by TW Brown
I watched him as he strolled off. He was actually whistling as he did. It took me a few seconds to recognize the song Flagpole Sitta. Seriously…who whistles a song like that?
I gave myself a few more seconds of peace and relaxation before forcing myself to my feet. I made my way to where I saw Marshawn and a few of the others gathered around the edge of the trench. That seemed like as good of a place as any to start.
“What are we doing?” I asked as I strolled up.
“We need to deal with this problem ASAP.” Marshawn gestured to the trench where dozens—perhaps hundreds—of the undead wandered aimlessly. The only ones not staggering around, bumping into each other, were the ones that noticed our presence and had moved to cluster at that spot.
“Hopefully we have a few minutes,” I sighed. “Send a couple of people over to the groundskeeper’s shack. They most likely have a weed killer sprayer. Grab it and see if we have some gas left in any of the cans. I’m pretty sure we still have a few gallons left.”
“Good idea,” Marshawn agreed. He tapped a couple of people on the shoulder and took off.
I stared down into the pit of undeath. A few children had ended up in the mix. I was not the least bit surprised to see them gathered up in a small group by themselves. What did bother me was how they were obviously watching me. It was as if they were studying me and my every move.
Twice, I was almost certain I saw a couple of them imitate my arm gestures as I directed people around the area. I’d spread the word that, instead of building a bonfire and wasting resources, I wanted the bodies tossed in the trench. I knew I shouldn’t have to specify, but I made it clear that they needed to spread the corpses out. I didn’t want to inadvertently build a ramp for the zombies still active to use and climb out. From the mixed looks I received, it was easy to tell who was insulted that I’d felt the need…as well as who hadn’t even considered the option.
When Marshawn returned, I told him to hold up. I grabbed the nearest person and sent them to tell Griffin and his people the plan. I explained that we would be holding a brief memorial to the fallen Adrian and then torch the undead along with his corpse.
It was well over thirty minutes before Griffin’s people arrived. They were carrying the body of their fallen friend. As I watched them approach, I realized they had wrapped the body in a sheet. It didn’t mean anything at first.
As a few people said very brief words that almost sounded generic and rehearsed, I felt that niggling sensation in the pit of my stomach again. It wasn’t until they finished—much too fast if I was being honest with myself—that they hoisted the corpse and actually gave it a “1…2…3!” toss into the pit.
There was a part of me just starting to connect a few dots. The problem was that I couldn’t be sure this picture was one of my own making.
I hadn’t really studied the sheet-wrapped body. Had there been an obvious wound in the area of the throat? Or had it been just a simple head wound? The blood on the sheet looked surprisingly reddish-brown. Only, it wasn’t as if I could demand they pull the body back up and unwrap it.
I was torn, and trying to figure things out when Griffin produced a bottle of something, popped the top, and slung it so that the contents splattered the sheet shroud. There was something not right here.
The problem I had was now there was no way I could have that body retrieved. I certainly couldn’t demand it be unwrapped so that I could confirm the man had actually been bitten on the throat.
I looked up as Griffin tossed a wooden match into the trench. The tiny flame hung on as it flipped end over end until coming to rest on the filthy sheet. In an instant, the flame grew, spread to a few of the wet spots created by whatever had been in that bottle, and then erupted in a ‘whoomp’ just like the backyard barbecues of my childhood.
When Griffin glanced over at me, he appeared to be studying my face. Did he think I was on to him? Hell, was there anything to be on to? Or, was I just making myself crazy with paranoia?
The feeling in my gut continued to grow as the fire began to spread. Now many of the still-mobile undead were catching on fire. They in turn were spreading the flames like they spread the zombie infection. But this time…there was no immunity.
As the fire grew, the stench increased with the additions of roasting, rancid meet, hair, and whatever else was in that pit. I gagged a few times before I realized that I hadn’t joined the rest of the others who had retreated to escape the funk.
Neither had Griffin.
Each time I glanced his direction, I swear he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. I kept staring at the now blackened sheet as it began to flake apart and blow away on the breeze. I could see bits and pieces of the body it had contained, but I currently had no idea what I was even looking for.
Did I expect to get a good enough look at the man’s throat to know for sure if he’d been attacked the way Griffin had described? It proved to be a moot point. Once enough of the sheet had burned away, I discovered that the man was lying face down. It would be impossible to tell.
As soon as I’d made that discovery, I’d looked up to discover that Griffin had retreated from the lip of the trench. This was all too much of a coincidence, the voice of reason screamed in my head.
Again I was struck by how this would play out if my friends and I had been sitting in the theater watching it unfold on the big screen. That was it. I made up my mind that, despite what I’d said earlier, Griffin would have to go. I could offer sanctuary to any of his people that wished to stay, but I could no longer sit back and let him live in our compound.
Marshawn had told me that our people would back me. I knew he already had a hard spot for the guy, so I doubted he would be a tough sell. It would come down to Alex, Drew, and a few others.
I headed into our camp. I wasn’t sure where I’d find Griffin, but I was hoping to corner him alone. I had a feeling this would turn into some sort of scene. What I didn’t want was for it to blow up and become a fight. Killing the living was very low on my list of priorities.
As I came out of the numerous tall ferns that were scattered everywhere in these woods and arrived at our main camp, I glanced around. It was hard not to feel a bit of pride in what we’d already accomplished. Of course, my defenses hadn’t been quite as effective as I’d hoped, but even this was only a minor setback.
There were now seven tents up in our space. We would have to consider either expanding this location—which had seemed so large when we’d started just a short while ago—or create a second camp. Had I been willing to let Griffin and his crew remain, we would be cramped to say the very least.
I spied the man and almost smiled at my good luck. He was by himself, and I could see all of his people gathered several feet away. From the looks of it, they were having a bit of a conference.
For some reason, I adjusted my path and headed their direction. As I approached, a couple of them spied me and even from as far away as I was, I heard them shushing each other.
After some hasty and whispered talking, one of them detached from the group and turned to face me. She seemed to collect herself, take a deep breath, and then approach me. I briefly wondered if my presence merited so much preparation. How did people see me?
“Mister Berry, is it?” the woman asked as she reached me several feet from the group that were watching us, but trying their best to not look like it. “Look, I don’t know what you want, but maybe you should talk to Griffin. He made it very clear to us that he will take care of things. None of us want to be the one who says or does the wrong thing.”
“Wrong thing?” I asked. Her face paled and I swore I saw tears start to well up in the cusps of her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“We don’t want to go back out there. It’s just too…” The woman paused as her voice began to crack.
“Who said anything about making you go back out there?” I asked with as much compassion as I could pump into my tone.
Now, more than ever, I was certain
that there was something brewing under the surface of this scene. Griffin wasn’t what he seemed, and these people were somehow under the illusion that he held their fate in his hands.
I was about to say something when the sound of a vehicle approaching began to echo off the cavern created by all the overhanging tree limbs. I turned in the direction I knew the access road to be.
This didn’t make any sense. I’d chosen this location solely based on the idea that I was certain it was remote. Yet, Maggie and Todd had witnessed their group attacked by raiders. Drew’s people had arrived, then Griffin and his followers…or were they prisoners? Now this? Perhaps I should rethink things.
I turned back to let this woman know that we would continue this conversation, but she was already gone. She’d returned to her group. Also, I glanced over to see Griffin emerge from his tent. It wasn’t lost on me that he was carrying a rifle.
“Nice out of the way place you picked, Evan,” Marshawn quipped as he came up beside me. “Did you leave a trail of freaking bread crumbs or something?”
I shot him a withering glare and then scrambled up the ladder to our unfinished catwalk. From up there, I would be able to see what was approaching.
It took a moment. And during that brief spell, I couldn’t help but keep glancing over in Griffin’s direction. He seemed just as riveted as everybody else. The way he kept gripping and then re-gripping his weapon led me to believe that he was just as in the dark as the rest of us about the approaching mystery vehicle.
That…or he was anxious for their arrival.
Marshawn climbed up beside me and brought the hunting rifle he was carrying up to his shoulder so he could look through the scope.
“I want you to be ready to nail Griffin if I say,” I whispered, despite the fact that there was no way that the person of interest could hear me from this far away.
“When you say nail—” Marshawn began.
“I mean blow him away,” I cut the man off.
“Ummm…okay.”
The two of us returned our attention to the ribbon of asphalt that wound down into the park. The park I’d been so certain was the best chance for us to build a stronghold in peace. We’d faced less opposition in the original house I’d stayed at with Chewie, Michael, Carl, Betty and Selina.
Had I been so set on this choice that I hadn’t considered the popularity of it might be an issue? My mind was trying to argue both sides, but I shook it away and returned my attention to the approaching vehicle.
At last, a flash of metal winked through a break in the greenery. A red pickup truck came speeding onto the main campground road that wound past many of the park’s sites. The way the driver handled the vehicle as it took the corners led me to believe that the driver was more than a little familiar with this place.
As it veered left down the narrow road that would bring it to the boat ramp area, I caught a better glimpse of the vehicle and its occupants. There were at least five people in the back. I couldn’t be certain how many were in the cab, but I thought I could make out two distinct shadows. I would round up to four to be safe. That would be a total of nine if my guess was accurate, and possibly less. I doubted there would be more…but I would just have to be ready for anything in the seven to twelve range and adjust accordingly.
There was one thing for sure, the driver was in a hurry. That was another reason I was convinced that he or she was very familiar with this place. A couple of the sweeping curves were taken at a speed that elicited shouts from those in the cargo area.
“Where do they think they’re gonna go?” Marshawn asked as they rounded another curve that had them coming straight for us now.
When they rounded the next one, they would see our perimeter. The berm cut across the road about twenty yards from where they would arrive in our general area. They would either stop, or else they would have a bad day.
The fact that the zombies were still cooking off wouldn’t do them any favors. In fact, I was willing to bet that, if we’d started that fire just a few minutes earlier, these people might not have shown up due to the smoke now rising through the canopy of trees. They didn’t look like they were raiding. They did look like they were running from something…or someone.
Sure enough, the truck rounded that curve and came to a stop. At least the driver had the sense to slow instead of slamming on the brakes. Now I could see into the cab with no problem. There were only two. I was happy that the number had skewed low.
“Umm…we got movement,” Marshawn hissed.
I glanced over to see Griffin edging towards the woods. It could be something as simple as him wanting to flank these people. Whatever the deal, I didn’t trust him.
“Stand fast, Griffin,” I barked.
The man glanced at me. For a moment, I thought he might actually take off. A part of me wanted him to run. It would be the final thing to confirm my suspicions. My distrust would be validated.
Instead, he stopped and turned back to face me. I did notice that he had a scowl on his face for a moment. It was also not lost on me how fast he wiped it away and replaced it with that congenial smile that was as fake as any I’d ever encountered.
“Your camp…your rules,” he called back.
Not sure it was my camp, but whatever. I climbed down from the perch.
“Keep him in your sights,” I called up quietly to Marshawn when my feet touched the ground.
“If he even scratches wrong, I’ll blow him away,” the big man promised.
I wasn’t sure I wanted him that trigger happy, but it would have to do. I hurried to where the truck continued to sit idling.
When I reached the trench, I had to stifle a gag from the stink. I also had to get a running start and jump across. I landed only slightly more gracefully than my last attempt.
“You know,” Alex called as she walked over to a cluster of trees to my left. “You could always drop the bridge instead of jumping.”
We’d built two of the little wooden bridges when we first made the trench. They were operated off of some clunky block-and-tackle kits we’d found in the groundskeeper’s shed. I didn’t want to admit that I’d sort of forgotten about them in all the excitement.
Without a word in response, I scrambled up the berm until I reached the top. I waved a hand, making sure to keep in a low crouch so as not to reveal anything that would make an easy target.
“Can anybody help us?” came the call from somebody in the truck. “One of our people is hurt…bad. Not bitten!” That last part was added hastily.
“Hurt how?” I called back, still not ready to show myself to these people.
“Shot with an arrow.” There was a pause. “We just need a place to hunker down for a day or two until we can take care of our friend. We have our own food, so you don’t have to worry.”
“How did you know we were here?” I challenged.
“We didn’t,” came the immediate response. “Honestly, we just thought this was out of the way enough that we could catch our breath. We didn’t have any plans of staying. Just needed someplace where we could cut that arrow out of our friend.”
“Cut it out?” I asked, a little confused.
“Bastards used barbed arrows on our people.” I could hear the anger and frustration in this man’s voice. “Look, we don’t even need to spend the night. Just let us tend to our friend and we will roll out of here.”
I decided to take a chance and stand up. As I rose up over the lip of the big dirt mound, I saw that the man I’d been speaking with was standing outside of his vehicle, but hadn’t come out from behind the driver’s side door of his pickup.
We made eye contact, and I could see that the man was sizing me up and probably at least as nervous about this encounter as I was. I doubted I could put his worries to rest with anything that I said. Unless…
“Listen, we have a nurse here. Maybe you can bring your friend in and have our guy look at him.” I felt kinda bad about volunteering Marshawn’s services like that, but I was no
t picking up a dangerous vibe from these folks. Maybe they either had a better plan about where to set up, or would like to join us. Both options were currently on the table.
“Wow, thanks, man!” the individual gushed.
He stuck his head inside the cab of the truck and said something to the occupants. After that, he rushed around to the rear of the vehicle. I watched as everybody began to move around. It took some work, and I thought I heard a few moans. It was impossible to tell if they were coming from the bed of the truck or back up the road and in the woods.
At last, they had a person that they put on a makeshift stretcher. As they were getting ready, I motioned for two nearby members of our group to get the drawbridge lowered and into place.
The group from the pickup reached where I stood waiting and paused.
I motioned for them to go across. As they passed, I got a look at the person on the stretcher. It was a woman and the arrow was jutting from her side. That made me cringe. If it was barbed, I wondered if it had perhaps pierced something vital. If that was the case, there was almost nothing we could do for the person. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate Marshawn’s talent, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think he could perform surgery. Hell, even a qualified doctor would struggle in this environment.
“We really appreciate this,” the spokesman for the group said as he stopped in front of me.
He’d hung back to bring up the rear. And now that we were face-to-face, I could get a better look at him. He was close to my height, but definitely older. I guessed him to be in his late thirties or maybe even early forties. He had blond hair and blue eyes that squinted just a bit. His build was slight, smaller than me by a good twenty pounds at least.
He stuck out his hand to shake and I peeled off my glove to reciprocate the gesture. When we shook, his hands had a roughness to them that told me they were used to hard work.
“Andrew Greene,” the man said by way of introduction. “I really do appreciate this. I know you guys didn’t have to let us in…much less offer any sort of help.”