Dead Soil (Book 2): Dead Road

by Apostol, Alex

  “You know, no one blames you for what you did. Everyone understands that you thought she was one of those zombies about to hurt someone.”

  “Zack blames me. And he has every right to.”

  “Okay, not a single line of that statement is true. Zack doesn’t blame you for her death. He blames himself, so I wouldn’t even worry about that. And if he did blame you, he would not hold the right to do so. You need to stick up for yourself, man. You deserve forgiveness just like everyone else, and not just from the group, but from yourself. How else do you expect to get on with this life? With the way things are, we are all going to need a whole lot of forgiveness to survive.”

  Dan nodded absently, his head drooping low as if it were too heavy for him to lift up all the way.

  Carolyn looked over at Gretchen. They shrugged their shoulders at each other before Carolyn left the wall next to Dan to join Gretchen at the shelves again.

  “I tried,” Carolyn whispered into her friend’s ear.

  “I know. Thank you. I just don’t know how to get him out of this funk,” Gretchen whispered back.

  “I don’t know. I think this might be more than a funk.”

  “What do you mean? Like he’s going to do something?”

  Carolyn shrugged her shoulders again and let her blue eyes drift back over to Dan. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Dan might never get over killing Anita. She thought back to the day they found Dan passed out in the Wal-Mart pharmacy from taking too many sleeping pills. That was before he ever ended someone’s life, let alone a friend. He was unstable in the stable world. How could any of them have expected him to suddenly grow stability in this world that had fallen to pieces? Lonnie might have been right in what he said when they found Dan. He could possibly be beyond hope.

  Dan listened to the indistinct whispers of the two women who claimed to be his friend, who claimed to not blame him for what he’d done. Their whispers suggested otherwise. Though he couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, he could imagine. I can’t believe we have to carry this dead weight. He doesn’t help out at all. He doesn’t do anything but take up space. He killed that girl in cold blood. He had to have known she wasn’t a zombie. He’s sick. We should get rid of him.

  Voices swirled around in his head until he couldn’t recognize who they belonged to anymore. He wanted to clasp his hands tightly around his ears and scream for them to stop, but he was aware he was the only one who heard them. If he did that, Carolyn and Gretchen would definitely think he was crazy and probably would petition for his removal from the bunker. He had to get out of there, away from everyone.

  “I wish there was something we could do to help him get through this,” Gretchen whispered to Carolyn.

  “I know, me too. He seems like such a sweet guy, just broken up over this,” Carolyn whispered back.

  Dan pushed off the wall and walked toward the tunnel to the trap door.

  Gretchen opened her mouth in protest, but shut it again before a sound could escape. Maybe he needed some time alone to think, she thought. At least she and Carolyn had planted the nuggets of forgiveness in his mind. Maybe it will just take time for it to soak in and grow.

  “We should let Lee know, shouldn’t we? Maybe he can put Dan on like a suicide watch or something?” Carolyn suggested as she put the apple butter next to the other twelve jars of apple butter.

  “I don’t know if we need to go that far. He just seems sad. Who wouldn’t be? I know I’d be a mess too if I went through what he did,” Gretchen said as she watched Dan disappear into the dark tunnel.

  Almost seamlessly, as Dan disappeared from stocking duty, another one of the bunker residents came to pick up the slack.

  “Oo, Apple butter,” the older man said. His white hair and wrinkled forehead suggested he was in his late sixties, though his voice was still booming and his eyes shone behind his spectacles with vigor. He had a permanent smile plastered on his face and it refused to fade away. “Mind if I work alongside you ladies? I just can’t lift anymore heavy crates with this back.”

  “Of course,” Gretchen said with a matching smile, though it refused to reach her eyes. She was too worried about Dan still. “I’m Gretchen, and this is Carolyn.”

  Carolyn waved her fingers at the man lightly.

  “I’m Rich. Nice to meet you ladies. Is this the last box?”

  “It sure is,” Gretchen answered.

  “Well, let’s get to it then and get to bed so we can have another wonderful day of stocking shelves again tomorrow.” His smile said he meant what he said, but his sarcastic tone and huffy laugh gave away his true feelings about the work.

  XIV

  Christine waited in the doorway to her room for Dan to clear the tunnel before she made her way casually across the wide circular common room. Zack was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the only people from her group she could spot were her sister and Carolyn, and their backs were turned, consumed in their menial work of getting comfortable in this hideous world. Well, Christine Moore wasn’t going to do that. She refused to allow herself to accept the world for what it was. It had to be restored to its former self, or what was the point?

  Once the tunnel was quiet for a few minutes, Christine stealthily snuck along the wall, quickly disappearing into the darkness. She felt her way along the black tunnel until she came to the ladder that would take her to the chaos and destruction above. The trap door resisted at first as she lifted up with her right arm and held onto the top ladder rung with her left hand. She stretched her body, giving it all she had until the dirt that lay atop the door dispersed and rained down through the crack.

  The night air was crisp and cold, the ends of winter refusing to break way to warmth. The bite in the breeze chilled Christine’s cheeks and turned them red as she stuck her head out to see what waited for her above the ground. She took another step upward until her waist was above the earth and her hands rested on the cold, hard dirt.

  All was quiet and calm. The tractors in the distance seemed like sleeping giants keeping watch over the crops, the grain blowing gently back and forth. The navy blue sky above was clear of clouds and the thumbnail moon shone white with the stars. For a moment, Christine almost forgot the disarray the world was in. She could hear the soft nicker of the horses in the barn as they conversed with each other, wondering when they would be fed and let out to play. It wasn’t good for them to be cooped up all the time. Sure, it was for their safety but it goes against their nature. They needed to run free.

  Christine climbed out of the hole and set her feet firmly on the solid earth. Her eyes adjusted fully to the night, revealing no danger as far as she could see. Her bow hung across her chest to rest on her backpack. The fletching of her arrows brushed softly together as she took careful steps toward the big red barn.

  The horses made more noise inside, as if they could sense her presence nearing. Tension in her shoulders released as she envisioned herself sitting tall on one of those magnificent creatures, galloping through the fields on her way to set the world right again. She let out a long, slow breath, the air puffing out in front of her in a white cloud only to disperse in the cold air. She reached for the large handle to pull one of the barn doors open.

  “Taking a midnight stroll, eh?” a man’s deep voice said from behind her.

  Christine whirled around. As she did her bow swung from her back to her chest and she gripped it with one hand while the other reached for an arrow from her backpack, ready to loose if she had to. When she saw who it was she rolled her eyes just enough to dispel some of her annoyance but not let Mac know he was entirely unwelcome.

  “I needed out of that bunker. I was getting claustrophobic down there. The air is so stale.” She rambled off as and she swung her bow back over her shoulder. “Was it you who shut the barn door when I was up here before?”

  Mac nodded his head slowly, his eyes settling on Christine’s. His hands rested on the hips of his overalls, his thumbs windin
g through the belt loops. He bent back ever so slightly to stretch his spine and catch a glimpse of the moon. “Sure was. Didn’t want anything sneaking up on ya while you admired the beauties. And I hear ya,” he said. “I loved spending my time outside before all this; tending the horses and cows, growing life out of dirt to nourish more life on earth. I was not built for a life in the shadows.”

  “Then, why do you do it?”

  “Because I was blessed with a way to survive and the means to share it with others. I feel it’s my responsibility to care for these people…and every once in a while I sneak up here and pretend the world is as it should be again, like tonight.” Mac’s lips pulled upward into a toothy grin. It was almost enough to infect Christine, almost. “Don’t you feel a responsibility to the people you came with?” he asked casually.

  She thought about his question long and hard, brushing her hair back out of her face with her fingers. When Liam was alive, she was full of fire for helping people. When he died, that fire seemed to die along with him. All she could think of was his journal and getting to someone else who could help. She felt powerless to do anything else for the greater good but that alone. When she considered her loyalty to the group, she felt indifferent. Just not long ago she considered ditching them altogether to strike out on her own. A part of her said it was to protect them, so they could settle somewhere safe and forget about the mission to Chicago, but really, deep down in the pit of her being, she knew it was because they slowed her down. That was why she was out here alone again, trying to sneak off while everyone was occupied or sleeping.

  “I did feel responsible at one time,” Christine answered carefully. Somehow she knew Mac would be able to see through a lie, but there was no reason to tell him the whole truth just yet either.

  “What changed?” he asked.

  Christine took a breath and turned her face up to the dark, twinkling sky. “I did, I guess.”

  He had no response to that, but Christine didn’t feel he was judging her for it. She felt a peace radiate from him and understanding, and most of all a desire to help her in any way he could. It both annoyed her and comforted her. She let herself rest silently in that moment

  …until she heard footsteps on the other side of the barn.

  Suddenly, the animals inside rose into panic. The horses kicked their stalls in an attempt to break loose. The goats bleated their cries for help and the cows groaned and paced in their small corrals. The steps came around the side of the barn, closer and closer to where Christine and Mac stood. Right away, she noticed Mac held nothing in his hands but the belt loops of his overalls. He was defenseless. She swung her bow around and reached into the sheath at her hip.

  “Mac, catch,” she whispered as she drew out her bowie knife and tossed it gently in the air.

  Without missing a beat, Mac reached out and grasped the handle of the knife to draw it toward him.

  Christine readied her bow, holding it up with her one arm outstretched and the other pulling back on the tout string. She heard the groaning of the dead nearby, just around the corner making its way nearer. She waited perfectly still, in complete silence.

  Inside the barn there was a loud snap, like the cracking of a whip. Her head turned toward the doors as she considered all options and outcomes in that moment. The animals gave way to their flight instincts. The horses sounded as if they were going to tear right through the wall. And the groaning seemed to change course to the other side of the barn.

  “They’re going around front,” Christine mouthed to Mac and pointed with her bow. She motioned for Mac to go around the left side while she went around the right.

  Softly, they crept away from each other, neither sure what they would find once they reached the other side. The heavy wooden doors creaked on their hinges as the dead struggled to get inside. Each screech of metal told Christine they were an inch closer to reaching the helpless creatures within. Along the east side of the barn, there was nothing but grass and cold wind. No dead to combat with. She stuck close to the wall and took careful steps, one leg over the other.

  When she finally arrived at the corner she stopped, her body stiffening. One, two, she counted in her head, giving a nod with each second that passed. THREE!

  She jumped out from around the corner, her bow raised to kill the being that stood a few feet in front of her. For a split second her fingers almost released their hold on the string, but then she groaned instead.

  “Mac!” she whispered angrily. “Where are they?”

  “Inside,” he mouthed as he tilted his head to the open door behind him.

  The groaning grew louder. There was also a new creaking sound that could be heard just below the panic of the animals, like the familiar sound of someone swinging on a tire swing from a large branch in the front yard.

  What the heck is that? Christine wondered as she made her way in front of Mac, toward the cracked open door.

  XV

  Christine’s hands rushed to cover her mouth. She stifled the uncontrollable gasp that escaped her lips. Mac stood close to her side, his arm around her shoulder, drawing her into him to avert her eyes from the horrific sight. Nothing he did, though, could hide her from the sound, that creaking rope sound.

  She resisted burying her face into Mac’s broad soft chest and took a step away from him. Her eyes settled on Dan’s lifeless body swinging from the end of a rope tied to one of the barn rafters, zombies below pawing at the air to rip him down and tear him to pieces. Their stiff, decaying fingers grazed the tips of his boots, but none were tall enough to get a good grip.

  “Oh, sweet Lord, help us all,” she heard Mac whisper under his breath.

  Frozen, Christine watched the hypnotic swinging, back and forth, and let her ears ring with the moans of the dead. She wasn’t sure what to do. Her first instinct was to charge in, kill all the zombies, and rescue Dan’s helpless body from being devoured. Then, another emotion crept up; anger. Why would he do this? she wondered. How could he? Lee brought him back to life once already, my sister fought for his place in the group, Zack didn’t murder him in cold blooded revenge when he accidentally killed Anita. Forget us helping him, he could have helped us. He was another pair of capable hands that could have tended the horses, plowed the field, made preserves, anything! Why would he do this?

  As if he read her mind, Mac turned to her with saddened, sympathetic eyes. “Some people just aren’t equipped to handle this cruel world. The devil gets a hold of them, instills them with a fear that can’t be shaken, and convinces them to do horrible things.” He tried to look into Christine’s eyes to assess the effect of his words on her, but she didn’t seem to notice he was there at all. She only stared at Dan with hot angry tears welling up in her eyes. He knew she heard him, though, so he continued. “You know when all this started, I saw people I loved die before my eyes and I considered the same thing.”

  That got Christine’s attention. She turned her head to look him in his deep eyes, silently urging him to explain how he was still alive then when Dan was dead.

  “My God was the only thing that kept me alive, God and the purpose he instilled in me. Some people are not fortunate enough to accept the grace He gives, or the strength. There was no way Dan was going to win this fight without it. I know I wouldn’t have.”

  The constant hum of the dead seemed to fall into the background as Christine considered what Mac said. His eyes turned down and glazed over with sincerity and bad memories. He gave a quick and quiet sniff and blinked it all away. But then his mouth fell open slowly and his eyes widened to show the whites all the way around as he stared past Christine’s shoulder into the barn.

  There was a moment of hesitation while Christine imagined the worst case scenario, each one more horrible than the last. But she took a deep breath and held it in as she turned. Some of the dead had given up on Dan’s body and turned to the other living beings within reach. They sauntered over to the stalls where the horses, cows, goats, a
nd other livestock kicked and screamed to get away.

  “We have to help them!” Christine whispered in panic.

  She took a step forward but Mac placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “There’s no way we can take them all. There’s at least fifteen and I only have a knife.”

  “We can do this!” she said without hesitation.

  She held her bow up and aimed it, lining with the first zombie to touch the bars of the bay mare’s stall with its cold hands. With a soft, slow breath she pulled back on the string and released an arrow. There was a soft thunk as it pierced all the way through the thing’s porous head. It slunk to the ground, its face scraping down the wood of the stall till it hit the floor.

  Christine turned to Mac for just a moment to see that he was standing with her, ready to fight even if the odds were against them. He nodded his head once. They would fight to win or die trying. There was no turning back now. Christine had to rescue Dan’s body and the animals who were trapped. In that moment, there was no reasoning that the journal and her mission was more important or that she didn’t feel responsible for the lives of others. She went with her gut, which told her to do something.

  Three of the dead that were gathered under Dan’s body heard the sound of the arrow leaving the bow and turned to the source. One had been a woman, shorter than Christine, with matted brown hair and blood oozing from her blue mouth. Another looked like a man, but it was hard to tell with its small size, mangled face, and long patchy red hair. It was a wonder how the thing could see at all with one of its eyes missing, a gaping black hole where it used to be, and the other eye oozing blood and infection, but it did. It headed straight for Christine with its one arm outstretched, fingers grasping at the air. The third was taller than the other two, and wide. Its white wispy hair was slicked with bile, same as its mouth, though it seemed to be well in tact compared to the others. It had recently been a living, breathing man. Christine imagined him in his home, lighting a fire for his wife and children, protecting them as the zombies broke in and overpowered him, making him one of them.