Dead: Snapshot 01: Portland, Oregon

by T. W. Brown

  “And that brings up another issue. When are we going to do something about that poor woman and the little boy?”

  Jason nodded. He’d actually sort of forgotten about them. His mind drifted for a moment as he reflected on how none of this was working out like it did in the books or the movies. He was discovering, much to his chagrin, that he didn’t really have the answers. In fact, if he was being completely honest with himself, he was beginning to wonder if he would survive the first week.

  Just then, Ken came into the living room.

  “We can’t stand around all day, con…err…Mister Edwards.”

  Jason knew well enough that the use of “mister” in this sense was the man’s way of continuing to address him like he was an inmate. Correctional officers often referred to their charges as “Mister So-and-so” when engaging them in conversation. Still, he had to acknowledge that it was an improvement.

  “So what do you suggest we do?” Jason asked.

  Ken laid out his plan while Jason and Juanita listened. Both admitted openly that the ideas were solid. They did indeed have some serious work ahead, and they would also be forced to venture out to gather some much needed supplies. That was perhaps the riskiest part.

  “So, what about Erin and her people?” Jason finally asked once Ken’s plan had been discussed and everybody knew what they would need to do in order to make it happen.

  “What about them?” Ken raised an eyebrow and gave a shrug.

  “Are they friends? Enemies?”

  “They’re just people. I doubt they are going to stage any sort of raid or anything. Let’s just focus on what we need to do in order to get this place shored up and zombie proof.”

  Juanita couldn’t help but chuckle. The statement in and of itself was just too incredible to believe. The fact that it was being said with such sincerity only made her laugh harder.

  It didn’t take long for her laughter to catch. Pretty soon, Jason could not help himself and joined in. Then, much to both his and Juanita’s surprise, Ken began to laugh as well. The three of them were roaring heartily when the sounds of a dog whimpering came from up the hall.

  A low moan silenced them completely.

  “Dios mio,” Juanita spat. “I didn’t secure her after giving her that soup.”

  A snarling flash of black and white rocketed past and actually skidded to a halt at the entrance to the bedroom. The dog that the woman called Imp skidded and stopped at the doorway, the fur around his neck standing up straight, his lip pulled back in a menacing snarl with teeth barred in accompaniment to the low growl that rumbled in his throat.

  “Of all the irresponsible…” Ken let the reprimand die on his lips as he drew his machete.

  “Damn,” was all Jason said as he and Ken headed up the hallway towards the bedroom where Rose had been laid down.

  11

  A Terrible Thing

  Rose felt horrible. The chicken soup had been warm, but there was a sourness to its flavor that made her want to throw it all back up. She kept it down only by sheer force of will. At least she managed to do so until Juanita left the room.

  Almost as soon as the woman had stepped outside the door, Rose had managed to turn her head enough to be sick. The bile-laced mixture burned her throat and brought tears to her eyes as her stomach twisted and heaved until every last drop had come back up. She had to actually pull a long noodle from her nostrils as she let her head fall back onto the pillow.

  Through it all, Circe hovered and stuck by her side. The little red and white Border Collie nestled in as soon as she collapsed onto her back.

  In all her life, Rose could not recall having ever been this sick. Her body ached. At least that nice woman had untied her hands and removed those straps that held her down on the bed. They’d been so tight that she could barely breathe. Unfortunately, now that she was free, her breathing did not seem to be getting any easier.

  Something soft nuzzled her under the chin and Rose felt the soft tongue of Circe as it lapped at the hollow of her throat. For that brief moment, Rose remembered how often the little female Border Collie had done the exact same thing when they would return from a run.

  “You’re a good girl…” Rose managed to mutter before her eyes fluttered and then shut. With one final gasp, a pause, and then a slow exhale, her body convulsed twice and then went still.

  ***

  Circe nudged the woman. She could smell the wrongness, yet, this was her person. More than once she had tried to remind the one she called Imp that they owed all that they were to this human. She was the bringer of food and that made her important.

  “Master?” Circe whined softly.

  No reply came and the feeling of wrong seemed to grow and become overwhelming. Every fiber of Circe’s being screamed for her to get away. Imp and the useless Golden Retriever had vanished long ago, leaving her to tend to The Master all by herself. Even the other humans had apparently all but forgotten about the woman on this bed who was everything in Circe’s small world.

  Her time as a puppy had been magical. She remembered all the days that they would run together; just Circe and The Master. And the treats for doing such simple things as playing! At times, she almost felt guilty for taking them. She would have gladly chased the ball and returned it for the pleasure of the run and the way she was stroked, ruffled, and told how pretty and good she was by The Master.

  Circe loved her human. She would stay at her side no matter what happened. And everything had been perfect until the wrong ones had first appeared. The smell was confusing. At first, they smelled like something that would be perfect to roll in. Only, there was something else under that scent. It was…wrong.

  And now…now that smell was coming from The Master. Another whine escaped the frightened Border Collie’s muzzle.

  “Get back!”

  Circe turned her head and discovered Imp standing in the doorway. He looked angry, and his eyes were almost solid black as they looked right past her and to where The Master was beginning to stir behind her.

  “The Master needs us.”

  “The Master is no more,” Imp snarled. “She is now one of The Wrong. Get away from her before she hurts you.”

  “How can you say that? How many times did The Master care for you when you would eat something that you should not? Even when you made Bad Dog on the floor!”

  “She is not The Master any longer, Second Mother.”

  The use of that title made Circe pause. Imp only used it when he was being pack. He used it when he apologized for playing too rough, or when she would be scolded for something that was his doing and he would offer up an apology.

  “She would never hurt us,” Circe insisted. She could feel The Master move behind her. Perhaps if The Master would but speak in her peculiar language, Imp would see. He would have to see.

  Hands ran over her. It was in that instant that Circe realized that The Master truly was one of The Wrong. There was that instant when the cold hands closed on her that Circe reacted out of instinct. She whipped her head around to bite, but as soon as she saw The Master, that urge simply faded from the years of conditioning.

  The Master was safety and love and protection. The Master was never hurt; even when she did things that upset The Master, she had never once been nipped, swatted or even scolded with much force. That is why Circe did nothing more than tremble as The Master’s mouth came closer.

  “Run, Circe!” Imp demanded, but she would not. The Master would not hurt her. It was not The Master’s way.

  The cold hands of The-Wrong-That-Was-Now-The-Master gripped her fur tighter and made Circe whimper in pain. Surely that would make The Master see. All those times when The Master would accidentally step on her foot or tail; The Master would always stop and tend to the hurt. She would soothe with words and gentle strokes of Circe’s fur.

  The mouth came in closer, and then clamped down on the side of Circe’s throat. The red and white Border Collie yelped in pain as she felt something tear away. The
pain was more than she could stand and Circe jerked free. Her body landed on the floor with an awkwardness as her legs did not free themselves properly from the bed coverings. Instead of landing on her feet, Circe landed on her side and felt her head bounce off the floor. She rose unsteadily and saw her own blood shoot across the room and spray the floor. She managed only a step before The Master landed heavily on top of her. Both back legs snapped under the sudden and overwhelming weight. Again Circe yelped.

  In her mind, as the world faded to darkness, all she could do was ask herself how she had upset The Master. What had she done wrong?

  ***

  Imp watched helplessly as The Wrong tore into his beloved pack-friend, Circe. He refused to allow himself to refer to that thing as The Master. It was not The Master. It was one of them.

  The hot life blood came in a jet from Circe’s throat. She yelped in a raw, ragged way that Imp knew meant that she would be no more. He saw as Circe vanished under the body of The Wrong. He heard her pain cry and the sound of snapping bone. He was about to launch into an attack when the two man-things that were not of the pack came on the run.

  “You are too late, stupid man-things!” Imp barked.

  He saw that they held things in their awkward paws that could cut and hurt the flesh. The Wrong had managed to get to its knees and was pulling the limp figure of Circe in to take another bite. The Wrong’s face vanished in the long, silky fur that Circe had been so proud of and preened every time that The Master pulled out the funny little thing that ran through that fur and made it shine even brighter than normal as well as pull out all the kinks and knots that teeth would take hours trying to fix.

  As The Wrong came up with a mouthful of meat and fur, one of the man-things leapt into the room in his graceless man-thing way and brought down a cutting thing on the head of The Wrong. Dark fluid that smelled foul and almost hurt Imp’s sensitive nose ran down the face of The Wrong.

  It was over.

  Imp looked up the hall at the new pack member that had introduced itself as Baily (a name that Imp thought was almost as ridiculous as the dog it belonged to). The Golden Retriever was actually shaking with its tail tucked tight against its belly. Imp wanted nothing more to do with this place. His pack was gone. When the door opened the next time, he would run. Imp loved running. Of course he loved it most when chasing after one of those wonderful discs or squishy balls that The Master used to throw for him.

  The man-things were now talking. Imp wished that any of it made sense. He heard the name of The Master, and on reflex, his ears perked. However, an instant later, his ears dropped. The Master was gone. Imp was alone.

  A new smell began to drift into his nose. Instantly, the black and white Border Collie’s lip curled back. There was something different, but it was still the smell of them: The Wrong. A twitch caught his attention and Imp’s head swung around to the source.

  It was Circe.

  No, that was not his pack-friend. When the head lifted from the floor where it had come to rest in all that life blood, Imp snarled. The eyes opened and Imp could see the death in them. Barking furiously, Imp warned this new horror to come no closer. Man-things never understood, that was why it was no surprise when The Wrongs had not responded to his warnings. Yet, this thing had once been pack…dog. It had to understand.

  “Stay back or I will use teeth and claw,” Imp snapped.

  That was the first challenge that a dog learned once it was weaned. Most dogs liked to use it in play, but Imp had first used it to warn one of the hated felines that prowled outside his window and left their bitter scent on his favorite tree. He occasionally tested it on the man-thing that stuck things through the door while The Master was away. A few times, he had used it on The Master’s mate. That had earned him a kick in his ribs, yet he had not been afraid. He smelled that man-thing’s weakness. He smelled the fear when he, Imp, had issued that challenge.

  This Wrong was not Circe. Imp was certain as the thing that looked like her but certainly did not smell like her began to drag itself forward towards him and the two man-things that stunk of fear. It was a change from their normal scent. One of them stunk of anger and Imp had made it a point to avoid that one whenever possible.

  The other man-thing was different. Imp liked him. That one always scratched him behind the ears or on his chest if they were close. He had been watching that one closely as he seemed to be drawn to The Master. Imp thought they might try to mate soon judging by the smells. He would have allowed it.

  But now was not the time for such thoughts. Imp snarled another warning at The-Wrong-that-was-not-Circe. Its head turned towards him and milky eyes that were laced with death seemed to consider Imp for a moment.

  Hands caught Imp as he started forward. He glanced up and saw the man-thing that reeked of anger. He wanted to bite and demand to be let go, but Imp knew that now was not the time. The other man-thing had stepped forward, in his hand was the same weapon that had killed The-Wrong-that-was-not-The-Master. With one swing, he brought it down and split the head of The-Wrong-that-was-not-Circe.

  The man-thing set Imp down on the floor. There was communication, and then they both left the room. Imp slunk forward to take one final look at his former pack-friend. Circe had taught him much. Now, she was gone. He knew that she would already be chasing rabbits in the Endless Meadow. He would miss her. She and The Master had always made him feel like he was the most coveted thing that one of his kind could feel.

  Imp was a Good Dog.

  ***

  Ken walked out of the room. What he’d just seen had made his blood turn to ice and his stomach twist into a knot. Seeing people become zombies had been upsetting. When that red and white Border Collie had lifted its head and rolled those tracer ridden, milky eyes up at him and started to drag itself along the floor, he had feared for an instant that his mind might very well snap.

  “That sucked,” Jason whispered.

  Ken agreed with the sentiment. His feelings on the matter were much deeper, but that description would suffice for now.

  “Dogs,” Jason whispered. “Why would it affect dogs?”

  “Ask a scientist,” Ken replied, stepping aside as the black and white dog slipped past him in the hallway.

  “We need to deal with the two in the other bedroom and then start disposing of the bodies,” Jason said, hand already on the doorknob to the room where Rose’s sister and nephew were secured.

  “We have a lot to do,” Ken agreed.

  The next few hours were busy ones. After dealing with the two zombies in the bedroom, the men began dragging the bodies outside and starting a pile. Juanita was given a list of things to look for in the barn and asked to start gathering as many of the tools and supplies as she could find.

  Once all the corpses had been gathered into a pile, the fire was started. Ken was dousing it with some gasoline when Juanita came up.

  “Can we at least say a prayer?” The tears in her eyes were mixing with the sweat, and the gray handkerchief she wore over her face was almost black from moisture. When Ken nodded his consent, he saw something in her eyes that made him pause.

  Did she think I might actually say no? he wondered.

  What had he said or done up to this point to make her think that such a natural and simple request might be denied. Perhaps later, when things settled down, he would examine himself a bit closer and try to find what it was about him that could make a person feel that way.

  ***

  Jason stepped back as the black smoke spiraled skyward. It was still early, and they’d managed to accomplish a great deal, but the work was just starting. The next thing on the list was actually the one thing that could end them all. It was also a step that he knew Ken was trying to delay.

  Looking around, he realized that, at some point, the dogs had simply disappeared. He called out for Imp, but there was no response. He considered actually searching for the black and white Border Collie, but there were more pressing matters on the list of things that the
y absolutely had to accomplish today.

  They would have to empty out the truck of all the guns and ammo he’d brought from the Reynolds’ house and then drive into town. Fortunately, the infrastructure was still intact. The power remained on and the internet (while hideously slow) was still up and running. They had put in a search for hardware stores in the area and found three. Both of the larger big-box stores were about equal in distance. Jason pointed out that the one known for its blue logo was also a stone’s throw from the local office of the Oregon State Police.

  “I say we hit the local Home Depot,” Jason suggested. “It is gonna suck either way.”

  The debate was minimal, and Ken agreed. It was also agreed that all three of them would go. Juanita refused to be left alone, and Jason could not blame her. Until they had this place secure, he wouldn’t want to be here alone either. Just looking out from the kitchen window, it was easy to pick out the singles and small groups of zombies roaming the area.

  The three of them picked through the assorted guns and ammo before unloading and hiding it in a root cellar under the barn and then covering the door with dirt and straw. Once they were happy with how well hidden that hatch would be to any who might come sniffing around in their absence, they prepared for their foray out into what was sure to be a glimpse into the bowels of Hell itself. Jason had settled on a Glock similar to Ken’s—although not nearly as nice—as well as the street sweeper and a Ruger ten-shot .22 caliber rifle.

  “Why you going with the pea shooter?” Ken quipped as they were making their selections.

  “All it needs to do is put a round in the head. This weapon will work fine, and I can carry a lot more ammo without being weighed down,” Jason replied. He kept his smile to himself when Ken set down the .30-06 Springfield and selected another of the smaller caliber rifles.