by TW Brown
“What is it?” she snapped as she turned to face the person bold enough to address her before her morning cup of coffee. It was that damned pop star.
“I was told that my rations are being cut?”
“You don’t eat all your food,” Wanda said with an indifferent shrug. “In case you haven’t noticed…food is in short supply. Especially after that latest stunt by your beloved little friend, Kevin. Most of the stores that you put away were destroyed in that fire in case you don’t remember. You are now relying on our stores for your meals and there isn’t enough to waste.”
“But I am only taking what everybody else is allowed…no more and no less.”
“And you aren’t eating it all.”
“Because you completely cut Valarie off from the food line! We had a deal. You said that I could give her mine.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on the wood cutting detail?”
“We had a deal!”
“There is a line in one of the Star Wars movies…not those horrendous so-called prequels, but the originals. I think it was Darth Vader who said, ‘Pray I don’t alter it further.’ So get your skinny little ass back to work before I throw both of you over the wall,” Wanda growled.
“He’s gonna beat you, ya know,” Shari whispered just loud enough to be heard. Whether on purpose or not, it still earned her a backhanded slap that sent her to the ground.
Wanda stood over the supposed pop star—she’d heard her singing to that damn retarded girl and hadn’t been impressed—with clenched fists. She was on the verge of making an example of this one once and for all. The girl was sprawled on the frozen ground with a trickle of blood coming from the corner of her mouth. She was staring up with a defiant glare sparking with tears.
Several thoughts crossed her mind as the two looked deep into each other’s eyes. She could give this one to the men. The rationale was simple: she was a way to reclaim the loyalty of her troops. Also, many of her men and women had expressed discomfort at the crazed ramblings of the retarded girl. She supposedly saw ghosts, she talked to thin air, and she had a serious problem with her sanitary habits. Tossing that one over the wall would ease a lot of minds.
“Kevin,” Shari whispered.
Wanda waited. Obviously the girl had another smartass comment to make about how this man would ride down from the clouds in a flaming chariot and save the world…or at least her and her friends. What the…? She thought as she realized that the girl was no longer looking at her. Glancing over her shoulder, Wanda couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Coming through the camp was a man with his hands laced behind his head. Obviously, according to Shari’s reaction, this was the elusive Kevin. She’d expected…more.
9
Surviving Ain’t Livin’
Dr. Zahn sat beside me in the cat as we waited for Jon to come back out of the woods from his bathroom break. I could tell for a while that she’d had something on her mind. I figured the best way to find out was to just ask.
“What?” I let that one word hang in the air. I knew the doctor well enough to know that she was not one for small talk.
“I killed that poor little girl,” Dr. Zahn whispered. “And before you start running at the mouth about all the things I’ve done, or how I shouldn’t have simply known or whatever else you all have been yammering on about…I specialized in infectious diseases for almost a decade. I had a position with the CDC in the Eighties and saw it all. Aids. Ebola. Things that would scare you into taking full body dips in anti-bacterial liquid.”
“Okay,” I said after she sat quiet for a second, “but this isn’t like anything you’ve ever seen.”
“Still, there are simple rules that you always follow.”
“So…like you told me not so long ago…don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“It’s not that—” she started, but Jon running for us through the snow ended that conversation in a hurry.
He kept looking over his shoulder as he ran. I’d never seen him so visibly shook. Whatever it was, it was bad. And then I saw them. Wolves.
We’d dealt with them before and they were just disturbing. It wasn’t that they were super fast or anything. It all boiled down to the eyes and the creepy groan they managed to produce that was like nothing I’d ever heard before and after that one time, hoped to never hear again.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key. Popping into gear, I got us rolling as Jon came up alongside. The doctor opened the door and held out a hand. She recoiled so fast that she almost ended up in my seat.
“Dammit!” the doctor cursed. I glanced over as Jon climbed in…with a huge rip in his hand.
“Just drive,” the ever-stalwart Marine snapped (I will never say former because Jon still serves as a Marine despite the lack of any formal government to answer to any longer).
I kept my focus forward because I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t need to.
As we continued down the general direction of the road—basically I drove between the canopies of frosted pine trees that bordered the path—Jon worked at cleaning and bandaging his hand with the basic first aid gear that he had obviously had the foresight to put behind the seat. I did mentally slap my forehead when he pulled the metal box out because something so obvious had once again slipped my mind.
I drove for an hour before the doctor nudged me. Jon was leaning against the door with his eyes closed. I pulled the big knife from my belt and handed it over. Doctor Zahn accepted it like it might turn into a snake and bite her.
“Don’t be so hasty,” Jon said. He opened his eyes and shot a sideways glance at the two of us.
I wanted to be relieved. So far there was no sign of the black squiggles. That didn’t necessarily mean that we were out of the woods yet, so to speak. It was encouraging, but there was still the possibility that he could be infected. Maybe a bite from a wolf or dog took longer to cause a person to change. We really didn’t have any idea.
“How are you feeling, Jon?” Dr. Zahn asked.
“I feel like rancid oil is running through my veins and my stomach is doing flips, but other than that…”
“I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure thing, Doc.”
“I need you to stay awake.”
“Okay.”
“And I need you to keep your eyes open so I can watch you. Since that is the most definite way we have of knowing your condition, I will monitor you that way.”
It took over two hours to leave the wolves behind to the point of not being able to see them. That only meant we had put distance between us. If wolf zombies were anything like their human counterparts—and we have no reason to think otherwise—once they get on a trail, they are relentless until something distracts them.
As it started to get darker, I kept glancing at Jon for directions. He simply sat silently staring straight ahead.
“I am assuming that you will tell me if and when I need to turn,” I finally said.
“Of course,” was Jon’s only reply.
We drove for about ten more minutes when Jon pointed to a narrow opening in the trees on the right hand side of the road. I turned and began a slow climb.
“There are a handful of trailer homes coming up,” Jon said. “We never stayed in any, so just pull into the first one. We can secure it and stay the night. We will have to finish this in the morning. It isn’t far, but I don’t want to make this last little leg in the dark. Up ahead is where we saw most of the zombie activity.”
The first trailer we came to was set back from the road through a single row of scraggly looking pine trees. I pulled into the first opening I found and parked beside the partially collapsed fence that looked like it had been hit by something moving fast the way it was all twisted and mangled.
“Let me take point going in,” Jon said.
I didn’t see any reason to argue. After all, he was already bitten. If he was infected, another bite would not make it any
worse. If he was immune…well, pretty much the same logic.
We climbed the cinder block stairs and stood on the three-quarter inch plywood square that acted as a porch. I was trying my best not to judge…but this was almost too stereotypical. Jon tried the knob at the top of the stairs. It opened and released a rolling wave of stench that made me think of what shoving my face in a dirty cat box might smell like.
I lit a torch and handed it to Jon so that he could get a better look. It seems that the windows were covered in aluminum foil. Jon only took one step in before backing out in a hurry. I had my machete in my hand and quickly stepped in front of Dr. Zahn.
“Don’t bother,” Jon said as he turned his back to the open door. “This was a meth lab. There is nothing moving inside.”
We moved on to the next trailer. This one was a double-wide with no fence. As far as trailers went, this one looked okay. In fact, whoever lived here had put a lot of work into making it look like an actual house. The contrasts were so jarring that I almost missed the hand reaching out from the snow between the screened in porch and the big bush just beside it.
I brought my machete up, but never had the chance to swing as Dr. Zahn drove a wicked looking Buck knife into the snow-crusted face that rose from the powder in a slow motion eruption. I gave her a sideways glance. She simply shrugged and accepted my invitation for her to enter ahead of me.
A walk through revealed that the place was empty inside of anything that might want to bite our faces off. The rest of the night was dull. I did my best to relish the fact that the only problem we faced was staying warm enough. The temperatures plunged as it got dark and I would guess that it went well below zero.
The three of us barricaded the two doors and chose to rely on noise to wake us in the unlikely event that zombies showed up. We huddled under every single blanket and comforter while making a bit of a Dr. Zahn sandwich to maximize warmth from our bodies. It was still freezing. As I drifted off to sleep, I was reminded of a story by Jack London about a guy in the frozen wastes who dies of hypothermia.
Sweet dreams.
***
I woke to Jon shaking me. Dr. Zahn was already on her feet and I could see thick clouds of steam coming from their mouths and nostrils. The cold was so harsh that it made my face sting as soon as I came out from under the covers.
“Take this,” Jon said, handing me a strip of a blanket that he had cut into wide strips. “Put this over your mouth and nose. It will make breathing easier.”
I shrugged and did as I was told, but I also felt a bit of relief when I saw that he had clear eyes. Jon certainly knew more about survival that somebody like me. My idea of roughing it up until this whole zombie thing had consisted of fixing the non-microwavable macaroni and cheese.
“The one thing we have on our side is that there is no measurable wind.” Jon headed for the door. When he opened it, a dazzling white light illuminated him like he was some sort of warrior angel come to lead us to salvation. “We should be at the camp within an hour or two.”
We headed out in the Snowcat after a rather unsettling moment where it looked like the vehicle was not going to start. Did I mention that it was freezing cold?
Walking on the snow, you could actually stand on the surface of it and not plunge through it if you stepped carefully. When you did break through, it was accompanied by a loud crack that echoed in the deathly silent (no pun intended) forest. It took me a few seconds to realize how quiet it was before I brought it to Jon’s attention.
“None of the snow is melting or falling off the branches for one. I will say this…if it warms up any, it could get interesting.”
“How so?”
“If it keeps thawing and refreezing, not only will everything be a sheet of solid ice, but the snow will start to cascade down the branches and eventually the lower ones will become overburdened. This place will be a symphony of breaking wood.”
We made the trip in silence. I was fascinated by one field in particular that we passed by. It was like a zombie farm. I counted a dozen of the things standing in waist-deep snow. They were stuck, but strangely not frozen solid. I know this because their arms were very animated as we passed by. They reached, and I bet if it were not for the growl of the engine on the cat, I would have heard them making their assorted zombie noises.
We turned down a long road with a deep ditch on either side. In the distance, I could see an obviously hastily erected fence. It was a mix of corrugated steel, chain-link, wooden slats, and aluminum siding all topped with coils of razor wire. What I didn’t see was any signs of life. As loud as the Snowcat is, the inhabitants of that compound would have heard us coming several minutes before we even came into sight of their location.
When we pulled in and shut down, I looked to Jon for an indication of what to do. He seemed to be scanning the area with an abnormally—even for him—intense gaze.
“Did we come here to look at a fence?” Dr. Zahn finally broke the silence.
Jon said nothing, but he opened his door and climbed out while simultaneously allowing a painfully cold wave of air to fill the cab and ensure that neither the doctor nor I would simply sit in its relative warmth while he tromped around in the ice-crusted snow. I did a quick self-inspection of my gear. I didn’t know what I was feeling exactly, but it wasn’t anything good.
“Hello inside!” Jon called. Not exactly subtle, but I was nitpicking. Considering the fact that we’d driven here in the Snowcat and probably activated or re-directed every stationary zombie for miles, his little yell was probably not making things worse.
I hopped from the cab. That was my first mistake. I guess I really haven’t been out much. That is my best excuse when it comes to what is a complete ignoring of common sense. I promptly sunk up to my thighs in the snow. Looking around, I realized that the Snowcat had plowed its way to where we were currently parked. I also noticed that we had driven in the tracks made the last time Jon had come this way. At the nose of the cat was a mound of snow that rose about three or four feet above my head.
“Took us three days to make it this far last time,” Jon said with a smirk as I looked around for anything that could extricate me from my current situation. “Then we had to shovel our way to their wall. They’d made a path, but it was mostly filled in when we arrived. Wasn’t sure if we were gonna find anybody alive.”
“So what led you here?” Dr. Zahn asked. “This is obviously off the beaten path.”
“Jesus saw a flare. The only problem we had with that was that once we got here, nobody admitted to firing one. We talked to everybody that was able to speak…but nobody owned up to it.”
“And that doesn’t seem a little weird to you?” I asked as I flopped down on my belly and tried to wiggle my way across the snow.
“Of course it does.” Jon reached the edge of the unpacked snow and offered his hand to help pull me across. “But I stopped trying to figure out everything that seems weird to me a few months ago.”
“Boy howdy,” Dr. Zahn chimed in.
Boy howdy? What the hell was that about?
“And did they completely ignore your attempts to make contact with them when you arrived that first time?” I tumbled off the snow bank and came to a less than graceful and somewhat painful stop against the rear treads of the Snowcat.
“Actually…no.” I could hear the concern in Jon’s voice, but there was something else that I couldn’t quite identify.
“Maybe they’re all dead,” Dr. Zahn offered.
She wasn’t being callous. Actually, the best way I could put it was that she was finally being ‘Dr. Zahn’ again instead of the strange person who had been walking around in a funky haze since Teresa and Jamie’s death.
“So we are going to have to climb over,” Jon said with a sigh. “The best place is just around the corner. See that tree?” He pointed.
“I don’t think I’ve climbed a tree since before you were born,” Dr. Zahn grumped.
For some reason, that tickled my funny b
one. It was something that I suddenly realized had been completely absent from my life these past several months—those spontaneous moments when you find something to be the most hilarious thing in the world. It is made worse by those around you who do not get in the slightest what you find so damned funny. Then, the harder you try to stifle the laugh, the worse it gets. Pretty soon your eyes are tearing up and you are laughing like a lunatic with no idea if you will ever be able to stop.
“Are you quite finished?” Dr. Zahn said as I wiped away the last of the tears in my eyes with my sleeves.
“I think so,” I managed. I was so out of breath that I really have no idea if she understood the words as much as just picked up on the sentiment.
We made our way to the corner…and that was where we encountered our first ‘surprise.’
“Holy Jesus,” Dr. Zahn gasped.
I felt my stomach shift just a bit and my knees give way until I somehow ended up on my butt in the snow beside the almost still defined trail. It took my brain a few moments to truly untangle the image and let me know what it was that I was looking at.
My best guess is that she could not have been any older than Thalia—five or six years old. She was leaning against the fence. More accurately, she was frozen to the fence. Somebody had taken the time place her exactly as we found her.
From just below her neck, there was nothing. Not a speck of flesh could be found on her frame—and that is all that was left…her frame. They had left the head untouched. So that one cold, dead eye still stared out at the world. She wasn’t alone. Beside her were seven others, all of varying ages. Each one had been stripped of every speck from the neck down, but for some reason, they’d left the heads.
Dr. Zahn pushed past me and knelt beside the first figure. She pulled something from her pocket and began to poke and inspect in a way that was far too clinical for me. I wanted to scream.
“They were boiled,” Dr. Zahn said, not looking away as she continued to inspect the collection.
That was the name my mind could handle referring to this group of individuals. They would now be etched forever more as ‘The Collection.’