“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
If he couldn’t escape by way of the stockroom, for whatever reason, Brent decided he would ask for a walk outside as his favor from Cooley. It might lead to another chance of escape.
“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?” Cooley asked.
Brent shook his head. “I’ve told you everything.”
“You’re dismissed then,” Cooley said. He nodded to Brooks. “Return him to his cell, Brooks.”
“Yes, sir,” Brooks nodded, and he took Brent’s elbow in his hand. But not too forcefully. He seemed a little more respectful of Brent now.
“It”, not “him”, Brent reminded himself, thinking of what Muriel had said about Stockholm syndrome. He didn’t want to start identifying with his enemies.
Out on the steps of the trailer, Brent said, “Can we please walk back slowly, Brooks? I haven’t been outside in months.”
Brooks didn’t reply, but he did take his time marching Brent back to the building.
29. Keys
Ian and the kid cornered him after he returned to the cell. They wanted to know why he had been taken to see Cooley. Both of them seemed to suspect him of conspiring against them in some manner, which offended Brent a little. He considered lying to them—afraid they might warn their captors of his plan to escape—and then decided that it was senseless to keep his plans from them. They were certain to notice him slipping from their cell if Harold could get him the key, and he didn’t want to take the chance of either of them raising the alarm during his attempt. Better to know ahead of time whether they could be trusted with his secret or not.
So he took them into the far corner of their bunkroom, sat down with them on Ian’s mattress, and told them what he planned to do.
“You’re sure he’s not like the others?” Ian demanded, meaning his friend Harold. “You’re sure you can trust him?”
“I think so,” Brent said. “We talked for several minutes. He came back after they killed him, but he still has the same personality. He’s still my friend. That might change in the future, the longer he’s a zombie, but for now he’s on our side. He’s been trying to get a job here at the facility for months, just so he can get me out of here. He’s even got an old truck filled up with gas so we can drive Home once we escape.”
“Kin I come with?” the kid asked excitedly. “Me ‘n’ Amy both? Fuck, just lemme outta here ‘n’ we’ll look after ourselves!”
“You can come with us,” Brent assured the kid. “You, too, Ian, if you want to try to escape. You don’t have to if you’d rather stay here. Just don’t give us away, okay?”
Ian drew himself up. “I wouldn’t rat you out, even if I wanted to stay. But I’d like to get out of here, too. Just let me know what you need me to do.”
Brent didn’t really need either of them to do anything, and he told them so. He had already planned their escape, but he was relieved that they had sided with him. He hated the thought of one of the roosters betraying him to their captors, but he knew that it was a possibility. Jamie, if he were still alive, most definitely would have done it, especially if it profited him in some way.
After they had talked for a while, Brent told them that he’d like to bring Muriel and Roo along as well, if they were willing to go. Neither of the men objected, so Brent went to the wall to tell Muriel what he was planning.
He sat next to the wall and put his lips to the seam. “Muriel?” he whispered.
She didn’t immediately answer him. She was sleeping. He called out her name several times before she finally roused.
“Brent?” she whispered. “What is it, hon?”
“I’m getting out of here,” he hissed.
“What?” she said groggily.
“I’m going to escape.”
Talk of escape galvanized the woman. Her lips flew to the crack in the wall. “What do you mean you’re going to escape?” she hissed. “What happened?”
He told her about Harold and his meeting with Cooley in the trailer outside. “I told Ian and Max, and they’re in. I was hoping you’d come, too. I want to bring you, Roo and Amy with us. Will you come with us?”
“Yes!” Muriel said urgently. “Oh, yes! I’ll tell Roo and Amy about your plan, but Brent, promise me you won’t tell anyone else. I know that sounds selfish and cruel, but the more people we try to sneak out of this place, the easier it will be for the guards to catch us in the act. Six is probably too many already, but we’ll give it a try.”
“It’s not cruel. It’s just necessary,” Brent replied.
“When is he going to try for the key?” Muriel asked.
“When he reports for duty tomorrow afternoon.”
“And we’ll have a running vehicle to make our getaway?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Oh, Brent, that’s wonderful!” Muriel whispered. “Oh, when we get out of here, I am going to rock your world so hard!”
“If we get out of here, I plan to let you,” he laughed.
Muriel went to wake Roo and Amy and bring them into the conspiracy. Brent returned to the bunkroom and lay down on his mattress. He thought he would have trouble sleeping, but he was so exhausted from the day’s events he started to drift off immediately.
“You think it’ll work?” Ian said in the dark.
“I’m sure it will work,” Brent said.
“What do you think they’ll do if they catch us?” Ian asked. “I’m afraid of dying, you know.”
“We’re all afraid of dying,” Brent said. “Everyone who’s ever lived. If someone says they’re not, they’re either lying or crazy.”
“I’m not,” the kid interjected.
“Or both,” Brent added, and he and Ian snickered.
“What?” the kid said. “I’m not!”
“They won’t hurt us if they catch us,” Brent reassured Ian. “They need us. Muriel’s escaped several times. They just catch her and bring her back. They’ve never done anything to hurt her. I mean, not like torture or anything.”
“Okay.”
Brent turned over and got comfortable. He started to doze again.
“I’m really not,” the kid grumbled.
“We believe you,” Brent said, and then he was asleep.
He dreamed that night he was young and free and strong and running through a bright open field full of wild grass and flowers. Any second now, he thought, Laura Ingalls and her sisters would come skipping down the hill in their ankle length frontier dresses. Ian was there, and so was the kid and his girl Amy, and Muriel, and Roo, who was as big as a house, her belly swelled so large with his unborn child her brown skin was shiny tight, her belly button sticking out.
He woke in a brilliant mood, all but leapt from his bed. He went outside to the toilet and took a gratifying power dump, then gorged himself on water from the bucket on the counter. He turned, still holding the dipper, and saw Cyclops glaring through the chain link gate at him.
“What are you up to now?” Cyclops demanded.
“Nothing,” Brent said, but he kept a leash on his behavior for the remainder of the morning.
He sat, smoked, waited for Harold to come on duty.
There was a flurry of activity around noon. Brent heard the front doors opening and closing repeatedly, vehicles zooming back and forth outside the building. The women began to talk worriedly on their side of the partition. Cyclops left his post and a different zombie took his place.
Curious and a little frightened, Brent went to the wall and called for Muriel.
Her lips appeared at the hole in the wall. “It’s true,” she said. “The scouts Cooley sent out spotted the herd the kid was talking about. No one’s saying how big it is, but they’re reinforcing the windows and blacking them out, and there are crews working in the yard, too. Probably reinforcing the fences.”
“Jesus!” Brent exclaimed.
“I know! They’ve never done anything like this before, and several herds have gone through here in th
e past.”
“It must be massive,” Brent said.
“We have to get out of here as soon as we can, Brent. If that herd overruns the fences, like the facility in Missouri, we’ll be trapped.”
“I know.”
Ian and the kid were roused by all the hammering and sawing. Brent caught them up to speed, and all three went to the gate and watched as work crews labored to barricade the big windows at the front of the building. Some of the women were helping them work, handing them boards and tools and nails. Another crew was blocking the windows from the outside with sheets and blankets-- anything, Brent supposed, they could get their bony hands on.
“What are they doin’?” the kid wanted to know.
“Blacking out the windows,” Brent said. “Chompers don’t attack unless they’re aroused by some kind of sound or motion. Cooley’s men are trying to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I guess they kenned the herd,” Max said, crossing his arms with an I-told-you-so smirk. “Looks like they decided to turtle, huh?”
“If Cooley’s crews can lock this place down tight, the herd may pass by without attacking us.”
“If it’s just the dumb ones,” the kid said.
Brent scowled. If, as Cool Luke had insisted, there were smart ones riding with the herd, driving them toward Home, they were all as good as dead. The zombie herders wouldn’t miss an opportunity to feed their horde.
Cooley came into the supermarket about two P.M. and addressed the breeders. With an expression of severe distaste on his rotund face, he explained that a massive herd was just a day or two away, but reassured his captives that his work crews were making every effort to hide the presence of the internees from the wandering chompers.
“I won’t lie to you,” Cooley broadcasted, “this is the biggest herd our scouts have ever seen. It is frighteningly massive. We estimate that there are hundreds of thousands of zombies in this grouping, and they are moving directly toward us. If just one member of this enormous herd detects our presence here, there won’t be a brick left standing, or an ounce of flesh left on any of our bones. We will all, living and resurrect, be devoured by these mindless creatures. Until this danger has passed, we must cooperate to ensure our mutual survival.
“When the herd arrives here in Manfried,” he continued, “you must all be as quiet as possible. In fact, you must not make any sounds at all. There can be no lights, no generators, and as little physical activity as humanly possible. If a child cries, you must cover its mouth. No one will speak under penalty of death. It may take days for the herd to pass, so we will bring in extra food and water. We will provide you with extra blankets for heat. You will assist us in distributing these supplies.”
The women had cried out in fear at his initial pronouncement, but they quieted as he explained what their captors intended to do about the situation.
When Cooley finished speaking, a few of the braver women raised their hands. Cooley called on them and actually answered their questions. He tried to be reassuring, but was brutally honest with the inmates.
“If our presence is detected by this herd,” he said, in answer to one woman’s fretful question, “there is very little chance that we will survive. Very little.”
“The undead citizens of Manfried are being evacuated to a town across the river,” he said, in answer to another. “They are barricading the bridge and hoping for the best. We do not have that option here.”
He answered a few more questions, then took his leave. As he departed, the generators shut down with a clunk!
Brent had gotten so used to the hum of the generators, their sudden silence filled him with anxiety. His ears rang in the quiet, an irritatingly high pitch, for several minutes. He looked up at the skylights and scowled at the gray, rain-filled clouds. It was technically early spring, but it would still be cold tonight without the generators to power the portable heaters. They would need all the blankets they could get.
By the time the next shift came on duty, the emergency work crews had barricaded all the windows and doors and moved on to other tasks. The only sound in the building was the fearful murmur of the living internees. The low buzz of their nervous conversations reminded Brent of a hornet’s nest. He was sitting at the card table when Harold appeared in the doorway.
“Cooley needs you outside,” Harold said to the guard on duty.
“For what?” the other zombie asked.
“I don’t know. Sawing boards or something I guess.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“With this?” Harold said, and though Brent couldn’t see him from where he was sitting, he imagined Harold holding up his mutilated hand.
“All right,” the other guard said, shamed into an afternoon of physical labor and not too happy about it.
Brent hid a grin behind his hand.
“Hang on,” Harold called out to the other guard.
“What?” the guard said in a querulous voice.
“Keys.”
“Oh.”
Brent waited, patiently smoking a cigarette. Ian and Max watched him smoke it. Finally, Harold cleared his throat. Heart thumping in his chest, Brent rose and strolled casually to the gate.
“Lot of noise outside,” Brent said.
Harold’s back was to him, arms crossed. The paunchy man nodded. “They’re reinforcing the fences. Propping two-by-fours against them. They’re parking the trucks alongside some of the uprights, too. Never seen ‘em work so hard. I’m surprised they ain’t got you boyos out there sweating for ‘em. Laziest bunch of sons I ever did see.”
As he talked, Harold uncrossed his arms and let them hang casually at his side. In the palm of his right hand, tucked beneath his thumb, were three keys. Brent took them from his hand and slipped them discretely into his mouth while pretending to cough.
“One is for this gate,” Harold muttered from the corner of his mouth. “One is for the women’s gate. And one is for the storeroom. Just in case I ain’t here to unlock them for you. You’ll need all three to get out of here.”
“The truck?” Brent asked, talking around the keys—and being very mindful not to accidentally swallow one of them. They didn’t have two or three days to wait for a key to make its way back out again.
“On the corner like I said,” Harold murmured. “Key’s under the visor in case you have to make a hasty getaway. I’ve got this post by myself tonight. Brooks got volunteered to help with the evacuation. I guess the generators have already been shut down, so no lights tonight. It should be easy as pie to sneak out of here once it gets dark.”
“I know,” Brent said, and he couldn’t keep the satisfaction from showing on his face.
“I get off at midnight. I doubt anyone’s going to check on you guys ‘til tomorrow morning sometime. We’ll be halfway Home by then.”
Brent nodded, giddy with excitement.
“Good luck,” Harold said, and Brent sauntered away. Ian and Max were staring at him anxiously. Brent opened his mouth and showed them the keys.
Brent went into the bunkroom and stuck the keys in a hole in the side of his mattress. He looked at his hands when this was done, marveled at how violently they were trembling. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, then rose from the mattress. He exited the bunkroom and went to the partition.
“Muriel?”
“Yes.”
“It’s on.”
“Okay.”
“Are Roo and Amy ready?”
“Yes. They’ll be waiting here with me.”
“We can’t make any noise.”
“I know.”
“I’ll whisper your name through this crack when we’re ready to make the attempt.”
“We’ll be waiting.”
Brent walked to the card table and sat down. He grinned at the other two men. “Game of rummy?” he asked.
30. Dark
Darkness came with authority that night.
Word had spread through the facility that the herd was close.
Even the guards’ flashlights were verboten. The dark, when it came, was like a physical presence inside the supermarket, so thick it seemed to have its own dreadful mass, a weight that pressed down on a person, pinning them blindly to the floor for fear of falling. The living and the dead squatted in the dark and waited to see if they were still alive (or still undead) come morning. They didn’t even have the benefit of moonlight shining through the skylights, as the dense overcast had smothered the heavens beneath a black tarp of rain-bloated clouds.
There was a low murmur in the building. No one had called for silence yet. That order would come when the forerunners of the herd were spotted.
So far, none had been spotted.
Brent sat in the dark with his eyes wide open, hoping they would adjust, but the Stygian gloom was impenetrable. They weren’t even allowed to light a cigarette. The kid had lit up earlier and a guard had hurried down the guard walk to scream at them angrily.
Harold cleared his throat.
Brent, keys in his sweaty hand, eased up from the card table.
“Time to go,” he whispered. He winced at the scrape of the kid’s seat as he pushed back from the table.
Brent shuffled to the partition, finding his way by feel. “Muriel?” he whispered.
“Ready,” she whispered back.
Brent followed the wall to the gate, found the chain, then the padlock. He pushed his fingers between the bars and located the keyhole of the padlock with his fingertip. He tried a key. Didn’t fit. Tried the second one. It fit. His palms were sweating despite the chill. His fingers were slippery. He released the padlock, wiped his hands on his shorts, then took up the padlock and unlocked the clasp.
Now for the tricky part.
The chain chattered quietly against the post as he slid the clasp of the padlock free. Harold cleared his throat to help cover the sound. Brent waited for a moment to see if anyone had heard the tiny sounds, but no one seemed to have noticed. The low buzz of conversation droned on.
A car drove past in the street outside, engine whining. Its headlights briefly flashed across the blacked out windows, dimly illuminating the supermarket’s interior. The last of Manfried’s undead citizens were evacuating. They were fleeing across the river to put the Mississippi between themselves and the zombie herd.
Cattle (The Fearlanders) Page 19