The tapping started again. Jen got to the door and pushed it closed then pushed the table closer to stop the door from opening at all.
That thing.
In the past three days, I'd beaten people, choked people, shot people, hit people with my car, and I had probably accidentally taken lives; but this made me feel like a killer. The man was on his side next to the table his eyes stared ahead at nothing. I looked at his clothes and his silly hat. I wondered what he'd been thinking about when he was getting dressed in those clothes, what his plans had been for the day. I wondered if he'd been married and if he'd told his wife he'd loved her that morning. I wondered if he ever suspected that he might be sick. I wondered what his last thought was before the disease took his mind.
Jen stepped in front of me and waved a hand in my face and snapped me out of it.
"Don't do it," she whispered. "Don't think about it."
She took the shotgun from me and propped it against the chair.
"Let's get him out of here," she said.
Brian had untied his arm and was sitting up. He didn't look good.
"Brian," Jen said, "does your head hurt?"
"Ooooh God," he said, "I drank too much."
"Brian?" Jen said.
He jumped up and ran at us. Jen grabbed the shotgun, but he pushed past us, down the hall to the bathroom.
"Brian?"
We could hear him vomiting.
"We'll check on him when we get back," I said. "It's too soon for him to show symptoms, anyway, I think."
The sun was coming up as we dragged the man out into the backyard. We pulled him out by the grape trellis, and Jen started back inside.
"I'll catch up to you," I said. "I want to check something."
She hesitated then nodded and went inside.
I walked past the swimming pool, and went around the side of the house. I could see the broken basement window. There was no one around. I noticed that there was a fence across the front of the property, but the rest of the land was enclosed by a line of trees. There would be no way to keep them out, even if we shut the gate.
I stepped up to the basement window and squatted to look in. It was packed. There were people crawling over each other on the stairs. Everyone was focused on the basement door. In front of the door at the top of the stairs, the people had climbed up on each other all the way to the ceiling and were stacked on each other four or five deep. They didn't notice me there.
I looked around for something to seal the window to keep them from getting out, but I didn't see anything nearby. I thought I might find something in the garage.
On my way back around the house, I was shocked to find the man I'd just shot standing beside the swimming pool. I ducked back around the corner before he could see me. It might have been possible, though not probable, for him to survive the .22 to the head at point blank range, but that and a 12 gauge blast to the chest from only a few feet away? Maybe the shells had been reloads of rock salt.
I peeked around at him again. He was just standing there with his back to me. I went back around the house, past the broken window, and knocked on the front door. Jen looked through the curtain and let me in. I didn't mention the man out back. I wanted her to rest.
Brian was back on the couch with his head in his hands.
"How is he?" I asked.
"He failed to mention that he gets hot like that when he has too much to drink."
"That can happen?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said. "My roommate in college had an allergy to red wine. She got hives."
"I'm not allergic," he said. "I just get flush, that's all."
"You were hot, dear," she said.
"You're not too bad yourself. Now keep it down; my head is pounding."
She turned back to me, "The fever is gone, but that headache bothers me. Plus, his ankle is still swollen and red."
I nodded, distracted by thoughts of the man out back. I wasn't really concerned about Brian. The alcohol had worked for us; it would work for him.
"What were you doing?" she asked.
"I thought maybe we could close the gate and stay longer, but now I don't know. Why don't you go to bed, and I'll talk things over with Brian."
She looked at Brian, a worried expression on her face.
"Just go," I said. "He's fine."
After she closed the bedroom door, I went into the dining room and looked out the back window. The man had stepped out onto the pool cover, and the cover had collapsed. He was waist-deep and surrounded by floating leaves and chunks of ice. He looked content to be there.
I returned to the living room and sat down.
"You had to kill him two times," Brian said.
I nodded. "Two times."
I cooked some sausage, eggs, and toast for breakfast. As I was preparing the meal, I would walk past the kitchen window, which gave me a view of the pool. The man hadn't moved. His skin and lips were turning blue. I didn't want to look at him, but I needed to know when and if he decided to end his soak.
I took a plate into the living room to Brian. He balked at eating.
"It'll make you feel better," I said. "You need protein and bread. It'll take care of that hangover."
I got myself a plate, and we both had coffee and orange juice. I got to thinking about how coffee beans and oranges didn't grow in Kentucky, and how one day, I wouldn't have them anymore unless I relocated.
"It's not safe here," I said.
"But I have electricity here,” he said, “and I need to stay near a computer in case Henry tries to contact me."
"I understand," I said. "I haven't heard from my mom, either."
"I'll stay indoors. When I've heard from Henry, I'll load up the car and leave. They got in this time because I wasn't careful. I'll be careful now."
"Why don't you come with us and bring your phone. He can contact you that way."
"And what happens when the battery dies? And what about my ankle?"
It sounded like he was making excuses.
"You can't stay here, man."
He didn't answer.
"Okay," I said. "How are you set on food? I noticed you might have about a week's worth in the kitchen. Is that all you have?"
"I can stretch it," he said. "We have a lot more food, but it's in the basement. I always thought that would be the best place to keep it, in case of a storm or something. Now I guess I should have spread it out some. Maybe I should have stored it all over the house."
"Well," I said, "you'll know to do that for the next time the world ends."
He grinned.
"I'd feel better if you came with us," I said.
"I'd feel better if you stayed."
I nodded. I knew so long as Henry hadn't checked in, he wouldn't be convinced.
"Do you own a gun?" I asked.
"No way; I hate guns.”
"Do you want us to leave you one?”
"Absolutely. That big one there would be perfect."
"It only holds three shells at a time, but it's a man-stopper, unlike the .22. Do you know how to shoot it?"
"I had a dad. I grew up in Clayfield. Of course, I know how to shoot. I can also show you how to take the plug out of that thing so it'll hold five shells instead of three."
"Oh," I said.
"Yeah," he said, winking. "I'm a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a--"
There was an incredible crash from the dining room. We both jumped up. I went in with Brian limping behind me, but we couldn't see anything. Then I remembered...
"The stairs."
We moved the stuff off the table, then moved the table just enough to crack the door.
The stairs had caved under the weight of all the bodies. We moved the table completely away from the basement door and opened it. The well was just an empty space now. They were all piled on each other ten feet below us. Some of them had the funniest, confused expressions on their faces, while others had already recovered and were reaching for us.
It smelled like a
sewer down there.
"Ugh," Brian said, looking at me. "The stench alone might...."
His voice trailed off. He was looking past me out the window.
"What the hell?" he said.
He moved over to the window. He'd seen the man in the pool.
"Oh my God," he said. "It's true."
"No," I said. "It doesn't mean anything."
"He's been dead twice, and now he's standing in my swimming pool--my icy swimming pool."
"Yeah," I admitted. "It looks bad. I didn't want to upset either of you."
"We're not children." It was Jen, awake from the falling stairs, and standing behind us. "You don't keep stuff like this from us."
She peered down into the hole where the stairs had been, made a face because of the odor, and shut the door.
"If there are dead people walking around, we all need to know," she said.
"We don't know if he's dead," I said. "I'm thinking that maybe I shot him with rock salt."
"Rock salt? I had that rifle to his head," she said. "That might not have done it--I've heard stories about that kind of thing--but you shot him again, and now he's just out there standing in freezing water. Something isn't right."
"Nothing is right about any of this," I said. "I can accept that a disease made everybody crazy, but I'm not willing to believe that dead people are coming back to life. It is just too much."
She went over to the spot on the floor next to the basement door where she'd shot the man. She started to stick her finger in the thick, sticky blood.
"Jen, no," I said. "C'mon--the virus. I don't want to have to get drunk again because of something careless."
"I don't have to touch it anyway," she said. "I can see the hole in the floor. The bullet went clean through."
"So?" Brian said.
"Well," she said, "I saw on TV once that a .22 bullet has the power to get in the head, but not enough to get out. It just bounces around in the skull, and kills the person by destroying the brain. This bullet wasn't able to do the damage it could have done, because it went all the way through the head and into the floor. It doesn't mean it couldn't have killed him, but...I don't know."
"There you go," Brian said. "Take off your sunglasses, aaaand...CSI: Grace County."
"Asshole," Jen said. "I'm this close to shooting you, anyway--just to be on the safe side."
"Come on to the couch, sweetie," Brian said, limping and leading her by the elbow. "This good man made us some breakfast. He tells me you two will be leaving soon."
"Does he?"
"He does."
Jen looked at me, but I couldn't read her.
"Maybe the two of you could run by Wal-Mart for me while you're out," Brian said. "I'm getting low on milk....and ammunition for my new, big gun."
CHAPTER 18
Brian gave us three bottles of wine and a case of bottled water. His well was still working, and he felt confident that he would not need to go to bottled water for a while. We left him the 12 gauge and the box of shells we'd brought. Jen was quiet as we prepared to go. She had tried to talk him into coming with us while she picked at her breakfast, but he refused.
None of us discussed the man in the swimming pool.
After we'd loaded the truck, Jen made one more push to convince him to come along while I went outside to take care of the window to the basement. I took the rifle with me.
I found a piece of plywood in the garage that would fit over the opening, but I didn't have any tools to affix it to the block foundation wall. Ideally, I would have put a screen over the window, so it could get air--not for their sake, but for Brian's. I could imagine that within a couple of days, the smell would be unbearable. I didn't know how many people were down there, but there wasn't even room for them to move unless they crawled on top of each other. Maybe the smell would force Brian to leave before something happened to keep him from ever leaving.
First, I got down on my belly. The people tried to get at me, but the window was too high up for them. If I'd have stayed there long enough, they would have crawled on each other and grabbed me, but I wasn't going to be long. I shot out the two light fixtures in the ceiling. Then I propped the plywood against the wall over the window and wedged it a little in the ground. It wouldn't hold forever, but maybe they wouldn't figure out how to move it.
As I came around the front of the house, I could see a group of four coming down the road. They were the faster ones. They'd probably heard the rifle. They were far away, and I had plenty of time, so I went around back to check on our pool guy.
He was trying to get out. He would never make it. He was splashing along the side of the pool as if trying to find an opening. It kind of reminded me of a zoo animal pacing in their cage. He'd walk the pool cover down, and then it would float up again behind him. He tripped and went under. After a lot of splashing and slapping the water, he was able to get up again. His hat had fallen off.
He'd been standing still in that frigid water almost two hours by that time, yet he was able to move around. Perhaps it was true; perhaps he wasn't human anymore. I doubted any human could do that.
I went in through the back door, and made sure it was locked.
"We've got some on their way," I said.
Brian hugged Jen.
"If Henry hasn't called in a week, I'll just leave," he said. "I have directions to your new place."
"I'm going to worry about you out here by yourself," Jen said.
"I'll be fine," he said. "Your new beau schooled me on the ins and outs of firearms. I'm a regular commando now."
She looked over her shoulder at me. I figured it was to see if I had been listening. I pretended that I hadn't been.
"A week is a long time," she said. "We'll come check on you before then."
"I'm fine," he said. "Go check on that blue house first."
We got in the truck and Brian stood in the doorway with his finger on the automatic door opener. Jen rolled down the window.
"When you come, drive the Porsche," she said. "I've always wanted to ride in one of those."
Brian smiled and pushed the button. The door went up, and as soon as we had enough clearance, I drove out. He waved to us as the door went down again.
The four new visitors chased us, and I went slow enough to give them hope of catching us so I could lead them away from his house.
Jen was quiet. She didn't even acknowledge that for a short time there was a woman running right outside her window.
"We should have made him come," she said. "We should have just took him.”
"Are you okay with leaving?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said. "We couldn't stay there. I had hoped we could, but after they got in, and then there was the smell.... And I got to thinking about what you said about people taking the place. I've been so focused on the infected that I never thought about how dangerous the uninfected might be."
"I wouldn't be too worried about that, but it is something to keep in mind," I said. "I hope Brian is right, and this brings us all together. Who knows, maybe when it all settles down, we'll have Utopia."
She looked in the mirror at a woman jogging just behind the truck.
"Poor thing," she said. "She has no control over herself. All she wants to do is get us. I wonder why? Do you think she wants to eat us? Do you think the virus has a mind and sends her after us so it can spread?"
"I don't know," I said.
"I wonder why they don't try to kill each other," she said.
"I've seen them fight," I said.
"Yeah, but they ain't fixated on each other the way they are on us. With each other, it's almost like they're establishing a pecking order."
She rolled down the window and turned around in her seat. Then she grabbed the rifle and picked them off one by one. She was shooting left-handed so it took her several tries. Every time she would shoot, the rifle would eject the spent casing into the cab of the truck. One of the hot shells hit me on the cheek.
She left the woman for las
t.
"She just keeps on coming," she said. "All of her group has been shot, but she doesn't stop to check on them."
She fired, and the woman fell in the ditch by the road. Jen rolled up her window and faced front.
"It gets easier," she said. "They ain't people no more; they're monsters. Anyway, it can't be murder when they don't stay dead."
CHAPTER 19
There was still smoke in town, but not as much as there had been. It was a cloudy morning, but it felt a little warmer outside. We pulled into town on Broadway. As we crossed the railroad tracks and neared the post office, we could see a large group off to our right.
"Looks like they're going to church," Jen said. "This is Sunday, ain't it?"
The group was around the First Christian Church. I took a left at the post office, heading away from them.
"We're going to need more guns," Jen said. "I don't want to go check on that house and that building with just this twenty-two."
I took a right on North Street, headed back toward the museum.
"We could go back out and search some houses," I said. "But we're getting low on gas. We've got less than a quarter of a tank."
"There are vehicles everywhere," she said. "Take your pick."
The minivan was still parked by the museum. The mob had dispersed. The generator must have used up its gas, too.
"Want to stop and get it?" she asked.
"Let's leave it," I said. "We can always bring more gas up here and use the computer another time."
She nodded, and we proceeded to North 7th Street.
"The police station," she said. "I'll bet there'll be guns in there."
"I've never been in there," I said. "Where do you think they keep them?"
"Beats me," she said. "But it’s not like there's anyone around to stop us from looking."
I went up two blocks and accessed the City Hall and police station parking lot from the 5th Street entrance so the crowd at the court square wouldn't notice us. My wrecked car was right there, too.
"That's me," I said. "That blue car."
"Were you in that wreck?" she asked nodding toward the head on collision.
"No," I said. "I came on it right after."
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