Fountain of the Dead

by Scott T. Goudsward

  “Let me know when you’re ready.” He wiped the board clean. “I’m ready to go now.” Micah stuffed the board away and took off his RedSox cap. His brown, wavy hair was matted with sweat and he ran his fingers through it. Tony handed logs and branches to Gerry who built up the fire. A shot rang out from the southern tower. Gerry whipped the pistol out from the side holster and dropped to a knee. A corpse hit the outer fence and slid down, its fingers locked into a claw in the links. It clung on for a second and dropped to the ground.

  “Ok, everyone, back to work.” Gerry said and put his gun away.

  Catherine came out from her house. She stood on the small side porch and looked out over “her town,” surveying everything enclosed within the fences. All the usual players were right where expected. Micah smiled and waved. Catherine returned the wave with a smile. Off near the rear of the camp Sam walked his dog near the few remaining trees that didn’t have a sniper platform built into it. Beverly and Meredith were coming out of their house greeted by the re-assuring drone of the generators.

  Catherine descended the stairs and walked to the fire pit. “Anything exciting happen today, Micah?” Micah shook his head and handed the latest journal to Catherine. She scanned the pages, a slight smile played at her lips.

  He took out the whiteboard and scribbled “Same old” on it. From a driveway in front of a blue house a string of curses erupted followed by a metallic slam. Frank Burke stormed out wiping his hands with an oily rag. He stopped suddenly seeing all eyes on him.

  “You all heard that huh?” He asked.

  Micah nodded and scribbled on his white board. “I think I learned some new words,” he wrote. Catherine laughed. Frank watched the little wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and eyes. He stuffed the cloth in his pocket and walked over.

  “Sorry about that, kid.” Frank stood behind Catherine.

  “I’m sure he’s heard worse coming out of your filthy mouth,” Catherine said.

  “What can I say? I’m just a potty mouth at heart.” Frank ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, what was left of it. He looked at his oil stained hands and rolled his eyes.

  “What’s wrong with the Jeep?” Catherine asked.

  “Nothing, my Jeep is fine. It’s that fucking, sorry Micah, Monte Carlo. I got it running and it seems ok, but I know I can make it run better. I need to take it for a test, but the fuel stores are pretty low.”

  “Maybe you need to stop fiddling with that car for a few hours,” Beverly said. She pulled up two ragged lawn chairs for her and Meredith. “Boys and their toys.”

  Micah turned hearing the soft steps approaching. He stood and hugged Sharon; the rifle strap rubbed against his cheek.

  “Excuse me a moment.” Catherine said and walked around the fire pit. The lawns in back of the pit were lined with gardens. The gardens had a ring of stones around them, scavenged from neighboring yards. The corn stalks were dried and piled to the side. Catherine absently crumpled a long brown leaf in her hand. The cabbage was still growing as were the potatoes and carrots. The next round of harvest would be radishes and green beans. What they didn’t keep would be traded in Boston for fuel and ammunition.

  “Shift over, Sharon?” Catherine asked returning to the fire pit. Sharon nodded and un-slung the rifle. She rested the stock on the ground while holding the barrel. “What’s on the menu?”

  “Everything is low, Catherine. I think we need a ‘shopping’ trip in the near future,” Sharon said.

  “Do we need to tighten our belts tonight?” Catherine asked. “I’m sure we’ll all survive if we miss a village meal and nibble on what’s in our houses.” Even though the “village” consisted of a dozen houses, almost everything was communal. Generators kept freezers and refrigerators running and the water flowing from the wells. There wasn’t much else in creature comforts. People adapted and learned to live without over the past several years.

  “I think that’d be best. Either that or the dry rations we found in that house bunker.” Sharon said. Catherine rolled her eyes and gagged. Dry rations meant biscuits from a box or dehydrated meals from the bag. Frank wandered back towards the car pulling the rag from his pocket, ready for round two with the Monte.

  “I think I’d rather eat peanut butter out of the jar then have dried rations,” Catherine said with a grimace.

  “That can be arranged,” Gerry tossed her a small jar of peanut butter. “Don’t have any bread, or jelly, but there’s enough left in there if you want. You’ll have to fight Sam’s hound off for that.” Beverly looked up sky and watched the big autumn moon. The sun was covered by clouds, staining them in reds and gold. It could have been a perfect autumn night, anywhere but there and then.

  “I have some left over jerky I’ll donate to the cause,” Frank said.

  “What flavor?” Micah scribbled on his board.

  “Squirrel, rabbit and deer.”

  “Just bring the deer!” Micah wrote.

  Tony stepped into the fire pit and covered the pavement beneath the logs with leaves and pine cones. He took a box of wooden matches out of his pocket, shook it to make sure something was still in there and then lit the leaves. The leaves crackled and turned brown; the bits of kindling started to smoke and soon flames danced across the logs.

  Catherine fished her finger around the inside of the jar, scooped out a gob of extra-crunchy peanut butter and passed the jar along. A basket of apples and pears appeared and made its way around the fire. More and more people came out as the flames got higher.

  “So what shall we chat about tonight?” Catherine asked reaching for an apple.

  * * * * *

  “Why did you have me stop here?” Frank asked. He looked through the passenger’s side window at the small road. A sign tacked to a tree read ‘dead end.’ He sat back in the driver’s seat and revved the car’s engine. Catherine sat next to him, fingers tapping on the dash board. She looked through the windshield, several undead staggered down the road towards the car.

  “You run them over and you’ll kill this car, Frank.”

  “I run them over and I kill the car and them too.”

  “We’ve been on the road too long, Frank. Do you think we can find another vehicle?”

  “They’re all over the road,” Frank said pointing through the glass. “Granted some have bodies baked inside and others are smashed up pretty bad. One of them has to work.”

  “Frank, I said no.” Catherine turned her attention back to the road.

  Catherine slid her hand onto his, then down the steering wheel and turned the engine off.

  “What are you doing?”

  “That street over there, the houses look mostly intact. There might be people living in them.” Frank took out his pistol and placed it on the seat between them. He looked at the street ahead of the car; the dead were closer. Frank slid the safety off on the gun.

  “What’s the plan, Catherine? Drive through the cul-de-sac and kill anything that moves?”

  “Let’s start with you driving down the street.” She started the car. “Go down that cul-de-sac, be ready for anything.” The little grey Impala had seen them on a chunk of their journey. It was getting tired. Frank turned the car, the belts squealed in protest. Catherine looked at each house as they drove past it; they were in center of the suburbs before the meteor storm, now little more than a vacant waste.

  “What are you thinking, Frank?”

  Frank scanned the houses and the street ahead of them. It ended in a turnabout, a ragged street hockey net in a driveway. A dark stain discolored the road in front of it. Broken hockey sticks crusted with dried blood were discarded on an unkempt lawn.

  “I think we can hold up here once we sweep the houses, no surprises.” Frank gritted his teeth and stopped the car and shifted into park. “We play this right we can build ourselves a little prison here.” Frank looked through the rearview mirror again.

  “How do you want to do this, Frank?”

  Frank glanced in the rearv
iew and spun in the seat; he pointed out the rear window. “I think I want to pull that Home Depot truck around before someone else gets at it. Stay here.” Frank leapt from the car and slammed the door shut behind him. He bolted up the street, keeping low as he ran, the pistol tight in his hand. He didn’t notice the curtains move in one of the houses. Catherine reached into the glove compartment and took out the revolver to cover him. He darted from the street to the main road and dove under an abandoned car. Something inside was thumping around above him. The truck was close; the zombies from ten minutes ago were closer.

  Frank took aim down the road. He debated on taking the shot, there was no telling how many more would come once the shot echoed through the street. He dry swallowed and made a run for the truck. It was packed with lumber, cinderblocks and fencing. He patted the straps that held the payload in place affectionately and went to the cab. The driver’s door was open and airbag deployed a bloody smear across the deflated nylon.

  He climbed in and took a deep breath; nothing smelled “off,” nothing rotten or bloated. Whoever had been driving was dragged out and eaten or escaped. There wasn’t enough blood inside the cab for a body to be ripped apart.

  Spinning out of the seat he climbed into the rear compartment, small cot, empty cooler with a melted ice pack and a duffle bag under the cot. Frank reached into it and pulled out two shotguns and boxes of shells. He smiled and looked for the keys.

  Catherine watched him through the window, after turning in the seat. She thought for a brief moment about rolling the window down and sitting on the door frame. A shiver raced down her spine at the memory of someone she witnessed yanked out of the window of a car and devoured while he screamed. She crawled over the seat into the back to get a better view. If something happened she’d have to shoot out the back window.

  By the time she got situated in the back, Frank had just climbed into the truck. She waited for what seemed like hours, in reality it was a few minutes. When Frank stuck his head out of the cab and waved, a brief bit of relief came over her. Catherine slid back in the seat and sighed, then looked over to the closest house. A woman stood on the porch, long pony tail tossed over her shoulder, a young girl stood in the doorway, and the woman had a shotgun leveled at the car. A wooden plaque near the door read “Dandridge”.

  “Can I help you two?” Beverly asked. Meredith took a step closer to her mother and wrapped her arms around her waist. From the street the truck’s engine roared to life.

  * * * * *

  “Don’t make me start singing something,” Frank growled, walking back over. His hands were clean and he passed the jar of peanut butter away scowling at it. Gun shots boomed out from the front towers. Sharon looked over her shoulder at the northeast tower like she might charge over to it. Micah held her arm and shook his head.

  “You want us on the gates, Catherine?” Frank asked.

  “No. Let the snipers handle it. If it gets rough we have two more towers to draw shooters from.” Micah took out his journal and continued after his last entry.

  The night got busy, it seems like that happens a lot recently. It gets dark and cooler and then they come out in packs. Really don’t see many single ones; there’s always groups. I don’t know if it’s the fire that attracts them, or us. Food and fuel are getting low. Gerry and Tony were talking about hunting and joking. But I don’t know where they can go, every time they go out, the hunting parties have to go farther and farther away. Each time they come back to camp, the trailer has less on it. Tony keeps talking about finding this giant cache of food and water. Every time though Frank shoots down the idea and tells him to go to back to playing scratch tickets, whatever those are. If my count is right it’s up to twelve dead zombies since tonight’s bonfire started.

  Micah looked up from the book; scanned around the fire and met Meredith’s gaze. She was watching him. She blushed and turned away. Frank nudged him in the shoulder and winked. Next to Meredith was Grace, a thin girl with dark hair and darker eyes, new to the village. They’d found her wandering down 93, glassy eyed, in a daze. There was nothing physically wrong with her, no concussions, or bleeding, or breaks.

  She rarely left Meredith’s side and was probably ten years older. She leaned in and whispered something to Meredith which caused her to blush more. Grace turned her head to Micah and smiled and they both erupted into giggles.

  “Hey, kid” Frank said looking down to Micah. “How about tomorrow we take the Monte out and look for some deer to hunt?” Sharon looked over and frowned shaking her head. Micah shrugged. He turned his attention back to the flames and watched until the colors stayed on his retinas through closed lids.

  Micah stretched his arms over his head and smiled; the chatter around the fire had slowed as had the gunshots. There were new noises, beyond the groaning and shuffling feet. Louder than the tinkle of rifle casings bouncing off the street, or the wet thud of a decomposing body falling on the pavement. There was yelling, crazed shouting from a strange voice at the gate. Someone was pounding on the fence and shaking the hell out of it and screaming. Someone was trying to get in.

  “Tell me some damn fool isn’t trying to get through my gates,” Catherine said.

  Chapter 3

  Micah stared at the stranger shaking the fence. In back of him, the dead loomed. It would take a few minutes but they’d get there, find the man and dig in. They’d chew straight through skin and bite down with jagged rotting teeth until nothing remained, but quivering scraps of flesh and gore drenched bones. Micah stared at the man, who screamed incoherently and shook the fence. Danny drew a bead down his scope and took aim on the man’s head, the cross hairs perfectly aligned above his right eye; small hole going in, back of the head gone on the way out. The apprehension was tangible on Catherine’s face. She’d taken in every misfit that rattled her gates. The village had started with barely six people and now they were up to almost forty. Could another mouth to feed really hurt? She sighed, looking at the dual fences.

  Micah laced his fingers through the chain links of the inner fence and felt the cold of the metal seep in. From three feet away Micah saw the crazed look in his eyes, the spittle flying from his mouth and the desperate mouthfuls of air between screams. The voices around the fire grew quiet as the man’s yells got louder and more hectic. Danny released the safety and put a shot over the man’s shoulder, a zombie fell, knees first, then face planted in the soft earth. The crazed stranger wasn’t forming words, just incoherent screams and noises.

  “Mister, you got ten seconds to move your feet away from this fence. You hear?” Danny yelled. He shook the fence more, teeth gritted, eyes focused at the safety beyond the interwoven strings of steel. It looked for a moment that he might try to chew his way through the fence. The stranger was in full panic mode, no cohesive thoughts, running purely on survival instinct. Micah stepped back; dead leaves swirled under his feet and exposed cracked pavement.

  Micah reached into his pack and pulled out a journal and quickly sketched the man, best he could in the dimming light through the fence. Black smudged lines captured the face, but not the terror.

  “Please, let me in,” he yelled finally forming words. “I’m not bit. I’m clean.” Lily from the other front tower examined the man through the rifle scope; he was ragged, dirty and when she turned her attention back to the street, Lily dropped an undead postal worker behind him. Brains exploded through the shattered skull as the dead fell again through a flurry of blood stained letters. The stranger turned and he shook the fence more and then put his foot into one of the links and started to climb.

  Danny lit up his laser scope and put a red dot on the man’s forehead. The stranger let go of the fence and jumped down. He knelt on the ground and let go of the fence links. Through her scope Lily saw bite scars on his arms, nothing that penetrated, just old bites that hadn’t healed over yet. There were no fresh bites. No blood, just scars.

  The stranger was a mess, dirty red hair soaked with sweat, despite the cool air, rippe
d blue jeans, torn Adidas shirt and a lab jacket with more stains than the dead postman. Out beyond the fence the dead were coming; from behind abandoned cars and through the doors of ravaged homes. Someplace out in the distance, a goose called, followed by others, the familiar “V” appeared in the sky followed by calls and the flap of wings. Micah glanced up, mesmerized by the birds and absently drew the “V” on the page above the man’s head.

  “Are we safe?” Danny called out.

  “He looks clean, no blood,” answered Lily. “Micah, get your skinny ass back.”

  Micah shuffled backwards until he bumped into someone; he looked up to see the moonlight glint off the two wedding rings on Lily’s hand. Comforting hands rested on his shoulder; he turned back to see Beverly, Meredith at her side. Tony and Frank stepped from the crowd. The sparks from the bonfire crackled and popped, flames reached towards the sky. They slung their rifles and drew pistols from shoulder holsters; Beverly pulled Micah close, and Meredith slid her arm through his. Tony and Frank approached the inner gate. Danny dropped another beast outside.

  “We clear?” Tony called out.

  “Be quick, they’re gathering in the streets,” Danny yelled. Out on the roads, they came, with ripped clothes and torn flesh. They gaited along with enough dexterity to get them to the next warm meal. “Silly son of a bitch led a metric fuck ton of the things right to us.” Some lacked limbs, others mindless to holes that gaped in their midriff or missing more skin from their exposed parts than they had left. Tony rushed to the lock and opened it, while Frank waited. When the lock was disengaged, he uncoiled the steal chains that kept the inner gate closed. They each grabbed a handle and pulled the gate’s doors inwards.

  They rushed to the outer gate, guns drawn and aimed, Tony at the zombies and Frank at the stranger. Another shot rang out and a car exploded, flames shot into the sky and spilled out onto the road catching on to the nearest shambling forms. Lily cheered. The stranger turned to see the flaming bodies inching closer, each step brought the stink of burning rotted flesh. Black smoked billowed into the sky from the car.