Survivors in a Dead World

by Gary M. Chesla

  The road surface was still discolored with a red glow from all the blood, but it was no longer slippery. It had dried long ago. The cars no longer smelled like the slaughterhouses they had been. Now they just looked eerie and gross, a reminder of all that had happened.

  Jim ran along the side of the building and slipped around the back of the school building. He moved in behind the dumpsters that sat against the back wall. The dumpsters hadn’t been used for years, but had been behind the building for as long as Jim could remember. This building was where he had gone to grade school for six years when he was little. He had a lot of unpleasant memories of his so called education in this building.

  Every room and every hallway was an unpleasant reminder of his school days.

  Jim squeezed in behind the dumpsters and got down on his hands and knees and pried open the old iron coal bin door. He slid through the opening and dropped down into the boiler room. When he was in first grade, one day he became sick at school. The nurse wasn’t able to reach his mom or dad to come and take him home, so Jim had spent the day lying on a cot in the boiler room talking with the janitor. He had been as sick as a dog that day, but all in all that was probably one of his better bad memories here at the school.

  Jim unlocked the door in the boiler room and stepped out into the basement hallway next to the old cafeteria. The tables were still set up in three long rows. The chairs were turned upside down and rested on the top of the tables. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, undisturbed since the day New Florence had been overrun.

  Jim glanced around the cafeteria to make sure there was nothing moving around.

  Jim’s eyes settled on the second row of tables and finally on the end table. The table where he had spent a week of his lunch time recesses, sitting at the table for punishment while all the other kids went outside to play. His crime had been not finishing his apple sauce one day at lunch. He loved apple sauce, except on this day it had a hair in it. He gagged and almost threw up when the hair wrapped itself around his tongue. He had eaten a lot of things since that day that were a lot more gross than apple sauce with hair in it. Apple sauce with a hair in it now days would be considered a delicacy.

  But on that day it was gross and he refused to finish it. An overzealous sixth grade lunch monitor decided that Jim was going to eat the apple sauce whether he liked it or not. Jim refused and ended up spending his lunch time recesses in detention in the cafeteria for a week.

  Jim smiled as he turned from the cafeteria and started up the dark dingy stairwell to the main level of the building.

  The stairwell door opened up to the main hallway where all the classrooms had been.

  The first door to his right was where he had gone to first grade. He especially didn’t care for that room. He had been paddled for the first time in that room. His first grade teacher, Mrs. Riddel had caught him flying paper airplanes during class one day. She crept up behind him and caught him in the act. Before Jim knew what had happened, he found himself lying on the top of his desk, face down as his bottom got paddled with a ping pong paddle.

  It scared him so bad he wet his pants and spent the rest of the day sitting on the radiator to dry out his pants. He could still remember that smell and the embarrassment he felt. The door to that room was closed. He and his sisters were, fitting enough, using that room as their bathroom.

  Across the hall was the second grade classroom. The room where he constantly got his fingers smacked with a ruler by Mrs. Alberta for writing instead of printing. His mother had taught him how to write so he could impress his teacher. The teacher obviously wasn’t impressed.

  To his left was the third grade classroom, the room where he had been traumatized by Mrs. Galbreath. Little Timmy Rager was one of Jim’s classmates and was also Mrs. Galbreath’s grandson. For some reason she found it necessary to beat the crap out of Timmy every day. All Jim could think about was, “If she did that to her own grandson, what was she going to do to me?”

  Jim turned left and walked down the hallway. On the right side of the hallway were the doors to the fifth and sixth grade classrooms, rooms that held other unpleasant memories.

  Jim smiled and laughed to himself, “No wonder I didn’t like school when I was a kid.”

  He went into the last door on the left, his former fourth grade classroom. Fourth grade was the only grade where he had managed to stay out of trouble. He and his sisters used this room as their sleeping quarters. With as many unpleasant things that were going on in the world, when he had a chance to get some sleep, he didn’t want these unpleasant memories from the past popping up to haunt him.

  Memories of the past were all they had left to remind them of a happier time when life was better than it was now. Jim didn’t need to have his dreams interrupted by memories of having his butt paddled along with all of his other nightmares. He didn’t want to open his eyes from a nightmare and have his mind say, “There is where it happened, right over there.”

  Jim opened the door to his former fourth grade classroom and was promptly greeted by Ed. Ed jumped up on his legs and whimpered happily as its tail wagged eagerly.

  Jim didn’t know if Ed was just happy to see him or if the puppy smelled the two fish he had in his hand and was anticipating a quick snack.

  Ed was a puppy he had found when he was out looking for food one day. He was searching the old Trimble’s Mini Mart one day for about the twentieth time, hoping to find something he had missed the last time he had been there.

  Of course he left empty handed, again, but was greeted by the little puppy when he slipped out the side door.

  He picked up the poor starving little guy and brought it back for his little six year old sister, Monica.

  Monica promptly named it Ed.

  Jim thought Ed was a terrible name for a dog. He tried to convince Monica that Lady, Princess or even Dolly was a better name for a girl puppy, but Monica insisted on Ed.

  Jim finally gave up, if Ed didn’t have a problem with the name he decided he could live with it too.

  After a time, Ed, the name and the dog grew on him. The name and being dragged around by Monica quickly became accepted by the puppy. That and a free meal every day, or at least most every day probably had something to do with it.

  Jim patted Ed on the head and scooped her up off the floor.

  He looked up and saw Monica with her pants pulled down to her ankles. She was standing in front of Debbie bent over as Debbie wiped at a scratch on Monica’s bottom.

  Monica danced around uncomfortably and complained as Debbie rubbed at her butt.

  When the dead started showing up in New Florence, Debbie was fifteen years old and Monica was five. Jim guessed with the age differences between he and Debbie and Monica, Monica had been an accident. His parents had never said as much, but he didn’t think they had all of a sudden decided to start a second family.

  Jim was nineteen now, or so he guessed that was about right and Debbie was now around sixteen. His parents would have had the house to themselves soon. Instead, Monica would have been ready to start school about now if everything hadn’t gone the way it had.

  They all loved Monica. She was a little character that took all of them to keep an eye on her.

  Unfortunately with the way everything had turned out, it was now up to him and Debbie to take care of Monica.

  “Unfortunate for Monica,” Jim thought.

  “Deb, what happened to Moni?” Jim asked.

  Debbie turned to look at Jim with a big smile on her face.

  “She was going to the bathroom and Ed jumped on her,” Debbie grinned. “She fell back into that old radiator in room 101 and got her butt scratched.”

  “That damn room claims another Gorman butt,” Jim joked.

  “Damn radiator,” Monica repeated.

  Jim hid his smirk. His mother would have been horrified to hear Monica talking like that. Her little butt would have had another spot on it that hurt beside the scratch.

  “Watch
your mouth Shrimp,” Debbie said.

  Monica looked at Jim and grinned. Debbie tried to teach Monica manners but Monica knew Jim would always let her get away with almost anything.

  “How was fishing?” Debbie asked.

  “Just two today,” Jim replied as he held up the fish to show them to Debbie.

  “With the can of peas we have, it should be fine,” Debbie added.

  “Ed likes peas,” Monica blurted out. “Ed will eat anything.”

  “Ouch!” Monica yelled as Debbie pinched her butt.

  “You better like peas too or I’m not going to give you any fish,” Debbie laughed.

  “Jimmy will give me some fish,” Monica grinned then yelped again as Debbie smacked her on the butt.

  “Pull up your pants Shrimp,” Debbie laughed. “I think you will live. Just sit on the right side for a few days.”

  Monica pulled up her old green pants then ran over and picked up Ed.

  “Did you see many of those things out there today?” Debbie asked.

  “Only about a dozen or so,” Jim replied. “They don’t seem to be moving around as well as they used to. I’m hoping maybe after another hot summer they will finish rotting and fall apart.”

  “It would be nice not having to worry about them anymore,” Debbie sighed. “Maybe then we can go somewhere else. I hate living in this place.”

  “Not as bad as I do,” Jim grinned. “At least you liked going to school here. You didn’t have a bunch of perverts for teachers that got a thrill out of paddling your bottom every other day like I did.”

  Monica giggled.

  “Moni, you’re lucky you never went to school,” Jim grinned. “Something tells me you would have been paddled even more than I was.”

  Debbie laughed, “If she doesn’t stop giving her peas to Ed she still might beat your record.”

  Jim winked at Monica.

  “I’m glad we’ve been able to find enough food that Moni is willing to share her food,” Jim said. “But I’m starting to worry where our next meal is going to come from. We had been finding a lot of things in the houses at the other end of town but the last few trips over there we’ve come up empty. I swear someone else has been cleaning out the houses there. If it wasn’t for fishing, I don’t know how we would live. We’ve picked this end of town clean too.”

  “Maybe we should write a message on the walls in the houses at that end of town,” Debbie said sounding excited. “If you think there is other people around maybe we could get them to come visit. It would be nice to talk with some other people again.”

  “Maybe there would be some other kids for me to play with,” Monica added. “Ed is fun, but when we play games Ed cheats.”

  Jim laughed, “Maybe you’re just a sore loser.”

  “No, Ed cheats,” Monica repeated.

  Jim looked at Debbie, “I think we should keep an eye out and see what they are like first, if there really is anyone out there, to see what they are like. Remember how people got after the dead came to town. People were killing each other in the stores over a candy bar. After all this time, if there is anyone out there, who knows what they would be like?”

  “Yea I know, but I miss people,” Debbie said.

  “I miss the way people were before all of this started,” Jim added. “But I’m probably just letting my imagination run away with me. As long as we have been here, we haven’t seen any signs of anyone else still being alive. We’ve been through every house in town about a dozen times. The reason there isn’t anything left in the houses any more is probably because we already took it.”

  “That could be another reason, if you think it is safe enough,” Debbie replied, “that maybe we should think about going somewhere else. Maybe we could find more to eat over in Seward or Bolivar?”

  “Maybe,” Jim replied, “but I never liked the people in those towns when they were alive. I know I wouldn’t like them now.”

  Debbie laughed then the expression on her face turned sad as she looked at Jim, “Did you go by the house today?”

  “Yea, I stopped by and went inside to look around. Everything was like we left it,” Jim replied.

  “I guess they’re really gone, but I just keep hoping,” Debbie added.

  “Me too,” Jim replied softly. “As long as we don’t see them staggering around on the streets we can still hope that Mom and Dad were forced to run somewhere else to save themselves and are still alive. I hope so, anyhow.”

  Debbie chocked up, like she always did when she thought about her parents, “But you don’t really believe that do you?”

  “Just try not to think about it,” Jim replied. “They’re still alive until we know anything different. They have to be.”

  Debbie smiled weakly and nodded.

  Monica broke the somber mood.

  “Jimmy, will you take me to the library tomorrow?” Monica asked. “I need a new coloring book and more crayons.”

  “We just found you some new crayons last week,” Jim replied. “What happen to your crayons?”

  “Ed ate them,” Monica grinned.

  “If you didn’t keep giving her your food, she wouldn’t think everything in your hand was something for her to eat,” Debbie answered. “But it might be fun to get out of here for an hour or two. Maybe I could find a good book to read to keep my mind off of things.”

  “It is just right across the street,” Jim answered, “We’ll see what it is like tomorrow. Right now I think I’m going to take these fish down to the boiler room and fry them up. I’m hungry.”

  Debbie walked over to the shelf next to where she had laid out her sleeping bag and grabbed the last can of peas.

  “Maybe the Shrimp will eat her peas if you heat them up too.”

  Jim laughed.

  “Can we eat in the cafeteria this time?” Monica asked. “I never got to eat in a cafeteria and I want to eat at a table.”

  “Not today Moni,” Jim smiled. “Stuff always falls off the ceiling and ends up in your food down there. I think we will eat here in our room today.”

  Debbie smiled to herself remembering how after hearing Jim’s applesauce story when she first started school, she would try to put a hair in Jim’s food every April fool’s day.

  Since she was the only one in the family with red hair, Jim always knew where the hair had come from. After the Shrimp was born and started to grow hair, it was easier to play tricks on Jimmy and get away with it.

  Debbie missed the old days. Life was too serious now to try and play tricks on Jim or Moni. It was too important that they trust her completely now. Her life depended on that trust and trust was too important to lose over stupid tricks.

  “Come on Ed,” Jim said as he stood. “You can help me clean the fish.”

  “Can I come too?” Monica jumped up.

  “Only if you promise not to throw up again when I clean the fish,” Jim smiled.

  “I better wait here,” Monica grinned.

  “I’ll be back with our dinner in about twenty minutes,” Jim laughed.

  Chapter 3

  Ricki walked through the Fairfield Township Community Center. The community center was what it had always been called, but there really wasn’t much of a community around the so called “Community Center”.

  The building was made out of ornate carved stone. It was an attractive two story rustic stone building. The main floor consisted of a basketball court and two locker rooms for the players to shower and change clothes. The upstairs or second story of the building was divided into four areas. Each area had ten bunkbeds lined up with five beds on the left and five on the right side of the section.

  Even though it was called the community center, the community or area residents had never used the facility much. In the summer months some of the area kids were allowed to use the ball field to play five or six ball games. In the winter, they were allowed to use the indoor basketball court for an hour on Tuesday nights.

  The people that used the center the most didn�
��t live anywhere even close to the community center. They didn’t even live anywhere close to Fairfield Township. Every week during the summer, a different group of kids from Pittsburgh, Harrisburg, Philadelphia or even New York City would be shipped in to spend a week at summer camp.

  The bars on the center’s windows and the frequent sight of armed counselors made anyone that drove by wonder exactly what kind of kids were being sent out here to spend the summer. More importantly, the area residents often wondered if they should be worried about the center’s summer residents. These people at the center didn’t look or act like the local kids.

  No one really knew how this unusual arrangement had ever come about. Apparently somehow under the disguise of building the area a community center, a center for troubled youths or some kind of detention center had been built.

  Ricki walked to the east end of the building and looked out the window. Outside he could see the baseball diamond. It was actually more like a cow pasture with a backstop.

  Beyond the ballfield was little more than trees and more fields and then again more trees.

  Ricki paced the upstairs hallway, turned and walked to the west side of the building and looked out the window on that end of the building. From here all he could see was the road that went past the building and more trees and fields. The road would go for about a half mile before it intersected with Route 711. The intersection was at the very top of what everyone called Fairfield Hill and was always a tricky place to cross to get to the other side.

  At the intersection, if you turned left, you started down over a mile long steep hill. After the hill finally ended, the road followed smaller hills and valleys until you arrived in the little town of New Florence three miles away.