Fountain of the Dead

by Scott T. Goudsward

  Tony and Frank took keys that hung from chains around their necks and inserted them into control boxes in each of their towers. A mechanical whine filled the night and for a moment, everything went quiet, no birds, no popping sparks, even the people held their breath. The outer gates opened, run by two garage door openers rigged to run off keys instead of remotes. The stranger jumped to his feet, waited for the gate to open enough for him to squeeze through. He jogged in place, tried to squeeze through, convinced that the cold, dead breath of hell was right over his shoulder.

  Something in the burning car popped and crackled; a fire engulfed monstrosity came from inside and fell to the street and sizzled. The dead, smoldering and on fire, got closer. The stranger forced his way through, Lily’s aim never wavered. She kept black hair in a loose pony tail, one almond shaped eye was closed, and the other pressed to the scope. The gears in the gate squealed as it reversed and started to close. The stranger pulled on the links, trying to force it to move faster.

  “Hey, you there, take your hands off that gate.” Catherine said. The stranger loosened his grip and raised his arms in the air as the hammer clicked into place, from the gun firmly in Frank’s hands and pressed into the back of his head.

  “I’m friendly, really.” The stranger wheezed. His chest heaved with the effort of drawing breaths.

  “We’ll decide if your friendly or zombie fodder,” Catherine said.

  A barrage of gunshots rang out, Micah and Meredith jumped a little. The adults, never flinched, far too used to the gunfire. Micah shook his arm free and took out his journal and quickly sketched the scene: the stranger on his knees in front of the fence and Frank bearing down on him, waiting to fire and splatter his face across the cracked road and dead leaves.

  “Stranger, the only thing you are, is a danger to yourself and more importantly, us. How long you think they were following you? How many did you bring with you?” Frank’s finger tensed on the trigger, he was ready to end this newcomer that had no worth to the village. Frank’s lip curled down. “You ain’t nothing.”

  The outer gates closed and locked. Danny and Lily climbed down from the towers and reinforced the gates with steel bars propped and wedged against the concrete. They turned and judged the threat. Frank looked over his shoulder at Micah’s sketch. Lily and Danny took homemade spears from the ground near the towers and jabbed the business end through the fence, killing anything in arms’ length.

  I’ll be so happy when we’re stocked on ammo again,” Lily said.

  Let’s hope this stupid asshole didn’t bring every zombie in the area with him,” Danny replied.

  “Those pictures make me look fat,” Frank growled.

  “Bring me a hose,” Danny yelled. Together the snipers took out their side arms and dropped a dozen undead still on fire that fell to the ground, out of reach from the spears; dead leaves caught fire and danced on the wind. Tony came up from behind and laid a shower of water on the road. The fires went out, the leaves no longer danced and the stench that filled the camp was unreal. Micah covered his face after dropping his journal back in the satchel. Meredith pinched her nostrils and backed away into the thrall of bodies, stopped and staring. She bumped into Grace standing so close they could have been conjoined.

  “So what’s a stranger, who’s led the undead to your doorstep, got to do for a drink of water?”

  Danny turned the hose on him.

  “Son of a bitch stinks worse than the damn zombies,” Tony said. The stranger took the hose when offered to him and let the cool water from the well pour over him. He drank deep for a few seconds before it was pulled from his hand.

  “Turn off the pump,” Tony yelled.

  “I thank you for the drink.” The rattle from the generators echoed down the street as timers activated; lights in house windows blinked to life. The sea of people parted like Moses had churned the waters. Catherine approached; her long hair, braided past her waist, and despite the slightest limp, her steps were quiet. She looked over the stranger, poked him in the chest.

  “Hello Catherine,” Beverly said taking her hands off Micah’s shoulders.

  “Hello Beverly,” Catherine answered her eyes never leaving their “guest.”

  “Hell of a nerve this one, interrupting dinner.”

  “Wasn’t much of dinner, fruit and a picked over peanut butter jar.” Micah smiled at the banter. Catherine ran her fingers through his hair. “What are you grinning at?” Micah shrugged and looked back at the stranger. “Well, I guess we should feed him. Despite the fact he almost got us all killed. That’s what happens when you go beyond the gate.”

  Catherine turned her sharp gaze back on the stranger. Any show of hospitality gone from her features. She was stone faced. Frank took a step back. “Tomorrow you and Frank will go outside and clear those bodies up. Dump them in one of the houses across the way.” She waved her hand at the houses beyond the gates in the darkness. You’ll get that road cleaned in case we need it.”

  Frank muttered curses. “What did I do?” Frank asked. “I don’t deserve this.”

  “Tony and Sam take too long and throw up too much.” Sam blushed and turned walking his dog back towards his shared house.

  “I’m gonna leave him in a ditch,” Frank muttered.

  “I can tell he likes you already.” Catherine said.

  “You all going to stand around all night like a bunch of lookie-loos? Get on with your lives.” The crowd dispersed at Catherine’s words. They knew better then to hang around when she used that tone. She crossed her arms on her chest and watched the people disperse. Some walked slowly back to their houses, others returned to their seats around the fire, now noticeably smaller. Micah helped throw more logs and stirred the coals. Catherine pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She sat in an old lawn chair, and waited for fresh coffee.

  The stranger sat on a log next to Catherine, he held up his hands to the fire to warm them. The sleeves of the lab coat slid down and Catherine grabbed his wrist and he winced at her un-expected strength. She twisted his arm and looked at the bite marks by the fire light, not caring what if any pain she caused him.

  “How many times have you been bitten?”

  “Dozens that I know of, probably more,” he gasped. “I’ve been on the road a long time.”

  “How is it you didn’t turn?” Catherine asked. She cranked his arm around again for a better view of the bites.

  “I’m a scientist and I have the cure.”

  The camp went silent at the crazed man’s words. The only sounds were the cracking fire, the distant groans of the undead, and breaths from the gathered. Catherine took a second staring at him before realizing she wasn’t blinking. She let go of his arm and focused on his eyes.

  “Say that again.” Catherine said matter of factly.

  “I’m a scientist and I have a cure.”

  “What’s your name?” Catherine asked. She gave the man another look-over.

  “Pierce, my name is John Pierce.”

  * * * * *

  Frank hovered over Pierce; the rest of the village stared their mouths agape waiting for more info. It’s not often, or ever someone ran into the village with his claims. The normal night time, fire side conversation still hadn’t re-started. Pierce looked content to sit near the fire and eat and drink the town’s resources. He was handed a plastic cup filled with water, which he guzzled and held it out for a refill when empty. Frank scoffed and shook his head when the cup was refilled. The next cup full he sipped. A dish was handed to him; he poked at the various lumps with the spoon. A chunk of bread was dropped in the bowl.

  “You said something about a cure?” Catherine asked.

  “You’re very self sufficient here.” Pierce said avoiding the question. He tore into the bread and dragged it through the stew, then nodded in approval at his meal, barely stopping to breathe between bites.

  “We have to be,” Catherine answered. “You make what you can for yourself, because no one else will.”
The stranger shoveled a spoonful of stew into his mouth and grimaced a little as he chewed. “That food is a little old, go easy with it.” She looked at him expectantly, waiting for the cure to flow from his mouth. “No one is waiting outside to save us or keep us safe and fed.”

  “What am I eating? Exactly?” Pierce asked and forced down the mouthful.

  Micah smiled knowingly.

  “We call it critter stew,” Sharon said. “Rabbit, squirrel, whatever we find that scampers and isn’t undead.”

  “Sharon is a hell of a cook. And if you don’t piss us off or cause harm to my people, you may live for another dinner.” She leaned in close to Pierce. “Now let’s have a chat.” Catherine stood. She nodded to the snipers and they went back to the towers; Danny put fresh clips into his pistols along the way. Lily punched him in shoulder and went back towards her tower. “The rest of you lot clear off, go to sleep, finish your dinner, and go to your houses.” Catherine waited for the crowd to break up.

  Sharon draped her arm around Micah’s shoulders and led him back to their small house. They were one of the few with their own house with no housemates. Some of the other houses had five or more people in them. Micah reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out the white board. He wiped it clean with his hand and scribbled on it.

  “Busy night.”

  “You know it, kiddo.” She kissed him on the top of the head.

  “Tomorrow I need to update the journals,” he wrote.

  “You update them every day,” she said and ushered Micah on to the stairs. “I think Meredith has a crush on you,” she whispered and closed the door behind them. Micah’s cheeks turned red and he locked the door after they were inside.

  * * * * *

  “Beverly, you need to check out our guest,” Catherine called out. She leaned towards Pierce and whispered into his ear. “If you bring anymore threat to my village and my family, I will end you myself.” Catherine took a swallow of coffee, shook the remnants in the cup out onto the ground and set the chipped mug down; she swung her braid around her neck like a scarf. “I’ll get a pistol and shoot you three times. Twice to make sure you’re dead and once for pleasure, and I won’t tell you which shot will come first.”

  Pierce dry swallowed and placed his plate on the ground near the fire. He finished his water and was led off by Beverly. “Check those bite marks and the scars and report back. If any of them are very fresh or bleeding, call for Frank, he’ll know what to do.” Catherine leaned in close “and don’t get too close. You need us, scream. Don’t be shy about it.” Beverly led him away from the fire. Meredith took a seat near Catherine and the two ladies waited.

  “What do you think?” Meredith asked in a soft voice.

  “I think he’s more than a little crazy, malnourished, and exhausted. If his claim on the cure is legit, I don’t know what we’ll do. If he’s stringing us along for shelter and food, there’s going to be problems.”

  “Do you think he’ll hurt my mother?” Meredith looked up at the older woman.

  “I don’t think we have to worry about that. Your mother is no one to be trifled with especially when I have someone hidden in the shed with a pistol.” Catherine patted her shoulder and then looked down at her empty coffee cup. “It’s been ten years, and I still can’t find good coffee.” Catherine sighed and chewed absently on her thumb nail. “That bastard in Boston lives like a king and I can’t get coffee.”

  Micah watched the scene through thin curtains from his and Sharon’s house. He kept the lights off. Upstairs he heard his mother walking to her room. For a moment he thought about sketching the scene, Catherine and Meredith in the dying firelight. He’d never be able to capture it properly with only black charcoals. He shifted in his chair to see Beverly headed to the shed with the stranger walking ahead of her.

  * * * * *

  Beverly opened the green canvas flaps that covered the shed and unlocked the doors; she held her arm out, and Pierce walked inside. The shed was between two houses, Frank’s and Lily’s. She flipped on the overhead light and went over to a table. “Sit down on that stool and take off the lab coat.”

  Pierce slid it off his shoulders. “Can you burn that?”

  Beverly went to the stool and stood over Pierce. She picked the coat up with a stick and stuffed it into the wood stove. Lifting his arm, she examined each of the scars. Some were “fresher” than others, maybe within a week. Others looked like old, old scars. Then she poked the tender flesh with the tip of a pencil and did the same with Pierce’s other arm. The newer bites were surrounded by bruised and mottled purple flesh. Nothing oozed or bled. His fingernails were yellowed and caked with dirt.

  “I can’t believe you weren’t infected,” Beverly said.

  “I have the cure and I hope that I can convince you all,” Pierce answered.

  “Are you bitten anywhere else?”

  “Just the arms. I’ve been lucky.”

  “Convince Catherine.”

  “Is she like the mayor or something?”

  “Something like that.” Beverly rubbed her eyes and Pierce lowered his arms. “You have some scratches on your back and legs; I could bandage those up if you want, they’re not serious.” He stood and stretched, his joints cracked and he almost fell over when his knees popped.

  “You know, I’ve come a long way to find anyone, anyone at all who would listen.”

  “Catherine will listen you just need to go slow. You’ll have to excuse us if we’re a little suspect.”

  Pierce stifled a yawn and jumped back when Frank came out of the corner with a drawn pistol.

  “I think you’ve told him enough, Beverly,” Frank said coming out of the shadows.

  Beverly spun at the voice. “How long have you been there?” The lab coat flared in the stove.

  “The whole time. You think Catherine would leave you alone in here with this lunatic?”

  “All things considered my new friends,” Pierce said. “Is there someplace I could sleep? You can torture and interrogate me in the morning.” Frank took a step forward pressing the pistol barrel against Pierce’s forehead.

  “We need to keep your strength up. After breakfast we have a pile of corpses to move. And we’re not your friends.”

  “Why after breakfast?”

  “Because Catherine told me to move corpses with you and I hate the dry heaves. I’d much rather puke something up when it happens.” Frank holstered his pistol and left the medical shed. They watched him walk to the fire and sit next to Meredith.

  “You can sleep on the floor in here,” Beverly said. There’s a spare blanket on the table over there and a few logs left in the basket for the stove.” Beverly reached for the light switch.

  “If I may ask, what’s your training?”

  “I was a high school nurse.”

  “So that means...”

  “That means I’m the only one in camp who can sew you up. So don’t annoy me with the questions.” Beverly heard the whispers of the “quiet talk” around the fire.

  “Aren’t you worried I’m going to get to your supplies and run off?” Pierce said and sat on the floor, his back against the side wall. Beverly tossed him a water bottle.

  “We have four sniper towers and some very militant folk in the town. You wouldn’t get out. Besides, what makes you think we leave the supplies in here?” Beverly switched off the lights. “Not to mention you’ll be locked in here, so you’re not going anywhere.” She locked the shed doors and dropped the flaps of cloth back in place. Meredith stood by the smoldering fire. Beyond the distance of the fence the dead walked, backlit by the moon. A gossamer layer of mist blanketed the ground.

  “He’s a little crazy, maybe more than a little. Mostly harmless I think,” Beverly said.

  “What about his ‘cure’?” Catherine asked.

  “He said he had it, little more than that. Whether it’s real or not that’s for you to judge.” She looked around the fire and realized almost everyone else had gone. Beverly yawned
and squeezed Meredith’s shoulders. “The bite marks look real, I can’t tell how old they are. A couple of them are still a little pink, so they’re still kind of fresh. He’s covered in scrapes and scratches and I think he’s been wandering or traveling for a long time.” Catherine looked out past the fence, past the sniper towers at the stars. They were brilliant bright dots in the sky.

  “That right there,” she pointed at the view. “Is what gives me a little hope, that somehow there’s a fix for all this. I wish I still had my camera, not that I’d be able to work it.”

  “What are you thinking?” Beverly asked.

  “I’m thinking I’m a little too old for this. And maybe this needs further investigation in the morning,” Catherine replied.

  “One thing though, Catherine,” Beverly said. “None of the bites are deep. So if he was bitten, I’d think the bites would be deeper, be flesh missing, his arms would be damaged more.” Beverly steered Meredith away from the fire back to their house. On the way in she straightened the “Dandridge” plaque on the wall.

  * * * * *

  Frank grunted and lifted the corpse; the flesh was charred from the car fire and it sloughed off with each grab. Pierce held the arms and looked green; he was going to blow again. Frank had a handkerchief drenched in aftershave wrapped around his mouth and nose. Pierce’s wild red hair and beard stubble were caked with vomit. When Frank lifted, the corpse’s foot came off in his hand. Pierce ran to the side of the road and vomited again in the patchy grass. Frank let go of the other foot and the burnt remains crashed to the pavement.

  “Suck it up princess, we still have a lot left. You’ve puked more than moved corpses.”

  “I didn’t eat much, I should be empty by now,” Pierce gasped.

  “You’re never really empty doing this job.”

  “How do you do it?” Pierce asked.