by David Rogers
“It don’t matter.” Bobo interrupted. “We gonna stay home and tend the fort for the time being. Unless some of them zombie packs I seeing on the teevee in Atlanta and shit gonna somehow walk all the way out here and try to get at us, we probably okay. Let’s just give it some time and see how things go.”
Most of them nodded, Darryl among them. Unless it came down to a critical problem, he was all for staying behind the new fence and playing a wait-and-see game. They had vehicles and it would take a lot of trouble for them to not be able to fight and ride their way out if worst came to worst. And even if they were mostly ‘civilians’ when it came to a gun fight, the Dogz were tough.
“Now, last thing I got.” Bobo said. “I tired of everyone always running to me all the damn time. It been going on since last night, and it getting old.”
“You said you was in charge, period.” Tank pointed out.
“Yeah, and I am.” Bobo said. “But that don’t mean people can’t use their damn heads for more than showing off their hair.”
“Hair!” Vivian blurted out. Darryl blinked and glanced at her to see she had her hands clapped to the sides of her head, and looked horrified.
“What?” Big Chief asked after a moment.
“Hair!” Vivian said, turning to Jody. “Fuck, I was due for a relaxer treatment at the salon next week.”
Jody frowned, then muttered something Darryl couldn’t hear.
“You worried about your hair?” Tank asked, sounding quite amused.
“It ain’t funny!” Vivian snapped.
“Sure it is.”
“Look, you want to walk around with a damn afro, that’s your concern.” Jody said. “But I sure as hell don’t.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Big Chief said, throwing his hands up. “What the hell are we supposed to do about it?”
“They make over-the-counter stuff for it.” Vivian said anxiously. “We need to get some of it before too long.”
“If we ain’t going out for food or guns or other shit, we sure as hell ain’t going out for no Goddamned hair relaxer.” Big Chief said.
“Hey now.” Mr. Soul said.
“He sorry.” Bobo said firmly, making a slashing motion through the air with one hand. “Start a new list, or add it to the one you already keeping.” he told Jody. “But Chief right, we ain’t going out for that. We can keep it in mind when we do make some more runs, but until then, I don’t know . . .” he trailed off, obviously trying to think of something to say.
“Wear a hat?” Darryl suggested.
“DJ!” Jody said, reaching out and slapping at him with her notepad.
Darryl grabbed for the ashtray on his knee as it teetered, preventing it from falling, and put his other hand up to ward her off. “What? It’ll work won’t it?”
“We ain’t got enough hats.” Vivian fumed.
“Scarves.” Jody said suddenly, leaning back. “We can rig some up out of some of the shirts I guess. Make some wraps.”
“Like I was saying.” Bobo said, plowing forward doggedly, “I tired of all the problems coming back to me. I mean, ain’t everyone in here stupid. Now, I done already put Jody in charge of all the supplies and kitchen and stuff, since she know it better than I do.”
“She doing a good job with it.” Mr. Soul nodded. “Fine job.”
“Yeah.” other heads nodded. Jody looked pleased.
“She is. But we could use a bit more delegation, so I gonna do some.” Bobo said. “First of all, any questions about the fence or any construction shit we might be doing, they ought to go through Tank before they get to me.”
Tank shrugged when Bobo gave him a look. “Sure. I ain’t no big expert like you is Bobo, but I know my way around a site.”
“You gonna be okay.” Bobo said. “And if we end up stuck in here for too long I’ll teach you some stuff.”
“Sure.”
“Gun stuff, anything about the guns, everyone gonna talk to Shooter.”
Shooter sat back. “Just cause my name Shooter don’t make me no damn expert.”
“Maybe not, but you and Darryl the closest we got to gun guys, and I got something else for him, so you it.” Bobo said. “You shot a lot of stuff, so you know what you doing.”
“I guess.” Shooter said, still looking a little uncomfortable.
“If any problems come up with the vehicles or the generators, that’s you Chief.” Bobo continued, gesturing at Big Chief. “You the club mechanic already, but since all hell breaking loose and I halfway to loosing my mind anyway, let’s just make it official.”
“No problem.” Big Chief nodded.
“Vivian, you in charge of them drugs we got stashed in the back closet.”
“Bobo, I done already told you I ain’t no doctor.” she protested immediately.
“And I ain’t making you one.” Bobo said. “But you know more than the rest of us about them pills. At least you got some idea what is needed for what.”
“Needles knows drugs.”
“Needles is halfway to being a damn crackhead.” Darryl said, frowning.
“Right.” Bobo nodded. “And he mostly just know what feels good anyway. You the pharmacist until further notice. In fact, tomorrow I gonna see if we can put a lock on that closet door so it ain’t just standing open for anyone to wander on back there and help themselves.”
“That necessary?” Vivian asked, still unhappy.
“Yeah, I think so.” Bobo said. “I see how bad diseases and shit can get if there ain’t the right drugs to treat it.”
“Like zombies?” Big Chief asked.
“No–fuck!” Bobo glared at Big Chief for a few moments. “That different, and you damn well know it. Anyway, like I said, I wanna get them locked up and either way, Vivian in charge of them.”
“Fine.” she said a bit huffily, folding her arms.
“As long as we got the teevees to keep an eye on, Mr. Soul the main news watcher for us all.” Bobo continued, turning to the old preacher. “Anyone need to know what been going on everywhere else, they ought to go ask Mr. Soul before they go off an start looking for rumors. I done seen how rumors can get bad too, so Mr. Soul gonna be the one we rely on to keep us filled in when we too busy with other stuff to sit and watch the teevee.”
“You just making me do this because I’m old.”
“Maybe.” Bobo shrugged. “But it needs doing. And you a smart man Mr. Soul. You probably the best one even if you was still young.”
“Bobo, you don’t have to butter me up.” Mr. Soul smiled. “I’m happy to keep track of what’s going on.”
“Good. Which brings me to you.” Bobo said, turning to Darryl. “Bro, since the bottom done fell out and it started raining shit on us you done a lot to help.”
“It ain’t no problem.” Darryl said, uncomfortable.
“Yeah, for a lot of Dogz it was.” Bobo said seriously. “Like Shooter said, we all ‘civilians’. We got all sorts of crazy shit happening, and you keeping your head in place. And I halfway to losing mine with all the questions and stuff. So I picking you to be my lieutenant.”
Darryl stared at him, stunned. “Uh . . . bro, I don’t know.” he said after a couple of seconds, feeling awkward. He wasn’t sure about this. He just liked seeing things getting done, not being a boss to the others. As far as he was concerned, it was about the Dogz, not any one of them in particular.
“I do.” Bobo said firmly. “You the best one to keep the Dogz moving in the right direction. So just in case I do end up losing my mind, I making it official so there ain’t no questions.”
“So what, we in the Army now?” Big Chief asked.
“No, but we ain’t just joy riding around on the weekends neither.” Bobo said. “I the Top, and DJ the second. If I ain’t around, then DJ the one who decides. Even if it’s just deciding who else gonna decide.”
* * * * *
Jessica
Jessica started awake in the darkness and lifted her head. Beside her, Candice stirre
d restlessly in her sleep. She’d wanted to sleep in mom’s bed again, and Jessica had seen no reason, and hadn’t wanted, to tell her no. It was as much a comfort for her as it was for her daughter. Jessica glanced around the darkened bedroom, then looked at the bedside clock. The digital numbers glowed green in the dimness, split only by a few splashes of moonlight coming from the bedroom windows.
She listened carefully, trying to figure out what had woken her. She’d only laid down about an hour ago. Jessica had been surprised to find herself yawning right after dinner; she usually didn’t go to sleep until around midnight, and it wasn’t like she’d spent the day really doing anything. It was probably the stress, there was more than enough of that going around.
She had finally put some music on to help break the endless barrage of ‘horrible’, ‘worse’ and ‘horribly worse’ the television had been pumping out. She had almost wanted to put a DVD in, something happy or at least not quite so depressing, but couldn’t bear to tune out what was happening. Something important might be reported, something that would make a difference, and she’d need to hear it. So far, that hadn’t happened though.
She heard something, a faint noise, coming from the hallway. Jessica sat up abruptly, trying to place the sound. A thumping, like banging on a wall. She felt her heart race as the thought of one of them beating on the house went through her mind, and she quickly slid out of bed. Jessica grabbed her robe automatically, thrusting her arms through the sleeves as she went around the bed and made for the door. In the hallway, she didn’t hear anything when she paused to listen. After a few moments, she started for the stairs.
Joey’s door was still standing open, his room unused since Friday morning, and she paused when she spotted the glint of his bat propped up against the table under his window. She hesitated, then stepped inside and picked the metal cylinder up, hefting it experimentally in her hands. Jessica took a quick look out through the window, scanning the lawn and street below. Everything looked quiet, no wandering figures, just some lights on in houses across the street giving any sign of life at all.
Turning back, she went downstairs quietly, still listening, and went over to the front door. It was still locked, and when she cautiously peered through one of the windows in the front room, the same scene as from Joey’s room, now from ground level, greeted her. She walked through the front room slowly, through the dining room, and paused at the door leading from the kitchen to the garage. Quiet, and it was locked too. The view from the kitchen window revealed an empty back yard, nothing there but the eight foot wooden privacy fence, the swing set and sandbox that Candice barely played with anymore, and the patio furniture.
She went around into the living room and peeked through the curtains covering the sliding doors, peering through the glass. A better view of the same nothing, the same quiet scene that gave no hint of what she feared. Her father had been more than a little put out when he couldn’t find anything to use for boarding up the glass doors, which, once he’d brought it to her attention, were obviously a huge entry into the house.
He’d settled for shifting the couch to sit in front of them, though Jessica had been forced to help him move it across the living room. He was in his sixties after all, and the couch was one he’d built for her as part of the wedding present when she and Brett had gotten married. It was a solid wood frame upholstered with thick, dense padding, and was heavy. She wasn’t sure how much better it was to have it in front of the sliding doors, but it had put a dent in his grumbling, so she’d helped.
Jessica stood looking through the glass a moment longer, then let the curtains fall. The house was quiet. She was hearing things, letting her fears get the better of her. Glancing at the bat clutched in her left hand, she sighed, then went back upstairs.
As she reached the top, she heard a sound. It was kind of a squishy, ripping sound. Jessica froze, cocking her head, then crept forward slowly. Her parents were in the spare bedroom, opposite the hall bath and Joey’s room. Jessica paused at their door and listened.
She heard the sound again, and when she put her ear to the door, right next to the frame, there was an even fainter sound . . . a sort of rhythmic sound. Jessica blanched as her heart skipped a beat. Please God, no. She found she’d closed her eyes in brief, automatic prayer, and opened them slowly.
With a hand that trembled visibly, she reached for the doorknob and carefully turned it, pushing gently to open the door when the knob had disengaged the latch.
The smell hit her before her eyes even began resolving anything in the dark bedroom. A heavy smell, thick and salty with an unpleasant tang of iron. There was a shape on the bed, moving a little. No, two shapes, one atop the other. But only one of the shapes was moving. The sound came again, that wet, stretching sound of something solid and porous being torn.
“Mom? Dad?” Jessica heard herself say. The voice that split the darkness didn’t sound like hers. It sounded like it belonged to a stranger, to an unfamiliar child. There was no response, and she heard that other sound again, the sound of someone with no manners eating a steak dinner.
Jessica fumbled on the wall and flipped the light switch up almost completely by accident. The bulbs’ illumination flooded through the room like a physical presence, and she blinked against the sudden brightness.
The bedside lamp had been knocked over, as had the vase of plastic flowers Jessica kept on the headboard to give the room a little more color. But that wasn’t what captured her gaze. Her mother was lying atop her father in the bed, her head bent over his neck. There was blood on the sheets, a lot of blood.
Her father’s legs were tangled in the sheets, twisted and bent. One of his arms was at his side, under his wife’s body as she lay draped across him. The other was bent up between their chests. The woman’s head bent a little, and Jessica heard that terrible tearing sound again as her mother bit off a piece of her father’s neck. The chewing resumed, horrible and surreal.
“No.” Jessica whispered, standing frozen in the doorway. Her entire body felt numb, like all the energy and life had fled and left her a pale shadow of a person. She swayed on her feet. “Oh God, no. No. No! NO! NO, NO, NO!” she said, her voice rising hysterically and growing in volume with each repetition, as if the word alone, as if wishing hard enough, could somehow change the scene before her.
She was still screaming when she reached out with the bat gripped in both hands as she jabbed sharply into her mother’s side. The end of the bat made contact with the woman’s ribs, and Jessica barely felt the impact as she pushed with body and arms.
Her mother rolled off the far side of the bed in a flail of arms and swirl of sheets and nightgown, landing with a heavy thump on the floor next to the wall. Jessica saw her father staring up at the ceiling, sightless eyes motionless amid a face that was splattered with blood. His neck had been laid open, across the front and up both sides, one bite at a time. As his wife was thrown off him, the hand that had been across his chest was pulled to one side, flopping down on the bed next to him lifelessly.
Jessica froze, the bat still in both hands and extended over the bed, over the body, as she stared at the carnage on the bed. There was just so much blood, so much it hadn’t even soaked into the mattress yet. Pools of it were rippling next to her father’s body as the mattress settled when her mother rolled off. Jessica suddenly drew a ragged breath that shuddered through her mouth and produced a strangling, sobbing sound as her body reminded her it needed her to breathe.
A head, a pair of shoulders, part of a chest, sat up on the far side of the bed. The head turned to her, and Jessica screamed as she saw Sharon, saw the thing that used to be her mother, staring at her with empty eyes and a slack expression. Fresh blood coated her face, dripped down the front of her nightgown. Her teeth were red and had bits of . . . stuff stuck between them, visible as she made a chewing motion.
Sharon Patterson gazed blankly at her daughter without recognition as she struggled to her feet, her flailing arms beating at, clutching at
, the wall and the bed. Jessica stood frozen as the . . . creature staggered back upright and turned as if about to collapse back on the bed.
The shock of the bat’s impact surprised her. Jessica blinked as Sharon stumbled back and sideways. She didn’t realize she’d swung until the vibration of the metal hitting her mother’s shoulder ran up the bat and through her arms. Jessica watched her mother catch herself on the edge of the window and slowly start to straighten. Jessica was swinging again before she registered the decision, and Sharon crashed backwards. Glass shattered, wood splintered, and suddenly her mother was gone.
Jessica blinked, her sluggish thoughts not up to the task of processing what was happening. She looked at the bat in her hands, then back at the window. Finally, feeling stupid, she took a stumbling step forward, catching herself on the wall next to the broken window, and looked out. Nothing, just open air and the trees beyond the fence. Then it occurred to her to look down. She craned her head outside a little and looked at the ground next to the house.
Her mother had landed half in and half out of the flowerbed that ran along the house. One of her legs was bent in a completely unnatural manner, and Jessica saw something sharp poking out of her skin in a place where nothing should be. But the thing, the thing that had been her mother, was still moving. As she peered down, she saw the hands scrabbling and scraping across the grass, moving beneath the body and pushing up. The head was turning, looking up at her. The blood on Sharon’s face glistened in the moonlight horrifically.
“Mom?” Jessica heard from behind her, and she abruptly spun. Dropping the bat, she rushed to the hallway door, darting outside and yanking it closed behind her as Candice emerged from the master bedroom. “Mom, what’s wrong?”