by T. W. Brown
“Power is out everywhere,” Jason whispered.
“So much for cold beer,” Ken said with a chuckle.
They had driven home in silence. Jason thought that it might just be his mind, but he felt that the world actually seemed darker.
The next week went on with long stretches of hard work and the occasional stop in the progress to deal with the surprisingly rare zombie. At one point, as they were finishing up the day’s digging of the five foot wide, seven foot deep trench, Jason hopped down from the backhoe and accepted the canteen from Ken.
“Not what I expected,” he laughed as he screwed the cap back on and tossed it beside the cooler.
“What?” Ken asked absently as he began refilling the gas tank from one of the fifty-five gallon barrels of diesel fuel that they had obtained.
“The zombie apocalypse.” Jason started packing up the rest of the tools and loading them onto the flatbed.
“I am probably not paying much attention,” Ken admitted, “because I have no earthly idea what you are talking about.”
“I read a lot of zombie fiction back when I was at the Columbia River facility. I even watched a few of the movies during those Halloween film fests that a few of the channels run. They were all action and people dying and running and evil biker gangs that come in at the end and wipe everything out and ruin it for the supposed good guys. I mean, not one single story that I can recall, rolls with the same or very similar formula with a climactic ending where the stronghold falls and the main characters have to run for their lives.”
“So you want an evil biker gang to come ruin all our hard work?” Ken scratched his head and gave Jason an odd look.
“Hell no!” Jason snorted. “I’m just saying that here it is, the end of the world from all indications, and we are digging ditches.”
“We killed two zombies this morning,” Ken pointed out.
Jason laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I just expected more insanity and—”
“Explosions?” Ken cut him off.
“Sure,” Jason finally agreed.
***
The last of the tools were loaded onto the flatbed and then the big tarp was pulled over the backhoe and secured with stakes. It had been Ken’s idea. With gas being a luxury, and any sort of re-supply unlikely, he had said that it might be worth saving every single drop for actual work. Since Jason doubted that anybody would cruise by and decide they absolutely had to have a back hoe, he had agreed.
They reached the barn to see Gabriel throwing a ball for the Golden Retriever and the Border Collie. The two dogs seemed to be having the time of their lives, each racing to the ball and then the run back to the boy where whoever did not have the ball made every effort to steal it from the other. The boy was laughing and Juanita had a smile on her face that was easy to see, even from a distance.
“Like I said,” Jason quipped as Ken brought the truck to a stop and shut it off, “just not what I expected in a zombie apocalypse.”
“If a biker gang comes in the next day or two, I am blaming you,” Ken muttered as he climbed out of the truck and braced himself for the charging Golden Retriever that seemed to absolutely love him despite his attempts at complete apathy directed at the animal.
“Hey there, Stupid,” Ken greeted the animal, ruffling the fur around the neck and giving the dog a scratch behind the ears. The Golden nuzzled against the man and followed him to the makeshift table which was nothing more than a sheet of plywood set up on a pair of sawhorses.
There had been some debate about Ken’s apparent choice of a name for the dog. Ken had shut it down by stating that everybody else could call the dog whatever they wanted, but he would be using the name “Stupid” regardless. Gabriel had been tickled by the idea.
“What’s for dinner?” Jason asked as he sat down.
It had become the running joke for the past two days. They were down to an assortment of Ramen noodle packages. Jason had been stunned at how fast they had eaten their way through what he had thought to be a pretty good haul from that one house as well as what they had scavenged from the store.
The bowl landed in front of him with an unceremonious thump, some of the broth splashing over the sides. It would be time to make another run tonight. This time, he would be doing nothing but grabbing food.
“I’ll hit that neighborhood tonight,” Jason announced after downing a spoonful of the overly salty noodle soup.
“I don’t think that it is a good idea for you to go alone,” Juanita said as she took a seat at the table, placing hers and Gabriel’s soup down as she did.
“I agree,” Ken added.
“Sure, and it sucks, but this is really the only way. We can’t,” his head turned and he fixed Juanita with his gaze, “and we won’t leave you and the boy alone. You will not be coming out on these runs until we hit the deadline for…” His eyes drifted to Gabriel who ate with gusto, his hand slipping under the table every so often to slip a noodle to either Imp or Stupid depending on which muzzle had made it onto his lap.
Of course, Jason knew damn well that he was just using that as an excuse. If he was forced to admit the truth, he simply did not want to bring her along. Sexist sentiment or not, he did not want to have to worry about having along a woman. He’d already seen enough out there to know that things were more than just a little bit dicey as law and order vanished.
The world had been bad enough when there were cops, judges, and jails. If anything happened to Juanita, he would feel sick and absolutely blame himself forever. Besides, his sexism pretty much ended at the fences. She’d been out there doing her share of swinging a pick, shoveling dirt, and hauling rocks.
“You taking the truck and the flatbed?” Ken asked.
Jason thought it over and finally shook his head. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I doubt there will even be enough here to fill the pickup. Plus, if I do run into trouble, I don’t want to be hauling that thing behind me.”
Once the meal was finished, Jason went over his load out. He had plenty of protective clothing, and he grabbed a single Glock along with six spare magazines. When it came to hand held weapons, he’d grown partial to the simple one he’d found in the barn with the black handle. In addition, he tossed a few tools into the knapsack that he would be carrying.
As soon as it was dark, Jason jumped into the truck and got ready to head out. Imp followed and tried to come along, but Jason gave the dog a scratch and called Gabriel over.
“Will you watch my dog for me?” he asked the little boy. The youngster nodded and wrapped his arms around the Border Collie’s neck in a gentle hug.
As Jason locked the gate behind him and started off, he realized that that had been the first time that he had officially claimed Imp as his own.
The drive was faster than he recalled from the last time. He wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that it was a clear night and the moon was painting the landscape in a soft bluish-white. Despite the power grid being down and out, or perhaps because of it, the light of the moon seemed brighter than ever and gave off plenty of illumination for him to drive by.
When he arrived at the small residential area, he instantly felt his senses ratchet up a few degrees. It was like that rush of adrenaline that he got when he was about to commit a robbery or speak in front of a group of people. His mouth went dry and he suddenly had to pee.
Pulling up to the next home that showed signs of having been inhabited, Jason climbed out and did a visual sweep of the area. He’d passed a few zombies on his way in and knew that they would turn and come after the truck, but they were far enough back that he knew they would be a while before arriving—if they did not get distracted by something else first.
He had shown Ken how noise could be used in their favor when dealing with the undead. He’d gone out to a field and gotten the attention of a lone walker. After a few minutes Jason had ducked down in the tall grass and Ken had (not entirely willingly) popped up, clapping his hands a few times. Sure e
nough, the zombie had stopped and turned in the direction of this new stimulus. They had traded off several times until both Jason and even Ken had to admit that sound was a draw for the zombie. Neither of them could guess a good reason, but it had been proven in fairly convincing style.
That was where the new “secret weapon” came into play. Jason had put some gravel in a few soda cans. Those had gone in his knapsack with his tools. As he approached the house, he noticed the smears on the windows before he got that first whiff of the undead. As he tried the front door, he was momentarily distracted by the sound of breaking glass from someplace close by. That was why he was turned just slightly when he opened the front door and was taken by surprise by the dead hand that grabbed at his wrist.
***
Ken sat next to the fire, knife in hand as he whittled away at a piece of wood. It wasn’t until just a moment ago that he realized that he’d been fashioning a small boat from the piece of pine that he’d been shaving away at with his big knife.
His gaze went to the barn where Juanita and Gabriel were asleep by now. He had been bothered a bit by something that Jason had said earlier about how this so-called zombie apocalypse was nothing like the books and movies. As a cop, how many times had he laughed at the shows on television that oversimplified and magically always solved every crime that came their way; often times with a dramatic shootout.
Real life and that as depicted by the entertainment industry were seldom in sync with one another. Still, if this place was hit by a group of bad guys, his people wouldn’t stand a chance. It was simple mathematics: two men, one woman, and a child did not equal a gang or a small army of people who had checked their conscience at the door.
He looked in the direction that he knew Erin’s place to be. Perhaps there was something to be said for joining forces. The only thing he would be even the slightest bit bothered by was the hours and days of hard work that he, Jason, and Juanita had put into the outer defense of the place. Already, the trench was complete along the front of the property. They had the entire front section of fence reinforced. Jason had even suggested that they allow the dirt to act as an additional barricade and so they had a good berm that would do well to keep the zombies from even reaching their trench for the most part.
He didn’t really relish the idea of leaving this place. Maybe they could go out and look for any other pockets of survivors. Of course, he crushed that idea before it had any time to gain traction. Strangers were an unknown, and these days, that was a bad thing.
Getting up, Ken set the boat down and started out on a foot patrol of the property. It certainly seemed bigger at night than it did by day when you could pretty much see from one fence to the other on all four sides.
He was walking along down the side of the property that bordered Erin West and her people when he thought that he heard crying. Instantly alert and drawing his machete, Ken froze in place. Had it been a baby cry zombie? He wasn’t sure. It had been scarcely audible.
Pausing at the fence, Ken looked around and even lifted his nose to the air. He didn’t smell anything that might be a zombie. With even more caution, he ducked through the fence to the other side.
He would take a few steps, pause, and then take a few more. The West property was bigger than where they lived, and part of it was some sort of Christmas tree farm. That area bordered the two, so Ken found himself weaving through neat rows of well-shaped, triangular pines that would probably never see their potential realized.
“Hello?” he whispered.
If he had taken a single step even a fraction of a second sooner, he would not have heard the tiniest inhale of somebody sipping in a breath. Turning slightly, Ken oriented himself in the general direction of the sound and then froze in place. It was his experience that a person in hiding had a much different perspective on time versus the person waiting. Sure enough, his patience was rewarded just moments later when a soft rustling and the snap of a few twigs alerted him to the location of the person who had been trying to hide.
“I am not going to hurt you, whoever you are,” Ken spoke softly, calling on his years of training. “It’s Ken Simpson from the farm next door. The um…damn, I don’t know those people’s last names. Umm, Rose’s sister’s place. I am the one who drove Erin back here.”
“Oh, thank God,” a female voice hissed.
“Cherry?” Ken managed just as a dark figure poked out from behind a nearby pine tree.
“Mr. Simpson,” the woman gasped, rushing forward once it was clear that the man speaking was who he claimed to be. “You have to help us.”
“Have to help you what?” In his mind, he heard Jason grousing about the boredom that was their zombie apocalypse.
“They came last night,” the woman said in a hoarse whisper. “They killed Bryan and Jimmy. Then, they just walked into the house and started killing people…but only the men. They…they…” And then the woman burst into tears.
Ken wrapped an arm around the young woman and led her back towards the fence. She started to pull away, but he kept his grip firm.
“We can’t leave them…we can’t leave Erin and the others,” Cherry cried.
“We aren’t leaving them,” Ken promised. “But if we are going to help them, we need more than just you empty-handed and me with a machete and this pistol. We need more firepower and a couple more bodies. Plus, you need to give me the details…as much as you can. I need to know exactly how many there are and anything else that you can provide me with before we go back there.”
Cherry seemed to stall, but at last her head dropped and she nodded, huddling in close to Ken as he led her back to the barn. He would need to get Juanita up. For one, she would be better suited to dealing more directly with this woman who was on the verge of hysterics; but also, she had proven that she could handle herself when it came down to the nitty-gritty.
“Damn you, convict,” Ken cursed as he walked away from where Juanita was putting a blanket around Cherry’s shoulders and whispering to her that things were going to be okay.
The dumbass had gone and jinxed everything with his big mouth. It looked like he was about to get his wish. Things were about to get real exciting. He glanced at the horizon and saw the first hints of dawn.
Hmm, he thought, shouldn’t Jason be back by now?
15
Rag and Bone
Jason yanked back and pulled the child zombie with him. The child had no more coordination than a regular zombie and ended up sprawled on its side. Hurrying over, Jason brought his boot down on its back and cleaved into the skull with an adrenaline-fueled hack that ended up completely chopping through the entire right side of the creature’s head. A resurgent wave of stench rolled up as brain matter spilled out onto the pavement of the entry walkway.
Jason was no doctor, but he was pretty sure that the oozing jelly-like stuff that he could see as a darker pool leaking from the skull was not normal. He had no time to really consider this, though, as the sounds of footsteps heading towards him caused him to spin in a hurry. He spotted two more figures limping his direction from the open front door. One of them was another child, and it had paused in the doorway while the other larger zombie continued forward. It stepped out from the shadows of the house and into the silvery light provided by the moon and stars to reveal itself as what was most likely the father of the house.
This man was probably the one to bring the zombie infection home Jason surmised as he allowed the walker to come into range of his machete. He was wearing nothing more than boxer shorts and had a bandaged left arm. He had not really paid it any notice until just now, but the child that he had cleaved the side of its head off looked to have her throat ripped out.
As soon as he cut down the father, that seemed to activate the second child zombie. Jason filed away that fact to consider later. There was absolutely no denying that the children zombies, at least the really young ones, were acting different from the so-called normal zombies. At the moment, he had his hands full.
&nbs
p; The chorus of moans coming from all directions at once sent a chill down his spine. Where had they all come from? he wondered. The last time he’d come to this area, it had seemed almost completely deserted. He considered his options and decided that he had come this far. How bad could it be, after all?
He backed up and returned to the street. He actually breathed a sigh of relief. It had sounded worse than it actually looked. Yes, there were zombies coming up the street and headed his direction. Having only the light of the moon to act as his primary source of illumination, he guessed there to be somewhere in the area of twenty or so. They were spread out, and thus, it was no problem for him to rush to meet them and take them down before going inside the house.
As he moved around, taking the singles out first and then working on the pairs and the lone trio, Jason had to be at least a little impressed with himself. In all his reading, he could not recall many situations where the people in the stories were not running for their lives at the first sign of a zombie. Of course, if these were the sprinters from that most recent Dawn of the Dead remake, or the infected from 28 Days Later (and not the one with Sandra Bullock), then he would be a lot more hesitant about taking on almost two dozen of the walking dead.
Once the last one was down and he took a good look around to ensure that there were no more coming, Jason returned to the house and went inside. The lingering stink of the undead still hung in the air, forcing Jason to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve for a moment out of sheer reflex.
From the entry hall, he turned right towards an open kitchen area with a breakfast bar on the far side. The curtains were open, a shaft of ambient light wafting in and spilling across the floral centerpiece that sat in the center of the dining room table. Jason took a step into the kitchen and tripped over something big that he had not seen in the pools of dark shadows that hid the floor.