by Lowry, Chris
There was a solid wood fence connected to the trailer that ran to a second newer trailer behind it. The fence ran along both sides creating a boxed in yard with an eight foot wooden privacy fence. An old Winnebago had been parked along one fence, probably long before the Z-ggedon since all the tires were flat and same grit that covered the trailer dirtied the RV.
"Not bad," said Brian.
I wasn't sure if he was talking about the RV blockade or the man's voice.
"He's asking for trouble," I whispered.
"Singing for trouble," said Peg.
"We should warn him," Brian added.
"He's an idiot. He either knows the kind of world we live in now, in which case he's inviting trouble, or he's clueless, in which case we'd be inviting trouble. I don't want that RSVP."
"Well done," said Brian.
"Thanks," I nodded. "I've been thinking of it for a couple of miles."
Peg glared at both of us, then stalked up and knocked on the fence.
The voice stopped singing.
"Hello?" he said, his voice now shaking with fear.
"For God's sake Scott, Zombie's don't knock," a second voice joined him. "Go open the gate."
We heard shuffling behind the wood, and the gate cracked open. We could see Scott, in all his plain glory that defied the voice we had just heard, and behind him a rotund little woman with mousy red hair. She stood with one hand cocked on her hip and a cocked .357 Magnum in the other. The long barrel was pointed straight at the fence and could probably blow a hole through the wood and all three of us just as fast as she could pull the trigger.
I half expected her to ask if we felt lucky, but that could have just been the squint in her gray eyes.
"Come on in," she said. "But keep your hands nice and loose where I can see them."
We stepped inside and Scott shut the gate behind us.
"We heard your singing," said Brian. "Great voice by the way. Bad idea, but great voice."
"Yeah, we know," Scott said as he took several steps away from us.
Another shadow filtered behind the woman with the pistol and it held a glinting piece of metal that looked suspiciously like the barrel of a .3030 rifle. I took a slow step away from Brian and Peg.
"Know about the good voice or the bad idea?" Brian asked.
"Both," said the woman. "What do you want?"
"We're heading North," I said and took another step away. I noted the rifle barrel tracking me while the pistol barrel stayed on Peg and Brian.
"That sounds like a good plan that don't concern us," the woman said.
Brian shot me a look. I had no idea what he meant, except that maybe we didn't have a reason to stop here. He should have been shooting that look at Peg.
"We wanted you to stop singing," said Peg. "There's a group of the dead following us."
Scott and the woman glared at the gate.
"How close?" he asked.
"We're ahead of them," said Brian. "But their coming."
"We'll keep moving," I took another step back. "You should stop the singing and they'll pass you by."
"You stopped to warn us?"
A second woman stepped out of the house and lowered the barrel of her rifle.
"No one is that nice anymore. No one warned us about anything."
"It just didn't seem right not to," said Peg. "After all, they're following us."
"No," said the first woman. She lowered the pistol but kept it cocked by her hip.
"They've been coming. They keep coming. And worse. Marauders came through about a week ago. They killed six of us. We're all that's left."
"We were in a group too," Peg answered. "we're all that's left."
Deb motioned the rifle in my general direction.
"What about you?"
"Just me. Since the beginning."
"One of those, huh?"
"Those?"
"Lone Wolf types."
"Nope," I said. "More like a Dad worried about his kids type."
"Fair enough. You've got a lot to worry about."
"And now that we've warned you to be quiet, we won't have to worry about you."
"Can we come with you?" Scott finally spoke.
"Scott!" said the one with the pistol.
"We can't stay here. The Marauders might come back. The zombies might get us. Maybe it's better up North."
"Scott," said Brian. "We don't know if it's better up North. That's his idea."
"What's your idea?" asked pistol Annie.
"I want to hole up somewhere safe, like a fort. Nobody gets in without my say so."
"We had that here," said the woman with the rifle. "I'm Deb."
"Hi Deb," said Peg.
She went around and made introductions.
"If we're going to go, you need to grab your stuff," she said. "We don't have much of a head start and that herd of zombies is still coming."
Julie, Deb and Scott went into the house. We could hear them moving stuff around, not too loud, but not being quiet about it either.
"Do you think this is a good idea," Brian whispered. "We don't know them."
"We didn't know him either," she said and pointed at me.
I waggled my fingers in a little wave.
"You trust him. I trust him. And we're going to help these people. It may be the end of the world out there, but in here," she touched her chest. "I still want to do what's right for as long as I can."
Brian nodded and put a hand on the back of her neck. He pulled her in close and touched his forehead to hers. There was something very intimate in the gesture and I wanted to turn away. Mostly to hide the lump in my throat. It had been a long time since anyone had touched me like that.
The trio came out of the house with backpacks.
"I think we're good to go," said Scott.
Peg and Brian looked to me.
"What?"
"You're the leader," said Brian. "Lead on."
I started at him for a moment. I must have looked surprised.
"We had an election. You won," he smiled a tight smile.
"Alright. Stay close, stay quiet. Duck when I say, run when I say. Try not to shoot if you can help it. Any questions?"
"Yeah, where did we land on the whole singing thing?" joked Scott.
Great, a group with two of them, I thought.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Now
“Is that preaching?" Brian whispered in my ear.
I nodded.
It sounded a lot like a fire and brimstone performance held by snake charmers and made fun of in a thousand paradise.
I glanced around the corner.
A woman was tied to a stake in the middle of a pile of firewood. Three more women, little older than girls were bound in a line behind her.
They wore rags and torn clothing, their arms covered in scratches and bruises. One of the women had a broken nose that still leaked blood into the hard packed dirt.
A dancing man moved in front of them. He shimmied and shook, his shoulders doing a wiggle that would give a conga line dancer fits of jealousy. His purple face was mottled and swollen as he screamed invectives at the women and sky.
"Suffer not a witch to live," he spit on them.
A motley band of believers knelt on the ground around the preacher.
They were in a fenced off park, one of those pocket parks put in by gated neighborhoods to make folks think it was a great place to live. It was next to a small retaining pond with a fountain that still worked and scattered water into the wind, casting small rainbows that shimmered across the surface of the bubbling water.
Brian gagged over my shoulder and pointed.
A huge gator basked on the bank of the pond munching on a body or what was left of it.
I couldn't make out if it was a zombie or one of the accused witches.
"This plague is your doing," the preacher covered the woman on the stake in spittle. "You and your evil coven consorted with Satan to unleash the apocalypse."
; He made Satan into a three syllable word. That took talent.
But I'd seen religious fundamentalists work themselves up into a fury, and it didn't take a fire marshal to see where this was going. They were having themselves a find little trail just like in Salem and it looked like these four girls were going first.
"Do you believe in witches?" I asked Brian in a sotto voice.
"Sure," he grunted back. "I knew a couple of Wiccans before all this happened. Pretty cool chicks."
"Chicks?"
"Women," he nodded to the ones on the ground. "Those aren't women though. I swear one's just a kid."
Yeah. A kid. I didn't like that. She looked to be the same age as my daughter.
Besides there was no such thing as witches. Except maybe there were. I mean six weeks ago if you would have told me we'd be looking at a zombie armageddon I would have probably thought you were talking about a movie.
But here we were.
On the edge of a park north of Orlando watching a nut job about to roast four women for witchcraft in front of a cult of believers.
There are more than a dozen of them, all dressed in their Sunday finest, all on their knees in the dirt. Some bowed their heads in prayer, hands clasped in front of their noses. Others watched the dancing many shimmy around the pole, his boots kicking up little puffs of dust.
"What are we going to do here?" Brian whispered in my ear.
He said it like he already knew the answer. He probably did.
The smart move would be to walk away. We could move one block over and make the 1792 Hwy bridge with less than a ten minute delay. We could avoid the problem altogether.
The smart thing to do would be to just say none of my business and keep moving.
But the little girl was crying.
I could see that now.
Her shoulders heaved and bounced, huddled up like a tiny little ball. I couldn't see her face but everything about her told me she was scared. All of them. Body language spoke volumes.
And this preacher man was holding a grill lighter in one hand, the long stemmed kind he kept flicking on and off as he waved it about.
"Go back to the others," I said to him. "Take them one block up, and head for the river. I'll catch up."
Brian sighed in a long drawn out breath. It was full of frustration and fear and maybe a little bit of relief.
We hadn't quite fallen far enough down the evolutionary scale that we were going to let some nut job roast a little girl.
I checked the action on my pistol.
"I've got your back," Brian said and I nodded.
"Stay hidden. Don't come out unless I really need you."
I didn't wait for him to say anything. I slipped around the corner and made my move.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The preacher man was a loud enough distraction that no one noticed me creeping up to the gate. They didn't turn when I reached through and pulled the latch up to let the gate swing open. The only thing that took note of my approach was the gator on the bank and he flipped around and splashed into the water with a giant crash taking his lunch with him.
So far so good.
The woman tied to the stake was sobbing. The girls on the ground were sobbing and someone in the congregation was humming. It didn't sound like a hymn but like a song from the seventies talking about beware the evil woman.
I stepped into the park and scooted along the fence line to get closer to the pole. Up close I could tell it was a piece of playground equipment, metal with the wood piled around it and the legs of the woman. Matted hair clung around her face and neck, her tattered clothes clinging to her in shreds.
The dozen people kneeling in the dirt had me concerned. I didn't have enough shots for the lot of them. If they rushed me, I would probably end up next to the woman on the pole. Brian could help, but all he had was a machete and sharp stick. The numbers were just stacked against us.
I tried to lay it out in logical order, but all my brain kept screaming was run away. The smart thing.
The dumb thing was to try and rescue four more people, and then try to keep them safe as we made our way to some destination unknown across a zombie littered landscape.
Dumb.
But if this was a horror movie, the guy would have to go into the basement even when the light didn't work, right? Otherwise the movie would be over in about a minute.
"Hey guys, this house is haunted."
"Okay let's get out of here."
Roll credits.
Alas there were no credits and this was real. It just didn't feel like it. How often do you see a witch trial in real life?
I took the logical part of my reasonable brain and bound it up in a corner. Then I let loose the rage inside. I thought about my little girl lost somewhere and no way to find her. I thought about my son and daughter trapped in another state and no way to let me know if they were dead or alive. I thought about the government that let this happen, about the scientists who didn't stop it and the cost in lives. Then I thought about me.
About being selfish. My world torn upside down. The fear.
I stoked the fire of that anger and resentment until I could feel it boiling, then the little girl looked up and froze as we made eye contact.
Tears washed little tracks off her dirt crusted cheek. Her lip was busted and one of those cheeks bruised in the shape of a hand. I could see the outline of a fingerprint.
She was terrified, eyes swollen like saucers.
And I let the rage go supernova.
I didn't run because that would draw too much attention. I walked toward the pole moving in front of the congregation and waited for the preacher to turn around.
He was in a zealot's fit, foaming at the mouth with righteous indignation as he popped and swayed like a drunken performer. He spun around, lit the lighter and spied me.
His mouth dropped open to form a tiny circle.
I gave him a matching hole just above his right brow.
He pitched over backward and dropped the lighter and his Bible. The crowd screamed.
I turned to the first man to lunge toward me and dropped him too. That kept the others in line.
Funny how swift and decisive violence usually did the trick. It's the Teddy Roosevelt theory of talk softly and carry a big stick. Sometimes you just had to prove you would use the stick to make people listen to the talk.
I didn't have to say a word. I pulled out the knife and sliced the laundry line rope holding the woman to the pole. She took the blade from me and freed the three others and I walked them out of the park.
Brian stepped from behind the corner and they went to him. I pulled the gate closed behind me, latched it and backed away from the milling and confused congregants. Several cried over their fallen preacher, but four of the men moved to the fence and pressed their faces through the bars, just watching.
Their eyes tracked our movements as I made the corner and slipped around.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"We're going to have to move quick," I rushed to Brian. "Get the others."
"They're waiting," he turned and skedaddled up the street.
The rescued women fell in step with him, stumbling into a shuffle that could be considered a jog if we changed the definition to not much faster than a walk. They didn't amble along so much as ramble in an almost straight line.
The little girl was right in front of me.
Her shoulders were still tensed up and hunched, still scared. I wondered what they thought we had planned for them or if they were still concerned about the congregation, but I didn't have time to ask.
We met the others at an intersection one block up. Brian pulled up short under a Stop sign and Peg led the rest out of hiding.
Then they all turned and looked at me. What the hell I thought as I stared back at them. Were they expecting me to lead them somewhere?
I guess that was the plan and since I elected to rescue some innocent bystanders they elected to call me leader. Without saying it. I
was going to have to ask for a recall vote.
After.
First things first though. We needed to get across the bridge and put some distance between us and Orlando.
We hadn't seen a Z in a while, which made me concerned. They were somewhere and us going on an hour without running across one had me worried.
Peg, Deb, Scott, Julie, Brian, the four girls watched me.
"Alright," I sighed. "Let's do this. We're going to run for the bridge. I don't know if your friends are chasing us. I don't know where the Z are. But let's assume both. Stay close and move fast."
They nodded. Brian shot me an encouraging smile.
Did I look that bad that I needed encouragement? Or was he just happy that someone else was in charge and could take the blame?
"Lead the way," I told him.
That wiped the smile off his face. At least until Peg moved up next to him and took his hand.
Maybe that’s why they got along. Cheer leading each other.
He took off at a fast march designed for everyone to keep up. It was a good pace. I brought up the rear and kept looking over my shoulder for anyone or anything that might chase us.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
We made it to the bridge.
It was as much a nightmare as the portion that ran through town. Cars were jammed bumper to bumper across all four lanes the length of four or five football fields. The bottleneck was worse on this side where drivers tried to use the median to gain an edge or move a little closer to the bridge.
It didn't work, just added to the chaos and confusion that must have happened here weeks ago. Cars canted along the railing, tilted up on the sidewalk, some smashed into each other. Roofs were crumpled and windshields shattered from people walking across them.
Now it was still.
The wind blew across the open water and made a low howling noise as it whistled across open windows and swished around eddies created by the autos.
"This is it," Brian announced.
I gave us a minute to catch our breath.