ken and gave me a nod in greeting. “Before everything went south, word had it that most of the Asian countries were simply gone. Both Koreas blew each other up if you believe that happy-crappy. India just imploded. Their population density and poverty made them fast food for them infecteds. Russia denied the problem all the way up to the end, but YouTube exposed that lie before the internet crashed for good. Big cities and small towns all went the way of the dodo for the most part.”
“You seem to be doing okay.” I gave a nod to the tower and the RVs blocking the main entrance to what I assumed to be downtown Estacada.
“We lost our share. Just had a few people that weren’t fooled by the media denials early on and set ourselves up to defend against the infection getting a foothold is all. That…” he paused and looked over my shoulder at the Durango, “…and the fact we also figured on the living becoming more of a problem than the infected.”
“Well, we don’t want to be a problem,” I insisted, taking a step back when I saw this man turn his attention back to me. There was a sudden hardness in his eyes that did not match the smile he still wore. “We honestly just want to move along and find our own place.”
“You all don’t really have any idea what your doin’, do ya?” Ken chortled. “There been a few groups try to pass through here, then sneak back in and try to take from our people.”
“I can’t speak for any of those folks.” I took a step back. “We’ve had enough of our own troubles with some bad people wandering these parts. In fact, if you see a school bus come rumbling along, you might be best served just shooting first and asking questions later.”
The two men glanced at each other and then the one named Ken leaned over and whispered something to the politician. After a moment, the two men finished their whispered conversation and Ken gave me a slight nod.
“One of our citizens said something about a bus. Actually, we have a ‘shoot on sight’ order out for any such vehicle that might come our way.” Ken took a step back and ushered me forward with his arm. “We would like for you and your people to come to our checkpoint. We want to take down names and the information on that vehicle. If you don’t prove to be a problem, and if for some reason you need to come back this way, it will make things easier.”
That seemed like a reasonable request. I could understand their caution, and as long as that was all this was, then I didn’t see the harm.
It took a total of about an hour, but my crew all signed the register they were handed. They even treated us to a jar of beer. Apparently the one guy, Ken, owned some sort of local brewery.
Also, I’d been right about the politician. I discovered that he had been the mayor of Estacada. His name was Sean Drinkwine, and while he came across as a bit smarmy, he turned out to be a gracious host. He even explained the logic behind their register. “Let’s say you folks decide you want to come back this direction and maybe ask to become a part of our community, this way, if any of us here today don’t happen to be on sentry when you come back, who knows what could happen.”
He then showed me a large register with names of people, a few vehicle license plate numbers and descriptions, and even a few photos of people that were either welcome or not. They added all the information we had about Don Evans and Natasha Petrov to the list.
While this community did seem to have things on the ball, I also noticed an undercurrent of unease from some of the people that had gathered around us during the entire process. Whether it was because of our presence or some internal strife, I had no idea.
By the time it was all said and done, we’d even been given a few boxes of venison. I guess they had a surplus of meat and were feeling e
xceptionally generous. A part of me wondered if they would come to regret that gesture as time ticked past. There were going to be those who had a very difficult time putting the ‘old ways’ behind them. I was of the mindset that food would become a very precious commodity much sooner than some might believe.
By now, nothing perishable that had sat in bins or on shelves was still edible. This was just another reason we had to get settled and get a garden in place. We would be living out of cans for a while, and I knew that was not the most ideal dietary situation. One of the things I was going to put at the top of our scavenging list was vitamins. There were a number of illnesses that would start to manifest as things progressed. Right off the top of my head, I thought of scurvy. I didn’t actually know what it was, but I was pretty sure it was something pirates used to get because of lack of vitamin C or something.
At last, we said our farewells and loaded back into the SUV. Michael and Chewie both collapsed. I’d seen them both being lavished with attention during the early part of our arrival. Once I spread the word about Michael’s situation, many people gave him space, but there was nothing I could say that would keep them from Chewie. That had been an issue before zombies. Anytime I took her anywhere, people just couldn’t get enough…and she absorbed the attention that came her way.
One of the RVs was moved, and we rolled past the blockade, taking a right on what the sign said was Highway 211. Next stop…Milo McIver State Park.
Hopefully.
9
Getting Situated
I ducked under the outstretched arms of the zombie staggering towards me with dried blood smeared on its mouth that did not look more than a couple of hours old. Its teeth clicked together as it bit down where my arm had been just a few seconds earlier.
A dull ‘thunk’ sounded, and its head split at the top. I stepped back to see Marshawn yank his machete free. He gave me a nod as he moved past me to take on the next closest zombie.