Cattle (The Fearlanders)

by Joseph Duncan

  Brent froze until the light had faded, then delicately pulled the chain from around the post. Slowly, teeth clenched, he pushed the gate open. He was afraid it would squeal rustily when he opened it, but the hinges turned silently.

  Harold shifted out of the way as Brent stepped into the guard walk. He waited for Ian and Max to exit behind him, then closed the gate and turned to the entrance of the women’s quarters.

  Someone fired a gun outside, and Brent jumped. He almost cried out. It probably would have gone unnoticed, however, as several of the women—and at least one of the zombie guards-- did cry out.

  “Quiet!” one of the other guards bawled. “It’s just thunder!”

  Brent unlocked the padlock of the women’s gate, hands trembling. He almost dropped the padlock when he slid the clasp from the chain. He fumbled and caught it, but let the chain slip loose. It rattled against the post.

  “What was that?” a guard called out.

  “Sorry,” Harold said. “I bumped into the wall.”

  “Well, be quiet,” the guard said.

  Harold snorted. “Your talking is making more noise than my bumping the gate.”

  Brent rattled the chain again and Harold muttered, “Damn it! I’m going to sit my ass down.”

  The other guard kept his silence.

  Brent opened the women’s gate and slipped inside. Trailing his fingers along the partition, he walked into the women’s section until his toe stumped up against something soft and warm. Felt like a thigh. A hand swam out of the darkness and honked the head of his dick.

  “Oops, sorry,” Muriel whispered.

  Her fingers tickled up his body as she rose to her feet. He felt her hair brush against his cheek as she moved her lips to his ear.

  “I’m not that sorry,” she whispered.

  Roo pressed up against him. He knew it was her because of her build, long and lanky. He put his arm around her protectively. “Ready?” he murmured.

  “Let’s go,” the kid said excitedly, and Muriel shushed him.

  Brent let Muriel lead the way. She knew better than him where all the other women bunked. He just hoped his group could keep it together long enough to sneak into the stockroom. He could hear them shuffling close behind him, but it was so dark!

  “Key,” Muriel whispered in his ear and he passed the third, and final, key into her hand.

  He heard a faint clinking. Muriel coughed to cover the noise. These chains had to be completely removed from the handles of the door. Thankfully, one of the babies picked that moment to begin crying. It was a startlingly loud, though opportune, cry.

  “Shut that baby up!” a guard roared.

  Muriel slid the chain from the stockroom doors as the child wailed and the mother tried desperately to sooth it.

  “I said shut it up!”

  “I’m trying!” the mother whined.

  Holding the chains in her hands, Muriel pushed one of the swinging doors open with her hip. She held the door open so Brent could walk through. One by one, all six passed through the door into the stockroom. Muriel followed and let the door swing gently shut behind her.

  The room they had entered smelled musty, like an old abandoned house. There was a faint perfume of rotten produce: bananas, onions, tomatoes. Though Brent couldn’t see the tip of his nose in the pitchy darkness, he had the sense that they were standing in a corridor of some kind. He could tell by the way the sounds of his movement returned to his ears. Instantaneous. No echo.

  “This way,” Muriel whispered. “Be careful.”

  Brent heard plastic rustle ahead of him.

  “Doorway,” Muriel announced, and then cold sheets of plastic were sliding across his bare skin. He pushed them aside with his arms, passing into the next chamber, heard the plastic rattle behind him as the others followed.

  The next room was cavernous and smelled of diesel fuel and oil. It seemed there was the tiniest bit of light in there, and he thought (or imagined) he could see narrow, rectangular windows set up high in the walls. His skin prickled with goosebumps. It was about twenty degrees colder in the loading bay. Someone bumped into him from behind, and Roo pressed up against him, turning her head to and fro. It was so quiet he could hear his own heart beating, a soft whoosh-whoosh-whoosh in his ears.

  There was another crack of thunder outside, the sound rolling erratically from one side of the lightless world to the other, west to east.

  “Is everyone here?” Muriel whispered.

  “I’m here,” Brent said.

  “I’m here,” Roo said.

  “Yo,” Max yipped.

  “Present,” Ian said.

  “I’m here,” Amy piped.

  “The door’s over here somewhere…” Muriel said, moving away from the group. There was a crack and the sound of something sliding across concrete. Muriel grunted in pain. “Ow!”

  “They won’t kin if I light a match, will they?” the kid asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Muriel answered. “Go ahead.”

  There was a snap, the smell of sulfur, and a match flared brilliantly in the young man’s hands. The light the tiny flame gave off was glaringly bright after the hours they had spent in near-total darkness. He held it out so Muriel could see.

  They were standing in the middle of the loading bay. On the far wall were three large garage doors, the kind that slid up on a track, and a regular-sized house door with a small window set in it. The bare concrete floor was stained with oil and dried speckles of spilled paint, light blue. On both sides of the room, industrial shelving rose nearly all the way to the rafters, where a partial floor had been laid down for extra storage. There was a small forklift sitting forlornly in one corner, pallets of boxes wrapped in opaque plastic and lots of cardboard boxes with faded logos, their sides sagging with age. Muriel had nearly fallen over a wooden crate.

  “This way,” Muriel said, blinking owlishly in the match’s light.

  “Hold on,” the kid said, his flame guttering. He tossed the match down with a curse, his fingers burnt, and lit another.

  “Did your friend park his truck at the end of the alley like he said he was going to do?” Muriel asked, standing beside the door.

  “That’s what he said,” Brent replied.

  “Listen, people,” Muriel said, and they gathered around her. She had put her hand on the door’s deadbolt. “We’re going to walk, carefully and quietly, down the alley behind this place and climb into Brent’s friend’s truck. Brent and I will sit in the cab. You guys will climb into the back. I want you all to stay low while we’re crossing the alley, and lie down in the back of the truck so no one can see you. We’re going to wait for Brent’s friend Harold, but if anyone sees or hears any movement nearby, knock on the back window and we’ll haul ass. Brent and I will keep watch from the cab of the truck. If we see one chomper, we’re out of here.”

  “Why’s he gotta come along?” the kid asked. “He’s one o’ them. I don’t like it.”

  “He’s my friend,” Brent said.

  “Are we ready?” Muriel asked. She turned the lock and shifted her hand to the doorknob.

  “I’m scared,” Roo squeaked.

  Brent hugged her.

  “We’re ready,” Ian said, crouched down.

  “Put out the match,” Muriel said to the kid.

  The light went out.

  Muriel jerked the door open.

  Ian bolted through first, followed by Max and Amy, who were holding hands. Brent and Roo trailed after them with Muriel riding in the caboose. They started down the concrete ramp, bodies bent low, bare feet scuffling across the pavement.

  Lightning flickered overhead, briefly illuminating the alley behind the supermarket.

  “Oh, shit!” Ian cursed, sliding to a halt.

  The alley was full of chompers.

  The herd had already arrived.

  31. Herd

  There were dozens of them in the narrow alley, and what looked like thousands at the head and foot of it. Lightning re
vealed the ragged revenants in strobe light flashes: men, women, children, their clothes hanging in frayed tatters, or naked, their bodies shriveled and skeletal. Ian had dashed right into the midst of the creatures, and was just as quickly pivoting to retreat, eyes bulging, dreadlocks swinging, even as the lightning passed and darkness came sliding back down like a shutter.

  “Get back!” he yelled. In a final blip of lightning, Brent saw the heads of several of the chompers snap in the young man’s direction. Milky eyes locked onto the source of the cry. Wrinkled lips split back from sharp broken teeth.

  Roo screamed, and Brent clamped his hand over her mouth, but it was too late. He backpedalled, pulling her with him as she screamed against his palm.

  “Back inside!” Muriel yelled.

  Lightning flashed again and Brent saw Ian struggling in the hands of several zombies. They had grabbed ahold of him, were inclining their heads to bite, jaws gaping.

  “Get off me!” Ian snarled, twisting in their grips, and then he was free and he went stumbling into the kid and his girl, who stood frozen in shock at the foot of the ramp. Ian and the girl went down in a tangle of gangly limbs.

  Zombies howl when they’ve spotted prey and that’s what they did now. The ones nearest to their group began to howl first, but the cry spread quickly through the herd. Within moments, their combined yowls had become a choral hum. It was deafening. The very earth seemed to vibrate with it.

  Lightning flashed again and again. Rain slashed the air like silver razors. Brent passed backwards through the warehouse door, Roo in tow, as Ian clambered to his feet and leapt clear of Amy. The kid was bending to his girlfriend, reaching out for her flailing hand.

  Before he could grab her hand and pull her up, zombies seized her ankles and jerked her away from him.

  “Amy!” he yelled. “No!”

  Amy screamed as she was borne into their arms. She reached out to him, her hand a pale starfish, as the zombies encircled her, and then she was enveloped in their writhing mass.

  With a wet tearing sound, her cries fell silent.

  A chomper went tottering toward the kid, mouth agape, arms out straight like Frankenstein’s monster. With a furious “Hiyah!” the kid jumped into the air and kicked the creature in the head. Amazingly, the zombie’s head snapped off its neck and went flying into the crowd.

  Ian stumbled through the door past Brent and Roo, arms and legs pinwheeling. He crashed into a pallet of boxes and crumpled to the floor, panting.

  “Max!” Brent yelled.

  The kid kicked another zombie down, then turned and pelted up the ramp, head down, arms and legs pumping. As Brent shoved the door shut, he could see the zombie horde converging on the back of the supermarket.

  “This door isn’t going to hold,” he said, throwing the deadlock.

  “We’re dead!” Ian sobbed in the dark. “Oh, daddy, we’re going to die!”

  “No, we’re not!” Muriel scolded him. “We can climb the shelves and hide in the rafters.”

  Brent looked up, but it was too dark to see.

  The door shuddered as the first of the zombies crashed into it. The first blow nearly took it off its hinges.

  Roo screamed again.

  “Max, have you still got those matches?” Brent called.

  “Yeah,” Max said. Light flared, revealing his teary face. He held the match up, wiping his cheek with his free hand.

  “See!” Muriel said, pointing toward the ceiling. “There’s a partial floor up there. We can climb up there and hide. The zombies won’t climb up after us. I don’t think they can climb.”

  The door shuddered again as more zombies battered against it.

  Brent gestured at them. “Over here! Everyone start climbing!” He pushed Roo toward one of the shelving units.

  Hands trembling, Roo seized ahold of one of the steel shelves and pulled herself up. Her pregnancy wasn’t far enough along to impede her movements, and she was halfway to the rafters in just a few seconds.

  Brent pushed Muriel ahead of him. She kissed him on the cheek before she started up. An older woman, she progressed a little slower than Roo. Brent put his hands on her plump behind and pushed. Ian was climbing one of the other shelves. The kid stood behind Brent, holding up his match.

  The match burned down to his finger, and he dropped it with a hiss.

  “I can’t see!” Roo shrilled.

  “Hang on!”

  Another match flared.

  “Hurry!” Brent called.

  Roo climbed onto the very top shelf, then hopped to the raised deck. She peered over the side at them as Brent started up, her eyes wide and glistening. Muriel got to the top, and Roo reached out and helped her hop the divide between the shelf and the partial floor.

  The kid started up behind Brent, trying to hold the match as he climbed. The match went out and he cursed. Brent froze, waiting for him to light another. He heard the kid curse again, and the soft sound of the matchbox falling to the ground.

  “I dropped it!” the kid cried.

  In the darkness, the door of the storeroom exploded open. It crashed to the ground, admitting the zombie horde.

  “Just climb!” Brent yelled, feeling his way up in the dark.

  He got to the top shelf and crouched there for a moment, heart racing in his chest. In the dark below, the room began to fill up with zombies. He could hear them crashing through the stockroom in the dark, falling over boxes, smashing into the walls. The shelf he was on shuddered as they stumbled into the base of it.

  Panting, the kid pulled himself up and kneeled beside him. “I can’t jump across in the dark,” he yelled in Brent’s ear. “I can’t see!”

  Then, dimly from the supermarket, a chorus of screams. Some of the deadheads had stumbled upon the occupied section of the building. The zombie howls increased in volume. The dark below seemed to ripple and heave as the zombie horde stampeded through the storeroom.

  Lightning flickered in the windows. For a second Brent could see them below: wall-to-wall zombies, racing now through the plastic partition and into the supermarket beyond.

  We’ve killed them all, Brent thought, but the horror of it was too great. He instantly blocked it from his mind.

  They heard gunfire, both inside the building and outside of it.

  A floodlight went on in the yard, and faint, indirect light spilled into the loading bay. Before he lost that wan illumination, Brent leapt across the gap to the raised storage platform. The kid followed a moment later. Muriel and Roo huddled over them, stroking and kissing them as they crouched there and trembled.

  “It’s too far!” Ian called from the top of his shelf. He was standing upright, but the gap between his shelf and the platform was a good eight feet.

  Brent studied the rafters, trying to figure out a safe passage for his friend to cross. Ian could join them if he was brave enough to shuffle across the beams.

  Before he could find a path, however, several zombies spotted the lanky young man standing atop the shelf. They seized the steel shelving unit and began to yank on it. With a sharp report, its bolts broke free of the cinderblock wall. The shelf toppled forward into the crowd. Ian wailed as he fell backward into the zombie horde. They converged on him, clawing at his flesh, tugging on his limbs.

  Brent closed his eyes before they tore him limb from limb.

  32. Aftermath

  The morning of their third day in the rafters, Brent woke to discover that the stockroom below was clear of zombies.

  In the silence, the breathing of his companions seemed overly loud. To Brent, they sounded like The Three Stooges from the old black-and-white comedy shorts, but it was a good sound, a reassuring sound. Muriel was on his left, Roo on his right, and the kid was on the other side of Roo. The kid slept on his side, one arm draped across Roo’s waist. Muriel and Roo were both snoring.

  Brent sat up and tried to summon some spit into his mouth.

  Three days…

  It had taken the zombie herd three days to pa
ss through the town of Manfried. For three days, the quartet of survivors had huddled in the rafters of the building, with no food and no water and nothing to keep them warm but their own body heat. It was the longest three days of his life, the miserable tedium relieved only once, when the kid attempted to amuse them by hanging his rear end over the side of the platform and crapping on the heads of the zombies below.

  The screams of the dying had faded shortly after the zombie horde invaded the building that first night, but the sounds of destruction had continued until dawn. By the end of the second day, the stream of zombies passing through the building had thinned, but there were still too many for them to chance climbing down and making a run for the truck.

  Brent sat and watched the doors for over an hour, but saw no zombie stragglers. Not a single one. Perhaps they could climb down today. They had to climb down today. They were dying of dehydration.

  Sadly, Brent thought his need for a cigarette was almost as maddening as his thirst for water. He had become terribly addicted during his captivity at the breeding facility. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he would die for a cigarette right now, but it was a close call.

  Muriel woke next, and sat watching the doors with him for a while. She sat close to him for warmth, and he put his arm around her shoulder, thinking vaguely that he liked the way she smelled. Even unwashed, she had an appealing scent.

  “I think we should climb down,” Muriel said finally.

  “I agree,” Brent replied.

  “Let’s do it before the kiddies wake up,” she suggested. “We’ll scout the area. Bring them back something to drink.”

  “Okay,” Brent said.

  He stood, and for a second he had to hold onto a beam as his head swam dizzily, the world around him fading in and out.

  “You okay?” Muriel asked.

  “Yeah. Just give me a second.” Brent weathered the dizzy spell, blinking his eyes rapidly. When it had passed, he held his hand out to Muriel. “Careful standing up,” he said.