Fountain of the Dead

by Scott T. Goudsward

  “Carrying them is easy. I’ve dragged them across the street, scraped up piles with a snow shovel. This one time,” Frank paused with a smile. “I was out here by myself and was pretty pissed off. So I found a junker car that started, and tied a bunch of corpses to the bumper and drove them across the road. Only thing missing was the ‘Just Married’ sign.” Frank waited for a response. “You know, like a car with a trail of tin cans trailing it?”

  “I don’t get it,” Pierce said.

  “Pick up your end, let’s finish this.”

  They lifted and carried their gruesome freight across the road. They didn’t look both ways, and they didn’t wait for a crossing guard. Another reminder of their grisly job was gun shots from the sniper towers.

  “How can you do this?” Pierce gasped for clean air.

  “Practice. A clear road makes for an easier escape, need be.”

  They maneuvered through what once was a well manicured lawn with the skeleton of a swing-set and a fort on wooden stilts with a green plastic roof. There were holes in the roof and part of one wall was missing. There was a small door with a plastic flap that led to a rickety wood bridge that led to a platform, ending with a stained yellow slide.

  “Have you ever seen child zombies?”

  “Only a few,” Frank answered and kicked open the door to the house and walked backwards inside, ankles firmly grasped in his gloved hands. The foot that had come off rocked on the body’s chest with each step they took. Pierce struggled with the corpse, his hands lodged in its armpits. They stumbled in and the buzz of what seemed like a million flies assaulted them. Boots crunched on bones as they walked through a maze of bodies stacked floor to almost ceiling and went to the kitchen. Frank opened the cellar door a crack after setting down his end.

  “Why didn’t you check for them first? Zombies?”

  “The door was closed, zombies don’t open and close doors. If the door was open, then we’d have trouble. Now get ready for this, there’s no ventilation down there. The stink will hit you like a mallet to the nuts.” He threw open the door and took a deep breath of aftershave soaked cloth. Pierce barely got his head around before the vomit exploded from his mouth. Frank took the body and pushed it down the stairs, listening to it crash against each step, bones broke and it came to a stop on the landing crumpled against dozens of dried husks. The landing was almost full of broken bodies. Soon the stairs would be full. Then they’d need a new house or start burning the corpses.

  Frank slammed the door shut and handed the cloth to Pierce. He breathed deep into the cloth and handed it back. “How do you get used to it?” Pierce asked.

  “You don’t. If you get used to it, you’re no better than them out there.” They walked out of the kitchen through the corpse stacked living room to the outside. Pierce took a moment to take deep breaths before following Frank to the next corpse.

  “What do you do with your dead, Frank?” Pierce asked lifting the next one.

  “Small unmarked graveyard in the very back of the cul-de-sac.”

  They hauled bodies back and forth until the road and village gates were clear. When the last body was moved, they were greeted at the gate by Danny, with a bucket of water and a ladle. Frank poured the water over his head and tried to wash away the stink and bits of flaked flesh before drinking. Pierce turned the rest of bucket over his head.

  “You two need to get inside, Catherine is waiting,” Danny said.

  “Catherine can wait until I get this stink off me and burn my clothes.” Frank shook his head. Danny was young, barely drinking age, his face still too fresh to be lodged in a tower killing all day. Just showed up in camp one day, no one knew how he got there for certain, save for Catherine, who wasn’t talking. Danny stared at him and walked in back of them as the gate closed. Another gunshot rang out followed by the slap of dead meat against concrete.

  “I’m not moving that one!” Frank yelled. Danny turned away and climbed back into the tower. Frank and Pierce continued down the street. The cookie cutter houses were spaced almost evenly all the way down to the end, all with different colored vinyl siding. The circular turn around used to host basketball and hopscotch and the occasional street hockey. Now there was a fire pit and stacked wood. The shell of the net stood to the side, the netting long gone, with a tarp nailed to it; underneath were stew pots and other necessities.

  Catherine sat in her chair, facing the street, and watched them approach. She grimaced at the brownish liquid in her cup and tossed it over her shoulder into the pit.

  “Coffee my ass.” Her brow furrowed when the two men moved closer. Frank nodded and stepped off to the side. Beverly came out of her house with Meredith and Micah. They all stood around Catherine.

  “Please sit.” Pierce took a seat on a stump that faced her. “We don’t have a lot of resources here. You are welcome to stay until it’s time to move on.”

  “Where do I go?” Pierce asked. Catherine pointed over his shoulder. The skyscrapers of Boston loomed in the distance, giant metallic claws that reached out and waited for anything to grab onto. Even from a distance they saw the massive holes in the buildings from the meteor strikes.

  “You can take the highway to the bridge, the roads are patrolled. Most of the city is dead. There’s a small area and its guarded well. People there have more than us, better vehicles and weapons. We trade with them from time to time for fuel for the generators and cars, and ammo. If you’re very nice and kiss a lot of ass, you might make in there.” Pierce looked over his shoulder and something filled his gaze that Catherine didn’t recognize.

  “I’d rather stay here,” Pierce said still looking at the skyline.

  “Then you are going to tell us, where you’re from, who you are, and all about this cure.” Catherine inched forward in her chair a little waiting for a response. Pierce looked around and licked his dry lips.

  “And you’re going to tell us the truth,” Catherine said. “If you lie or I think you’re lying, I’m going to lock you in the basement of the corpse house for one hour, for each lie you tell.” Pierce looked confused at her.

  Frank gave him a finger wave. “The house you helped fill with bodies earlier.”

  * * * * *

  Micah sat on his log oblivious to the people around him. He reached into his satchel and took out the photo album. The brown leather cover was bent and cracked. The embossed printing on the front “Photo Album” was faded and barely visible. Micah opened the cover to the first picture; it showed Micah at his first birthday party an unruly mop of brown curly hair, grey eyes, and a face smeared with green frosting. A slight smile crossed his lips. He rubbed his cheeks at the make believe frosting.

  The next picture was him with a puppy; he stroked the picture, as if hoping for a reaction from the image of the dog. Micah continued to turn the pages until he came to the end. The last picture was him safe in the arms of his father, with his mother smiling over his shoulder. A gunshot rang out and Catherine cleared her throat and spat on to the road. Micah stuffed the album back in his bag.

  * * * * *

  “My name is Pierce, John Pierce,” He announced to the gathered crowd. “And I’m a scientist, an environmental scientist. My crew and I were stationed in the Everglades.” Micah’s head bobbed up, suddenly paying attention. “There were six of us in the camp in huts and cabins. We were doing research on the encroachment of non-native animals and the effects on the swamp. We’d been there for a year I think when the meteors hit.” For the briefest of moments the silence was palpable.

  “How the hell did you get up here from Florida? You expect us to believe you got all the way up here unscathed?” Frank stomped out of the shadows, red rag stuffed in his pocket; gun tucked under his belt and stood nose to nose with Pierce. Pierce showed him the bite marks on his arms.

  “Hardly unscathed.” Frank didn’t back down, when Catherine tapped him in the back of the head, he stepped aside. “It took me years to get up here when I finally left. Half the time I wasn’
t even sure where I was or where I was going. I lived off canned food I found left in cars. Slept in trees and when there weren’t any trees near, I slept in cars with corpses inside them.”

  “What about the rest of your team?” Meredith asked.

  “All dead, no one else made it out,” Pierce answered.

  Frank looked up as more geese flew by. His mouth watered for a moment thinking of roasted goose and the full spread of sides. A cool autumn breeze blew through the village. “Jameson and I were the last ones. You’ll never know how the beauty of the swamp can be corrupted by a zombie poacher biting through your friend’s cheek. I used my last two bullets on them. I packed up what I could and headed north.”

  “There’s no way he’s been on the road for ten years, Catherine,” Sam said. His mutt strained against the leash trying to get a closer sniff at Pierce.

  “I stayed in the camp as long as I could. When the food ran out, we learned to hunt and kill snakes. When it was just me, I took to the road. We tried catching boars, but they were too noisy when snared; the squealing attracted the dead.”

  “Very well and all Mr. Pierce, but tell us of this cure,” Catherine said. Pierce walked among the people and showed them the bite marks and scars. He looked into each of their faces. Catherine shifted uneasy in her chair, expecting something to happen, not certain if that something would come from Pierce or Frank. Her one comfort was knowing should Pierce do anything against her people then Frank would solve the problem.

  “I grabbed some of my notes and stuffed them into my pack with samples, hoping to hole up in a lab someplace safe. When I wasn’t paying attention, I was bit. I ran blind through the swamp, the zombies or whatever they are followed me. I climbed a tree and crawled into an old hunter’s rise and watched as alligators went after zombies. When the attack was over I climbed down. I felt the fever crawling up my arm from the bite.” Pierce pointed to a light pink bite scar on his wrist.

  “I ran nearly blind with sickness into a cave. I fell over a rock and when I landed my hand was in a pool of water. The skin foamed and bled black around the wound. And in a few moments, the fever had cleared.”

  “You fell in a puddle and you were cured?” Catherine asked.

  “Pretty much,” Pierce nodded.

  “Bullshit,” Frank spat.

  “I lost my pack south of here. If one or two will come with me, I’ll get it. I have water samples in it. I can prove it.” Catherine rubbed her chin. She was handed a cup of well water and looked to the other townsfolk, trying to read their expressions.

  “Frank, Sam and Danny get ready, you leave in an hour. Take the Jeep.” Grumbling came out from the gathered people; Micah wrote in his journal, some of the words barely legible. “Conserve all the fuel and bullets you can.”

  “Don’t need to tell us,” Frank said.

  “I don’t need to, but I have to. And anything that can be used...” Catherine started.

  “Anything that can be used, bring it back and don’t break it.” Sam said and handed the leash to Tony.

  * * * * *

  Sam steered the Jeep down the rutted road. They’d taken the soft top off to get better vantage point for shooting if it came to that. Danny stood on the back seat, braced against the roof strut. Frank, in the passenger seat, had both pistols drawn; he craned his head from side to side looking for danger. Pierce sat behind him looking tentatively from his seat.

  They stopped outside the remains of Dedham. Under a street sign was a battered backpack. Pierce jumped from the Jeep before it stopped and ran for it. He stopped under the sign and untied the drawstrings to inspect the insides.

  “I can’t believe I let you drive my Jeep,” Frank said.

  “Explorer is low on fuel. The way you were ranting about the Monte, the Jeep makes sense.” Sam said. “For the record, Frank, you’re sitting where the dog usually does.”

  “The Monte is OK, but I’d kill for a pick-up truck.” Frank looked around for anything shambling towards them. “And dogs don’t ride in my Jeep.”

  “What do you guys think about Lily?” Danny asked.

  “She’s definitely hot,” Sam said. “Little young for me.”

  “You don’t have a chance, kid,” Frank said.

  “She and you are old enough to be my kids. Feel creepy even talking about it,” Sam said.

  “We could drop him here, take the pack. No one would suspect. Feed him a bullet or two. Let something chew on him,” Frank said glaring at Pierce. “Something’s wrong with him.”

  “The day you can pull off a lie to Catherine, let me know,” Sam said. “Sometimes it’s like you two are married.”

  “Well we’re not.” Frank squirmed in his seat at the comment. Sam smiled at the obvious sore spot.

  The engine idled restless as if the vehicle knew where it was. The Jeep had been green, until swirls of brown and grey were added to keep it camouflaged. The radio hissed static or blurted out automated warnings, the lights were bright and it ran well. Sam revved the engine a few times to get Pierce’s attention.

  “Incoming!” Frank yelled. He stood and took aim. Danny turned to get the rifle ready for the kill shot. Pierce barely noticed the group of dead coming from roadside trees. Some broke off shambling towards Pierce; the rest went for the Jeep. Sam turned the Jeep around to face the oncoming walking lifeless. Danny fired over their heads, dropping the closest to Pierce. Frank rolled from the Jeep into a crouch and opened fire. The corpse bodies were wracked and rocked from the gun fire; three of them fell as more came from the tree-line.

  Pierce screamed as one’s head vaporized from Danny’s rifle. The mist of brain and blood settled on him. He grabbed the pack and ran for the Jeep. Danny fired until he cleared a path. Frank unloaded his clips and ran back to reload. Pierce jumped into the back, plowing into Danny almost knocking him out of the jeep. Frank landed in the passenger’s seat and Sam peeled out. They left a trail of smoke and burnt rubber ion the road.

  “This is why no one drives my Jeep. I’m going to need tires.”

  “Please stop bitching, Frank,” Danny yelled.

  Frank continued to fire until they were out of range. The urge to pistol whip Pierce was almost uncontrollable. He counted silently letting the rage ebb. He checked his guns; both new clips were empty. So much for conserving ammo he thought.

  “Would that be considered good recon?” Danny asked.

  “We didn’t find a store to loot or gas station to check out,” Frank responded. “So no. Find an ammo shop that hasn’t been looted, then yes.”

  Pierce dug through the pack, leaving a trail of papers and notes trailing behind the jeep. He held on to several maps, stuffing them under his legs and then pulled out a clear plastic canteen, half full with the water. Through the clutter in the pack, Danny saw the corner of an old book and the hint of yellowed pages.

  “That better be worth all this,” Sam said

  “Trust me, it is.” Pierce swung around and bumped into Danny. Danny grabbed onto to the roof support to not be thrown from the Jeep.

  “Next time someone is saving your stupid ass, make sure you don’t almost knock him out of the vehicle.” Danny wanted to bash Pierce in the head with the rifle stock, over and over until it caved in his skull or knocked some sense into him. Sam steered the Jeep like an extension of his own body; around cars and debris and impact holes from the meteors from the Night Storm. Frank turned in time to see a few of the dead walking in pursuit.

  “I was in a rush.” Pierce kissed the canteen and held it close to his chest and didn’t let go until he saw the outer gate of the village and the glint of reflected sunlight from the sniper’s scope.

  * * * * *

  “Meredith,” Catherine whispered. “Take Micah and Grace, go into my house and use the laptop, see if you can get a signal from the city’s server and look up our Mr. Pierce.”

  “But last time we got caught.” Meredith dry swallowed. She looked around the village, like there might be agents from the city lyin
g in wait.

  Beverly squeezed her daughter’s shoulders. Micah stood and brushed off the seat of his pants. Meredith looked along the cul-de-sac street for Grace. She saw the frail girl sitting on a wooden crate near the medical shed. Meredith waved her over. Grace’s steps were slow and thought out. Meredith held out her hands to Grace and Micah and they went towards Catherine’s house. Micah kept one hand on his satchel, in case he needed something to draw or write on, really quick.

  * * * * *

  The house was immaculate. Aside from being the leader of the village, Catherine was a neat freak. Maybe something that had beaten into her as a child. In the foyer was a small table with an empty fruit bowl on it. The carpeted stairs leading upstairs were free of dirt and debris, nothing to cause a sneeze or to trip over. The living room had a sofa, love seat, and a rocking chair that faced the unused fireplace; any and all excess firewood was for the fire pit. The mantel was dusted and the framed photos that sat on it were perfectly straight. The curtains for the bay windows were pulled shut and the front door boarded over. An empty gun rack hung on the wall near the door.

  The laptop was on the coffee table facing the empty spot on the wall where the TV should have been. Instead there was a barrister’s book case filled with photo albums and a few silver framed pictures. Meredith sat on the couch and powered up the laptop. The laptop and computer equipment were the only items, that weren’t major appliances, or basic necessities, allowed to run off the generators.

  Micah walked around the room. Despite all the times he’d been in the house, he looked at all the pictures again, and all the while his own photo album was inside the satchel. He never asked if the photographs were of Catherine’s family or the people who had been in the house before the meteors. Or even the generic pictures that came with the frames.

  “What are we doing?” Grace asked.

  “Hacking into Boston’s web to find a still functional search engine, to look up Mr. Pierce and his zombie cure,” Meredith answered.