Dead: Snapshot 01: Portland, Oregon

by T. W. Brown

  The two men both seemed to consider that statement. Ken noticed one of them go just a bit pale. He now knew which one he needed to be paying closer attention to between the pair.

  “Here is what is gonna happen.” Ken adjusted his weapon to the one that had not drawn a knife and had the lesser reaction of fear. “You two are gonna replace every item in that cart.”

  Ken caught Jason’s scowl. He realized that they needed to go, but if there was a way to avoid having to take any sort of drastic measures with these two, then he was all about trying to find it.

  “You gonna make us stand in time out next?” the man who Ken now saw as the leader of these two spat.

  “No, but I will put a bullet in your leg and leave you for the zombies.”

  Ken let all the emotion drain from his face. He knew very well how to strip himself down to something that often made criminals think twice about doing anything stupid. He’d found that emotion was often met and matched. If you let all your feelings sink and gave off a vibe that said you did not care one way or the other, the bad guys often crumbled. It was almost as if their aggression fed off of hostile and negative feelings.

  “But you’re a cop,” the follower of the two almost cried.

  “I was a cop.” That was the truth. He had retired from the force. However, he would let these two individuals take it any way that they wanted.

  “I wouldn’t,” Jason warned.

  Ken flicked his gaze to the convict. Had Jason seen something that he had missed? A second later, he got his answer when the leader of this two-man gang suddenly made a run for it. Almost on instinct, Ken squeezed off two shots. The man stumbled, tried to regain his footing and failed, sprawling on his stomach and sliding on the polished concrete floor.

  “Okay! Okay!” the second man began to scream. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  Before he could say anything, the second man had grabbed the cart he’d been rummaging through just moments before and started off into the giant store. Ken had already dismissed him and was approaching the man on the floor.

  Jason fell in beside him. They reached the man who was sprawled in a growing pool of blood. Ken looked around and saw that other people in the store were still dashing about, seemingly ignoring this entire scene. He was only moderately surprised at the apparent lack of any concern being shown by the people that scurried about with their carts. In his opinion, society had spiraled into fantastic levels of self-absorption. Maybe this giant press of the reset button was not such a bad thing.

  ***

  Jason sat in the passenger seat of the truck as they headed home. He had been surprised when Ken shot that guy. Granted, he had been about to do the same thing, but there was just something in Jason’s mind that said a cop would be more reasonable.

  The three of them drove in silence all the way back to Sandy. They passed a few more of the living on their way. Some on foot, some in vehicles of all shapes and sizes. Most were headed out of the city.

  Jason had looked out the window as they cruised along Interstate 205 and headed for Highway 224. A MAX train was stopped on the tracks just past the transit station, the windows were splattered and smeared with what had to be blood. It was so bad that you could not see inside very clearly, but still well enough to make out a few dark shapes moving around within the cars.

  They passed Clackamas Mall and saw several black plumes rising from the massive complex. He wondered how many people had been foolish enough to go there based on some stupid idea they saw in a movie.

  By the time they were away from the city and the air began to clear from the smoke and ash, Jason began to feel the effects of the day. Fatigue was making itself known, and he struggled to keep his eyes open between the actual exhaustion. That is why it took him a few minutes to realize that they were headed in a direction that was not towards the house in Sandy.

  “Where we going?” Jason sat up and shook away the fatigue.

  “I gotta deal with something first.” Ken didn’t look at him, his eyes were locked on the road directly in front of them.

  Jason looked around and shot a questioning glance at Juanita who simply shrugged her shoulders and gave a slight shake of the head. Waiting a moment to try and figure out exactly where they were, Jason was lost. This was not anyplace he could ever recall having been before.

  “Look…” Jason began, but after only a slight pause, Ken ended the mystery.

  “It’s my mother.”

  That statement hung in the air, and Jason heard enough in the tone to know that this was a bad situation. He sat back and left the man to whatever thoughts were drifting through his head. As it turned out, he did not wait long. The truck pulled into a large, brown building’s parking lot. The sign read: Peaceful Pines Assisted Living.

  As the truck came to a stop, Jason saw several of the walking dead turn and start in their direction. The complex itself was a large domed building in the center with two-story buildings coming off of it. The design reminded him of low rent hotels. Basically, nothing too fancy.

  “I will be back soon. If I don’t come back in thirty minutes, feel free to leave.” Ken fiddled with the key ring and removed something that he stuffed into his coat pocket. And with that, Ken Simpson opened the door, slid out of the truck, pulled his machete, and split the skull on the zombie that staggered up and into range.

  Jason watched the man hack his way across the open parking lot. The zombies all turned and followed. A moment later, the man vanished into the large domed building that was the heart of the facility.

  “What do we do now?” Juanita asked timidly.

  “We wait.” Jason made sure that the coast was clear and then got out of the truck and went around to the driver’s side. Seeing that they had three-quarters of a tank, he decided that they would just let the engine run.

  ***

  Ken tugged open the glass door. He had an excellent view of the interior of the reception and recreation area. The cafeteria was further back through some doors, but he didn’t have any need to go there. As soon as he opened the door, the stench of the undead rolled out and almost caused him to vomit.

  He went to step over a corpse that was sprawled just inside the door and almost ended his journey right there. A hand reached up and snagged his pant leg, sending him tumbling to the floor. Fortunately, Ken was able to roll and avoid impaling himself with his own machete. Coming up to his knees, he was facing the zombified old man that was now crawling towards him. Jabbing out, he drove the machete into the left eye socket and ended the zombie’s advance.

  Getting to his feet and making a point to be more cautious, Ken headed towards the door that would lead to the stairwell that took him to the second floor. He’d given it serious thought over the past couple of days any time he got a chance to catch his breath. He’d known that his mother was as good as dead when she’d revealed to him that she’d been bitten or scratched by one of those things. Some folks might consider him cruel or heartless for not having come sooner, but it was actually his mother that had taught him to be a realist.

  She would have probably scolded him for coming now. The issue that tugged at Ken was the idea that even the shell that he knew very well not to be his mother would be up and walking around. He would slip in, put her to rest once and for all, and then haul ass and hope that the two or three dozen geriatric undead that had converged on him as he went through that door would wander off before he returned and made his exit.

  Running up the stairs, he saw dried blood smeared on the walls and unidentifiable bits and pieces of the human body littering a stairwell that was blessedly well lit by wall sconces and overhead fluorescents. He reached the first landing and came upon an elderly woman hunched over with her back to him. He could also clearly see the splayed out legs of the unfortunate bastard that had met his or her end.

  When the old woman turned her head in Ken’s direction and opened her mouth, he was ready for the moan so common with these abominations. What he was absolutely not re
ady for was the sound of a baby’s cry.

  “What in the unholy fuck…” he whispered.

  Stepping in well before the woman could engage her muscles and stand, Ken brought down his blade and ended the woman. For good measure, he pushed the corpse aside with his booted foot and then drove his blade into the top of the head of the poor female orderly who had probably just been trying to help.

  When he rounded the corner to finish his ascent to the second floor, he was greeted by another surprise. Three more elderly zombies had been killed. Two, by the looks of things, had been put down with metal dinner forks. Both were on their backs, their gaze marred by the handle of the utensil jutting from an eye socket. The third was the one that made Ken glance back at the facility orderly and give a nod of appreciation. That one had had its skull crushed by repeated slams into the concrete wall. A series of dark stains that looked like somebody had thrown a wet soccer ball at the wall were evidence of a half dozen attempts before the obvious victory that ended with the elderly female zombie’s head smashed open like an overripe melon.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Ken threw open the door. He’d been breathing through his mouth this entire time and he swore that the stench on the undead had coated his throat. He could taste the rotten, foulness every time that he swallowed the saliva that kept filling his mouth as he fought back the urge to be sick.

  He hurried along the covered landing to the door that was his mother’s room. When he reached it, he produced the small key ring with the two keys to his mother’s room. It seemed to weigh a ton.

  Taking a deep breath, Ken put the key into the lock and turned it. It was as if he could hear every part of the tumbler rotate and fall into place as he unlocked first the regular lock and then the special dead bolt that he’d arranged to have put in. His mother suffered from dementia, and at times would insist that the drug dealer that his father had put away was coming for her.

  The reality was that the man had actually managed to escape custody. He had broken into their house, but he’d made the mistake of coming up what Ken had always considered the squeakiest stairs in the world. Ken’s dad put two rounds in the man’s chest. Of course Ken’s mother had insisted on a deadbolt lock afterwards. And thus, that seemed to be her fixation when he’d first moved her into this assisted living facility.

  Reaching down and grabbing the doorknob, Ken felt his other hand tighten on the machete he held. He stood there for a moment until his machete hand began to physically ache. Opening the door, Ken stepped inside.

  The apartment was little more than a glorified hotel room. There was a living room with a love seat and a wall mounted television. Ken saw that the EBS was still up and running, but the sound was muted. Currently, all that was being broadcast was a message that warned citizens that martial law was in effect and that everybody was to shelter in place and await further instructions.

  “What a bunch of crap,” Ken grumbled.

  “You watch your mouth, young man,” a familiar voice croaked from the other side of the door that led to his mother’s bedroom.

  Ken jumped, but as soon as he recovered, he hurried to the door and flung it open. “Ma!” he struggled with the tightness in his throat as emotions that he worked so hard to suppress threatened to come to the surface.

  “What the heck kept you, boy?” Ken’s mother was sitting on her bed with a tube of crackers and a bottle of water, a book of crosswords tossed aside.

  “I th-thought that you…” he let the statement fade. He could not bring himself to say it. However, his eyes went to his mother’s arm.

  “What?” Mary Simpson asked, seeing the concern in her son’s face. She followed his gaze and looked at her bandaged arm. “This? I told you it was just a scratch.”

  Ken peered at his mother’s eyes. Not a single trace of those black squiggles that were proof of infection. Of course there had been reports that some people took as long as seventy-two hours. But shouldn’t she be exhibiting some signs? It had been almost two days at least.

  “We need to get out of here,” Ken finally said with a shake of his head.

  He would bring his mother with him. She would be his responsibility and he would sit with her for every single minute until this…whatever it was…finally took hold and claimed her.

  “Where are we going?” Mary Simpson asked.

  “Away from here.” He almost expected her to resist. She would say something like how tonight was BINGO night or some such nonsense. Instead, she pointed to a small suitcase that sat next to her dresser.

  “Grab my bag and let’s go.”

  Ken led his mother to the door and then paused. He turned to face her and saw that she was giving her room a bit of a once over. How many times had she done that exact same thing whenever they left the house?

  “Ma, things are bad out there.” He suddenly felt like an idiot. How would he be able to explain that zombies were real and not sound like a fool? How could he explain that the dead were actually walking around and eating the living to his eighty-three-year-old mother? He decided that the best thing to do when dealing with Mary Simpson was to simply come out and show her. And that was precisely what he was prepared to do until she spoke.

  “If we are going out there, I want a weapon. I may not be able to do much, but you can bet your ass that I won’t be zombie chow without a fight.”

  Ken turned to his mother in amazement. She smiled and walked up to him, her eyes bright like they were during her periods of lucidity. These were the times that Ken had had so much trouble dealing with these past several months. When his mother was “fine” there was no brighter, more independent woman in the world. That was why he had so much trouble when she would slip into her states of dementia. He knew that she would hate it if she was aware that such things were going on.

  “You know?” was all Ken could manage to say.

  “Kenny,” Mary Simpson placed a frail hand on her son’s cheek and smiled, “I know that things have been tough on you since Milly died. And it sure couldn’t be easy with me having my…troubles…but I do watch the news. I have seen what is out there.” Mary paused and her smile widened. “And besides, I saw Night of the Living Dead when it showed in the theaters. I think I know a zombie when I see one. Just a shame that poor Doctor Sing couldn’t bring herself to admit what was happening until it was too late.”

  Ken hugged his mother. And then he did something that he never imagined himself doing in a million years. He unholstered his Glock and handed it to his mom.

  “It’s got a little bit of a kick. Only use it as a last resort. Those things seem to be attracted to sound. Just stick by me and watch your step. The ground is littered with bodies and not all of them are necessarily…” Ken paused. He was about to say “dead.” However, dead is exactly what they were. They just happened to still be moving around.

  “At rest?” Mary Simpson finished for him.

  “Sure.” Ken gave a shrug and a nod. Then, he reached over and picked up his mother’s suitcase. Just as he did, the lights went out.

  ***

  Jason tapped the steering wheel. Ken had been gone for a while now. He had already gotten out of the truck on five separate occasions and put down at least a dozen zombies that were drawn by the sound of the truck’s engine. At last, he’d shut the thing down. That was not a decision that he was feeling all that comfortable with at the moment.

  Only a short while before, two cars had raced past on the road that ran in front of the assisted living center. There was a good enough view that he and Juanita had actually been able to see them as they approached, and had been alerted by the roar of their engines at least a few minutes before they ever came into view.

  When the two cars did appear, it was also very clear that one car was chasing the other. The lead car was a newer model Jeep Cherokee. Jason recognized it instantly; he’d had one several years back and had been an avid reader of Car & Driver magazine. He’d seen the write ups every year when the new models came out and was
hoping to get one again someday. He guessed that he could have his pick now.

  The car that was doing the chasing was a Hummer. The driver of the Jeep was all over the road which was probably why the driver of the Hummer was able to keep up. Neither he nor Juanita got a clear look at the occupants of either vehicle, so they were clueless as to any idea on what might be happening. However, the two vehicles were not out of sight long when the sounds of a massive crash were heard. A moment later, there was another peculiar explosion.

  It took Jason a few seconds to realize that the sign on the mini-mart across the street had gone dark. After all, it was daylight, so the exterior sign light was not something readily apparent.

  “Stay here,” Jason finally said, and climbed out of the truck.

  Drawing his own machete, he walked cautiously to the street. He had to step through a hedge that ran in front of the facility, but that was preferable to him over going all the way down to the main entrance. He wanted to stay on a straight line that kept him in the closest proximity to the truck.

  He stepped out onto the sidewalk and saw that there were several zombies all up and down the road. They were in a heavily populated neighborhood, and it should not have surprised him to see so many, yet he was still struck by it.

  He had to wonder how this had happened and how it had spiraled out of control so quickly. Just a few days ago, it was a footnote in the news. Had the government really been able to cover things up that well? He had his doubts. He believed that it came down to the simple fact that people did not want to believe it. Besides, wasn’t the general public always being hit on the news by some new sickness? He’d gotten tired of hearing about the newest flu strains or whatever it was that made people in Japan and China walk around with masks on their faces. This had just been more of the same. That spokeswoman for the CDC had dismissed this as anything serious. That had been good enough for him.