Wallis smiled. “With those machines, it takes a gallon of gasoline to make one gallon of water, so—”
She sighed and sat down near the captain. “That does us fuck-all good.”
Lucy checked the captain’s pulse, pulled a small penlight from a pocket, and shone it into his eyes.
“This man is seriously ill. If this world was . . . sane,” she said, curling her lips around the last word, “he’d be in a hospital. I’ll do what I can for him, but . . . I’m worried he won’t make it. I’ll observe him overnight.”
Wallis stared at her, hard, and then nodded once. “You’ll have the captain’s tent. I’ve got to attend our fortifications.”
“Barbed wire.” Knock-Out chuckled.
“There’s very little population around here, sir, and the clumsiness of the dead caught up in the wire gives us ample time to club them down. A little goes a long way.”
Knock-Out laughed and held up his hands. “No, I’m not making fun. It’s practical.” He wiped his hands on his pants and took his turn sighing. “Only in Arkansas.”
Night came, and Tessa remained by the cook fire. The camp was unusually quiet. They’d lost a man that afternoon.
Jasper and Buzbee had gone into the woods next to the interstate to forage firewood. They’d gotten separated, and the next thing Jasper knew (or so he said), Buzbee was stumbling toward him, blood all down his front, bite marks in his arms and neck, and two undead friends toddling after him. One was black and crusty like a charcoal grill, sex indeterminate, and the other was a young woman, thick around the middle and naked.
Jasper dropped the firewood and ran back to the interstate to call for help and wait.
They took care of the zeds.
But they’d lost one of their own. It had been over two weeks since they’d lost anyone. Jasper sat staring into the fire, and the men watching the perimeter smoked and stayed quiet.
Tessa watched Jasper and considered. She moved behind him, put her hands on his giant shoulders, and squeezed. He moaned and leaned back. Across the fire, Keb snorted and watched her with an angry expression.
“Rough day, baby, huh?”
He snorted. “Goddamn. Buzbee was a good guy. A real good guy. All I know is one minute, we’re talking and laughing, the next, he’s coming for me.”
“That’s gotta be hard on you.”
“Real hard. He was a good guy.”
She pushed her breasts against his back and ran her hands up and down his arms. “Well, you’re off watch now. Try to relax. Get some rest.” She put her lips by his ear. “I’ll take care of you, sugar.”
The back of his neck turned red, and he rose slowly. He picked up his pack and bedroll, his rifle and weapons belt, and slung it all over his shoulder.
She took his hand and led him toward the space between the Bradleys, where trysting, before Wallis’s law, was common.
He was hard before the bag had been unrolled, and she barely had to move to make him come quickly. Afterward, they lay side by side on the bedroll, between the Bradleys, a small slice of star-strewn sky above them. She played with him then, stroking, trying to get it hard again.
“You’ll protect me, right? Like that doctor. She has her big man to protect her. You’ll be my big man, won’t you, baby?”
Jasper snorted. “Of course. You’re a good girl.”
“Oh, yes, baby. I’ll be your girl. Your good little girl. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. How you want it?”
She lowered her head and took him in her mouth. He moaned, louder than before.
When she could breathe again, she said, “No. Not yet, baby. You big bull of a motherfucker.” Her voice was husky, low—the tone she knew drove men crazy. They loved it when she praised their cocks. She spat into her palm. “You got to keep quiet. No moaning. They come looking for a zed, you don’t keep it down.”
When he was totally rigid, pointing up toward the stars like a tent pole, she got on her knees, lifted her leg and centered herself over him, swinging her breasts in his face. He latched onto one with his mouth.
“That’s right, Jass. That’s right.” She lowered herself onto him.
He was vigorous, right till the end. He flipped her over on her back and, for what seemed like an eternity, pistoned her. The slapping of their flesh was almost too loud in the night. Her fingers found her clit and she managed to make herself come as he did, but it was hard, slow going, and she had to think of the captain, lying like a dead fish on the floor of the Bradley, and only then could she come. Shivers wracked her body, and her muscles tightened around Jasper, and he yelped with pleasure.
When it was all over, he slumped off and was snoring within minutes.
She rose, went to his weapons belt, and took his pistol and army-issue knife. She dressed, padded away on soft feet, knife in hand, looking for the captain’s tent.
The doctor had to die. The captain could never recover.
Tessa crouched by the captain’s tent, the muscles of her legs screaming, she’d been holding the position so long. Between the squat and the workout of fucking Jasper into senselessness, she could feel her muscles quivering and growing weak.
She hadn’t heard any conversation for a long while, and the tent was dark. She counted to sixty, then rose, shaking her legs, and moved around to the tent’s opening, knife in her right hand, a big handgun in the other. She didn’t even know if the gun was loaded, but the knife would do fine.
In her mind, it played out like this: she’d come into the tent like a cat, locate the sleeping form of the doctor, and with one short, sharp stab, put the woman out of her misery. She’d flee, back to Jasper, and wait until the doctor rose and killed everyone around her, nobody noticing the puncture mark that did her in. Because everyone dies in this new, fallen world. Everyone dies. And then rises again.
She entered the tent silently and stood panting in the dark, trying to make out who slept where in the pitch-black interior. She made out a larger shape in the corner that had to be the captain on his cot. The shape over here, nearest the captain, should be the doctor.
She moved forward, knife ready, and paused over the black bundle of blankets.
What if it was the man? Or, worse, the boy?
Did it really matter? Once one was dead, he or she would rise and kill everybody else anyway.
Just stab them, you goddamn fool girl.
The sound of a pistol’s hammer cocking behind her ear made Tessa freeze.
A small voice, a boy’s voice, said, “What I can’t understand is why you didn’t just kill the captain.”
Suddenly, flashlights lit the tent and a bleary Knock-Out and exhausted-looking Lucy roused themselves from their sleeping bags. Tessa realized, too late, that she had indeed been standing over the doctor, Lucy.
Lucy looked from her son, holding a pistol to Tessa’s head, to Tessa, to the knife and pistol in her hands. Her eyes widened.
Knock-Out said, “What the fuck is going on here?”
“I thought something was funny.” The boy’s voice was high-pitched—girlish, even. “When Mom decided that it was poison, I was really surprised nobody asked the question, ‘Who could’ve poisoned him?’”
“I said it could be poison, Gus. It could also have been environmental.”
The boy nodded once, as if saying, Okay, I agree with you, but that doesn’t matter.
“It looked like poison to me.”
Knock-Out grunted. “You’re ten. Your mother has a medical degree.”
“I’m eleven. Last week.”
Tessa hoped the boy would glance away from her, turn his attention to the man. Maybe then she could escape, out and away, into the night. She still held the gun and the knife.
The child pressed the barrel of his pistol against her head.
“Don’t even think about it. Go on and drop them.”
After Tessa let the knife and pistol fall, Lucy snatched them up, threw them into a corner of the tent, and looked around blearily.
&n
bsp; “I don’t even know what’s going on here.” She buried her face in her hands and then looked at Gus in surprise. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry I forgot.”
“It’s not like you could’ve baked a cake.” Gus waved the pistol at Tessa’s face. “Ma’am, go ahead and sit down, over there by the captain.”
“So, you were suspicious about this woman because . . .” Knock-Out looked uncomfortable. “I believe you, Gus, I do. I just want to understand how you came to this conclusion when no one else did.”
Tessa sat by the captain. The boy’s gaze never left her. He was frightening, the little one. The doctor was confused, the man appeared to be a brute, but this boy—just eleven!—had figured her out and waited for her.
“In school, they make us . . . they made us do stupid little activities in the workshops. They line up a row of similar items and one item that’s different. You know, kid’s stuff. ‘One of these things is not like the others,’” he said in a singsong voice, like a teacher.
The boy’s gun hand never wavered. The bore of the pistol seemed enormous and black, and always pointing toward Tessa.
Tessa shivered. The fucked-up world had made this . . . this child . . . harder than the hardest gangbanger, and now, because of him, they’d turn her out to the zeds.
“Looking at the soldiers, seeing her here, she’s so . . . I don’t know, different from everyone else.” His eyes darted toward her cleavage. “And it was the captain who had been poisoned. If it had been one of the regular soldiers, not the guy in charge, maybe it could’ve been something else, something other than poison.”
“Gus. That’s . . . that’s impressive,” Knock-Out said.
The captain moaned, a wretched, horrible sound.
The boy said, “So, I can’t understand why you didn’t just kill the captain. Why sneak in here to kill us but leave the captain to die of the poison?”
Tessa was poleaxed. Her voice, when she managed to make it sound, was raw and weak.
“My baby. He killed my girl, Cass. Shot her dead. And he raped me, turned me out to his men. You understand that, boy?”
He cocked his head, curious, like a bird.
“He needs to suffer.” She spat on the ground. “You understand he made me into a whore for his men? It’s a blessing that he killed Cass, or she’d be sitting here where I am now. But she never would’ve whored herself. She would’ve died first—”
The boy blinked at her. But the gun didn’t waver.
“Someday you’ll understand. Someday soon, looks like, when you get some growth on you. Maybe you’ll see how men do women. Maybe this big motherfucker will slap your momma—”
“I don’t think—” Lucy said.
Tessa went on, hoping to make them flinch or turn their attention away from her. But why was she talking like this, keeping their attention on her? She couldn’t stop herself.
“Maybe he’ll treat her mean. You know what men like to do to women at night, boy? They like to stick their dicks in them.”
“Shut up, woman.” Knock-Out stood. “Okay, I’m going to go get Wallis.”
Lucy turned toward Knock-Out and said, “Wait. Let’s talk this over.”
“She tried to kill you, Luce. I don’t care what you say. If we don’t talk to Wallis about this, if we let her go, we’ll never be safe. She could sneak in any night and try to kill us. And if Wallis discovers we knew and didn’t tell, I’d hate to think what he’d do.”
Tessa kept her eyes on the boy. “Maybe he’ll argue with her and get a little out of control. Hit her. Hit you. Punch her to get her to shut up. He’s annoyed now, but what if he gets mad? And your momma looks like she likes to argue. They ever fight?” Tessa licked her lips. She was desperate to distract them. “Or maybe you won’t be able to stand what he does to her at night—”
Knock-Out raised his hand. “God help me, if you don’t shut your fucking mouth—”
“See, boy? He’s ready to pop me. He’d hit your momma, sure enough, she gets mouthy.”
The boy said, “He wouldn’t. Ever.”
Tessa laughed. “You can’t know that, boy. Men have needs.”
“That might be true. But he’s in love with her.”
Tessa snorted.
The boy said, “Really. Look at him.”
Knock-Out flushed all the way to his feet.
“Luce, I—”
“What’re you saying, Gus? It’s not like that between Knock-Out and me. We’ve never even—”
His face wavered, and then cracked. In that moment, Tessa saw he was just a boy. Just an eleven-year-old, scared and wanting to protect his mother.
“Mom, it’s true. I’ve known it since the first day I met him.” He smiled and looked at Knock-Out. It was almost a blessing.
Tessa heard another moan and smelled the exhalation of the dead. Lucy’s eyes grew large, and the doctor shrieked.
Tessa’s head jerked backward, hard scrabbly fingers on her neck and shoulder, and she felt herself being drawn up and back.
The captain has woken up. The thought skittered crazily in her head and then was gone.
He gibbered a little—or maybe that was her, trying to scream—and bit deeply into her neck. It was pain unlike she’d ever known before, blossoming outward. She could feel the tendons stretching and then ripping and the blood coming now, hot, down her chest, darkening her skin and spilling between her breasts.
The captain jerked her roughly back, into his lap, and worked his head back and forth like a lover nuzzling his beloved, but with hideous strength and gnashing teeth. Blackness pushed in around the edges and everything was going away when there was a tremendous boom and a flash of light and the captain’s head rocked back, taking more of her flesh with it. His mouth fell open, and something dropped from the bloody maw. A piece of herself.
She couldn’t scream; that part of her throat where speech came from was gone now. Tessa raised her eyes and looked into the smoking bore of the pistol that loomed at her like the mouth of a well. Beyond the pistol, the boy’s face swam into focus, framed with smoke, frowning. His eyes were gray, Tessa saw, and his cheeks were smooth and fair.
She closed her eyes.
Cass. She could see her standing in the sun, radiant.
The captain was dead. Hugh Mozark was dead.
“Holy shit.” That was the man.
“We’ve got to stop the blood—” The doctor’s voice was strained and panicked. Tessa hoped the boy knew what to do. He was a smart boy. She prayed he’d know what to do.
Tessa opened her eyes one last time.
Then there was another flash, and a boom, and her pain disappeared and she felt herself pitch forward, into the well, and she fell into darkness.
They buried the captain in the median of 540 the next morning. A chaplain as well as an officer, Wallis said some words and commended young Gus on his vigilance. Then Wallis recited a short verse from memory. The men remained subdued, casting furtive glances at the doctor, her companion, and the strange boy.
On Jasper’s insistence, they placed Tessa’s body in the grave with Mozark.
“She was a good girl. A real good girl. She should sleep with the captain. For company,” Jasper said. “They can keep each other company.”
Keb groaned and began shoveling dirt onto the dead. Jasper joined him, tears streaming down his face.
“What you crying for, you stupid motherfucker?”
“I’m sad, Keb.”
“Sad?” Keb jabbed his shovel into the mound of dirt and leaned against it. “That skeeze killed the captain. Why you blubbering for her?”
“I’m sorry she died. She was a good girl.”
“Goddamn, you as dumb as they come. She was a ho.”
“Don’t talk like that about her.” Jasper’s face turned red. “She did what she needed to do to survive, man. That’s all. Same as you. Same as me.”
Keb sniffed, shook his head, and began to shovel dirt into the grave.
The doctor and her burly companion
stood by the grave long after the men had returned to the Bradleys and begun to strike camp. The sun rose over the tree line, casting long shadows behind them on the dewy ground, and for the moment, the only dead within sight were those at their feet.
Slowly, Lucy’s hand reached out and took Knock-Out’s. They didn’t look at each other, but their bodies grew closer until they were leaning against each other.
The boy stood a little ways apart from them, staring into the distance.
“What’re you looking at, kiddo?”
Gus turned and smiled at his mother. His eyes flicked over her, over Knock-Out, taking in their clasped hands.
He turned back to where he’d been looking and pointed.
“See that bridge?”
In the distance was an overpass long devoid of traffic. Weeds grew high in the cracks of the asphalt, and at the interstate’s edge, saplings rose and stirred in the slight morning breeze.
“Yes. Sure. I see it.”
Knock-Out said, “What about it?”
“We need to talk to the lieutenant. I’ve got an idea.”
Gus turned and walked back up the interstate toward the camp.
Lucy and Knock-Out put their heads together and then turned to follow the boy.
4
AS FIERCE AS THE GRAVE
The world loves the tomato because it is red. The apple is red too. But the tomato’s flesh is the flesh of mankind.
Do the dead love the flesh of man because it is like a tomato? We’ll never know. But I have my suspicions.
Not working the Garden today. Working the Wall. Five of us on the south side of the Bridge and five on the north, manning the murderholes. A cush detail, the South Gate, if you’ve got to man the Wall. Cush is relative, I guess. On the north side you’ve got what’s left of Tulaville, Arkansas. Population zero. Living, that is. Beyond that, the interstate.
South, you’ve got migrant zombies from Little Rock and Hot Springs and even Pine Bluff. A little more traffic, but it comes in spurts. Not too much trouble manning the murderholes on either side.
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