When the Dead

by Michelle Kilmer

  “Maybe next time?” she suggested. “Now sit still.”

  Home School

  Three hours later, Moira sat Gabe down at their dining room table. She had lain out a notebook, a drawing pad and as many pens and markers as she could find. She sat down next to him to begin the lesson.

  “You smell funny,” Gabe said as he leaned away from her.

  “Ha! What a straight shooter you are. It’s moisturizer. I’m so old, if I don’t wear it all the time I’d just crumble into dust.” She fluttered her fingers in the air to mimic her dusted self blowing away in an imaginary wind.

  “You could get a nicer smelling one.”

  “Nah. I’m too old for change.”

  “Me too!” Gabe smiled.

  “You are a funny kid. What do you want to learn about today?”

  “Mummies!” he exclaimed.

  “Why mummies?” Moira asked with a laugh.

  “They come back to life like the zombies ‘cept they look nicer ‘cause they’re wrapped in toilet paper.”

  “Well that is true but they only came back to life in movies. The real ones stayed in tombs built by the Egyptians.”

  “Do you think the mummies will come out of the movies like the zombies did?”

  “I’m not sure where you get your facts but you need to find a better source. The zombies didn’t come out of the movies. We don’t know where they came from.”

  “They had to come from somewhere.”

  “Let’s keep our fingers crossed that somebody in the world is trying to figure that out right now! So do you want to learn about Egypt?”

  “Ok!”

  She talked for a half an hour on the subject and then they moved on to writing practice. Gabe carefully spelled out the names of the other residents with his misshapen letters. Moira found it easy to spend time with the child. It wasn’t at all like she expected. Her children had been more poorly behaved than Gabe was.

  When Rob came by after an hour to pick Gabe up both Moira and the boy weren’t ready for “school” to be over. So he left them for a few more hours. Gabe drew a picture of his father and Moira played with his beloved Legos, though her arthritic hands could barely pull the plastic bricks apart.

  Two more hours elapsed and dinner time was nearing. Rob came a second time for his son and Moira reluctantly let the child leave.

  “You let me know when you want to come over again, alright?” She hugged him.

  Gabe pulled away from her and smiled. “You’re alright for a girl, even if you smell.”

  “Gabe! That’s not a kind thing to say,” his dad scolded him.

  “It’s alright Rob. We already talked about it. And thank you Gabe, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Deadbeat Dad

  Isobel did a lot of the group laundry herself. She had found a large bucket for soapy water and a few tools for scrubbing and dirt removal. On this day, Isobel thought it felt like a Sunday, she wasn’t alone. Due to her slowly healing ankle injury she had to take a volunteer helper to carry the supplies to the roof and back and to help get through the massive pile of smelly clothes and bedding. Hayden volunteered without hesitation, eager to help in some small way to pay back the group for letting her in.

  The day was windy and it could really be felt on the roof. The clotheslines they had strung up in the first week were whipping back and forth, a forgotten sweater waved like a flag. Hayden setup all the supplies and Isobel sat down in front of the large bucket. She would wash the clothes and Hayden would rinse and squeeze them out before hanging them to dry.

  “Man it is really cold up here!” Hayden shivered and took the abandoned sweater off the line. “I don’t know who this belongs to but I’m going to put it on to stay warm.”

  “I’m sure that’s fine.” Isobel said over her shoulder. She looked like a natural home maker as she skillfully removed stains and laundered each piece of clothing with care.

  “Have you ever wanted children, Isobel?” Hayden asked her as she took a few of Ben’s plaid shirts and clipped them to the line with two multicolored clothespins.

  “Me? No! Well, I guess I’ve never thought about it. Maybe if I fell in love with someone who wanted children then I would. Why do you ask?”

  She stopped focusing on the washing and turned her head to Hayden.

  “Oh, no reason. You just look like you would make a good mom and I was thinking about those people, that family that died before I moved in.”

  “The Coopers,” Isobel said and then turned her attention back to the laundry.

  “Yeah, them. Did they seem scared to be bringing a child into a world like this?”

  “A little, yes. But the world hasn’t changed as much as everyone is going on about. It has always been full of bad people. Only now it’s easier to tell the difference.”

  Hayden thought for awhile on it and decided to press on with her questions. Her period hadn’t come on time but her diet had been horrible as of late and she had missed a period in the past so she wasn’t too concerned. She couldn’t help but think that it was due to something other than malnutrition this time though so, she felt the need to inquire about Tom.

  “Because you’ve known him a lot longer than I have, do you think that Tom would make a good dad?”

  This time Isobel didn’t stop her work, she just laughed loud enough for Hayden to hear her. “Sorry. That was a serious question wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. It was.”

  “You would think that a man who loves himself as much as Vaughn does would value his offspring. He has kids from a marriage that ended.”

  “And?”

  “He never talks about them. So, there’s your answer. I’ve never seen them here to visit him either.”

  “How do you know about them then? Tom isn’t the sharing type.”

  “I saw their names on some rental paperwork in the office when Ben and I were there.”

  “He must pay child support or something.” Hayden was starting to feel queasy. She wasn’t sure if it was from her possible pregnancy or her nervousness about Tom’s lack of responsibility.

  “Well if he ever did he certainly doesn’t have to anymore and I am willing to bet money that he is happy about it. My advice? Don’t travel down that road with him. Inside, he’s as dead as they are.” Isobel pointed to the street where the dead were still walking in great numbers.

  “I thought you guys were all buddy-buddy,” Hayden said to her.

  “Think of me as a diplomat. I’m just a group representative trying to keep things smooth with the evil dictator that could really fuck us over if he wanted to.”

  From then on Hayden hung laundry in silence. The only positive thought she could come up with was that there was already a lot of unused and unneeded baby stuff packed away upstairs.

  A Glass of Courage

  Jeff wasn’t drunk or tired and the one glass of wine he’d consumed had left him feeling bold. Markus had downed a few glasses of wine, almost an entire bottle by himself. Jeff and he had made love and then Markus had passed out. It felt like the right time for Jeff to try to cover up one of the evil deeds he’d done. He was going to move the body of the dog.

  He looked outside. The sun was on its way down but it still covered the lawn in a soft glow. He looked around his apartment until he found the baseball bat he’d been given by the others. With the utmost care he opened the slider to his balcony, stepped outside, and closed it behind him. Looking over the railing he could see the dog’s remains, mostly because he knew they were there. It was fairly well-hidden but to anyone who might climb down his own fire escape. There were heavier bushes just an apartment down and he made the plan to drag the decomposing animal to them in order to fully conceal the body.

  Slowly, he climbed down the ladder. He reached the ground and took a moment to check for the dead. He knew nothing of how they found their prey. Could they smell or see him? Could they hear his heart pounding? Goosebumps formed on his arms and he made himself stop thinking on t
he matter. He set his baseball bat down and reached for the hind legs of the poodle.

  Just moments before, he had envisioned himself pulling the body with ease and in one piece to its new resting place a few yards away. Instead the back legs pulled free of the hips with a wet sound. A smell rose in the air that made him vomit on the side of the building. He dropped the legs and looked at his hands. Bits of the fur and flesh remained there, clinging to his skin. He turned away from the carrion and crouched to wipe his hands on the grass.

  Night was approaching and the world was quiet around him but for the sound of feet hitting the grass, growing closer with each step. His courage had left him and been replaced by embarrassment.

  “Why didn’t I bring gloves? And a bag? The dog’s been out here far too long to stay in one piece.” He wiped his brow with the back of one hand.

  “Uuuuggghhhh.”

  Jeff stood back up and turned to the voice.

  “Sheila?” His undead wife was walking quickly to him. “Sheila, you can’t be here!” He stumbled backward and found the bat but not enough of the courage he’d lost to actually take a swing. She was much more terrifying to him in this new form. He chose to throw the bat at her and use the second it bought him to climb back to safety. On his balcony again, he sat with his back against the glass of the sliding door. Five minutes later the door moved behind him.

  “What are you doing out there?” Markus asked through a yawn and a burp.

  Jeff jumped to his feet. “I needed some air.”

  “You must be freezing cold. Come here and let me warm you up.” Markus offered himself to Jeff.

  “No, I, I need to use the bathroom first.” He dodged Markus’ open arms and went directly to the bathroom. He used bottled water and soap to scrub the fur and skin from his hands, making sure there wasn’t one hint of curl or fleck of it left in the sink basin. Clean, he went to the couch in the living room.

  “You shouldn’t furrow your brow so much,” Markus said as he sat down next to him. “You’re going to get wrinkles.”

  Smoke on the Horizon

  Vaughn had been out in the morning on the day the mall burned to the ground. A smell built in the air around ten, carried by a west-blowing breeze, a horrible mix of wood smoke and burning flesh. From that smell, he knew what was happening before he actually saw the smoke and flames rising beyond the freeway. He decided it best to not investigate; the smell would be impossible to get out of his clothes if he did and it wasn’t like he could stop it from happening. There were no firemen to call, no first responders, nothing to save. He went back to Willow Brook, climbed the fire ladder onto his balcony and immediately headed upstairs to the roof for a better view. Isobel appeared at his side soon after and he silently handed his binoculars to her.

  “The mall,” She said softly. “Is this your work, Vaughn?” There was a hint of disgust in her voice.

  “Is that a serious question, Isobel? I wouldn’t waste a resource.”

  “Ha! You know, you’re right about that. You saw Hayden and you just had to tap that oil reserve,” Isobel said, smacking her hip for effect.

  “If you came up here to start something with me then you are just as stupid as the other women; that or fond of the colors black and blue,” Vaughn said in a low voice, his jaw clenching.

  “Don’t threaten me. That Hayden thing just came out, ok? I came up here because there is a man in the bookstore bathroom. He’s going to die in that fire.”

  “Eddie can take care of himself and it’s not him I’m worried about.” Vaughn’s eyes squinted into the distance looking for things Isobel couldn’t see, even with the binoculars.

  “We can’t be talking about the same guy. The guy I met was starved and half-crazy; maybe all the way crazy.”

  “He’s got a really curly beard, about five-foot-two and paranoid about eviction?” Vaughn used his hand to show Isobel how tall he remembered Eddie to be.

  “Yep. Same guy. How do you know him?” Isobel pulled the binoculars from her eyes and looked to Vaughn for his explanation.

  “I used to give him my leftover coffee out front of the coffee shop right by the bookstore. He’d always hang out there. I saw him once after the first day; he wouldn’t let me near a trash can he was sleeping in. He must have moved into Barnes and Noble when he found out it was still unlocked. So, like I said, he can take care of himself. He’s been homeless for at least five years. He’ll just move to Target if he gets burned out of his ‘home’.”

  “That sort of makes me feel better.” And it did, but Isobel felt guilty for not telling Vaughn at the bookstore.

  “If you want we can invite him to move in.” Vaughn nudged her, smiling and winking.

  “Why? You want to sleep with him too?” she shot back.

  Vaughn punched her arm. “You really can dish it out, Iz. That’s why I like you.”

  “I’m going back inside. For the record, I still don’t like you and this better not bruise,” she said as she rubbed her arm. He took the binoculars back and resumed his watch over the disappearing mall.

  Vaughn stayed on the roof for most of the early afternoon. Ash had begun to fall lightly on Willow Brook and the sky to the east was dark with smoke. Who started the fire? Vaughn thought over and over. He felt like a rat watching an exterminator get closer and closer to discovering his nest.

  Comfort in Chaos

  At around noon a woman’s voice could be heard across Northgate; carried by a megaphone and asking for survivors to come out. Her smooth voice and promises of food, water, and protection had everyone in the building curious. They still hadn’t seen the source of the voice when Vaughn came to the second floor with a gun.

  “Everyone,” he whispered, “turn off any lights or radios you have. Move away from the windows. We don’t know what we’re dealing with just yet but I’m pretty sure those are our fire starters.”

  “She’s offering a lot. Rations we haven’t had in weeks,” Markus said. “I’m not one to take women up on their offers but, I might make an exception.”

  “Do what I say or regret it.” Vaughn sounded deadly serious. So, as quietly as everyone could, they turned Willow Brook into a silent, dark, and seemingly empty shell.

  Ten minutes passed and a truck rolled around the corner. It sat on giant wheels and was raised so high, someone could almost walk underneath it. Once white, it was now a dirty brown like the people it carried.

  “There must be twelve people in the bed of that truck,” Isobel gasped as she peeked out of the darkened room into the day lit street. She hoped the glare of the sun would make it hard for them to see her in the window.

  “They look like crack addicts.” Ben had braved a quick look outside to assess the group for himself.

  “No. Anarchists,” Vaughn said from the corner of the common room closest to the stairs. He crouched down and started double checking the weapons he’d brought with him.

  Isobel looked out the window again and she could see that what Vaughn said was true. A large “A” within a circle, the emblem for anarchy, was spray-painted with black paint on the driver’s side door of the truck. She could see the people better too as the truck was driving slowly up the road and was now parallel with the building. They wore a lot of black and many of them had bandannas covering their faces up to their eyes. It had been unseasonably sunny and any skin that was exposed had been over-exposed; an unhealthy tan and on some, a peeling burn.

  The woman on the megaphone, tall and blonde, stood at the center of the truck bed, leaning against the back of the cab in a relaxed pose as if she didn’t really give a shit about the task she was performing. The sweet words coming from her mouth clashed horribly with her body language.

  “I don’t trust her,” Isobel said.

  “She’s in charge,” Vaughn whispered.

  “Anarchists don’t have leaders,” Isobel thought aloud.

  “Tell that to her,” Vaughn laughed.

  “They are attracting a lot of attention from the zombi
es but they don’t seem to care,” Ben said after looking again.

  “You’re right Ben. Good eye. You notice how they’re not shooting any of ‘em?” Vaughn responded. “Just pushing them away if necessary with those poles they have. Something’s definitely up.”

  “What should we do?” Molly asked.

  “Wait . . . someone is coming out of the office building across the street!” Isobel yelled, surprised to see that someone had been surviving over there this whole time.

  “Shh!” Vaughn whispered. “Just watch.”

  The woman was tall and thin with closely cropped black hair, peppered with gray. She looked like a librarian and moved like a bird; many quick steps with a constantly moving head. She carried a gun with her, held in front of her body by shaking, outstretched arms. Other faces appeared in the windows of the entry to the building, watching as their volunteer canary flew deeper into the mine. Isobel thought she saw the woman’s eyes flick in the direction of Willow Brook. She hoped the anarchists didn’t see it. A zombie approached the bird-like woman and without hesitation she shot the thing down to keep the path ahead of her clear and safe.

  “Wrong choice lady!” The blonde on the megaphone yelled, her voice now cold and unfriendly as it projected across the paved lot. She tossed the megaphone to another of her gang and was handed a sniper rifle by another. The anarchist leader laughed and aimed the gun at the office building survivor.

  “No, please!” she begged. “What did I do wrong? We’re starving in there.” She gestured toward her family and friends, the building itself. “We need the help you offered.”

  “But you broke the rules of the game. You killed an ally.”

  The blonde pulled the trigger and sent a bullet into the woman in the parking lot. She fell backwards, the handgun clattering on the pavement. Blood began to seep from her chest and her breathing slowed and stopped.