“Moon is full, solstice, good luck for us,” Ecky said, as he scanned the hillside town.
Bobby marveled at the silvery glint that lighted on every surface like a diamond coating. Transfixed, he held his breath, afraid that even the slightest tick of his body would make it all go away. He had never seen anything more beautiful. The threat that moved hundreds of yards ahead of them meant nothing to him then. He didn’t even feel Ecky take the rifle right off his shoulder. He could only stare in awe.
The stars rolled across the sky. The hillside, suburban cluster of what used to be, swept below the universe’s majesty, a forgotten footnote of a once proud people, a brushstroke filled with afterthoughts. Vinyl siding, foreign and domestic cars, some still parked neatly in their driveways rusting away with flat tires and decades of dirt, filled the small town. Wraiths, remnants these things were, and to Bobby they were mere hints of a history lesson of the world before.
Bobby wondered how many of the small town’s inhabitants never made it out, how many decided to end it in the face of what had happened to their world.
“Hey, come back to real world,” Ecky said, snapping his fingers in Bobby’s face.
“How long has it been, how many winters . . . no, how many years?” Bobby asked, stumbling over the foreign reference to the passage of the seasons.
“I try not to remember." Ecky peered deeper into the scope. He watched the few Creepers working their way through the snow. He wondered what had brought them back, had they missed some on their sweep all those winters ago, or had something drawn them here?
“Maybe, but you can’t forget. If the First War ended around—”
“—You mean when we gave in to our primal fears and ran for hills? Was November of 2018.”
Bobby let the years sink in. He let the world that came before him sink in, at least, what remained of it. It was strange, though, he knew what a car was, what it did, and even watched them in motion on the old discs, still, they were utterly bizarre to him. He couldn’t even wrap his mind around what they’d be like all running at the same time on debris free roads.
“I count five.”
“There are more,” Bobby added.
“And you know this how?" Ecky pulled back from the rifle with a wry smile on his face.
“There’s always more,” Bobby said with a nod towards the far side of the town. Three more figures broke from the tree line and shambled through the open field.
“Ol’ Randy taught you well.”
“Do you think he’s okay?”
Ecky handed the rifle back to Bobby, dodging the question. He shouldered his CAR-15 and looked up at the moonlit town.
“He’s okay . . . isn’t he,” Bobby asked again. His heart thudded at the thought of something awful befalling the closest thing he had to a real father.
“He’s okay. Can’t kill that one,” Ecky said almost choking on the words. After having witnessed all that unnecessary death he wasn’t so sure about even Ol’ Randy’s survivability, but he had to keep them going. He had to keep moving, keep pushing them both through the coming winter and beyond. To stop was to die, and he had to keep young Bobby motivated to survive. Right now it was easy for him to do, but he wasn’t so sure if he could keep it up once the adrenaline of flight wore off, and the hunkering down of true wilderness survival began.
“We have to clear town,” Ecky said.
“I thought you already cleared it,” Bobby chided.
“Look, don’t get smart. That was years ago and no telling what came through, what’s still inside, for all we know people hiding in those houses."
“No people." Bobby shook his head. The glistening gray light and nature’s silence reaffirmed his statement. He knew there were no living, breathing people in any of those houses. That time had long since passed. Only the dead called Gainer home now . . . only the dead.
“Let me do it, Ecky. They can’t change me! I have nothing to fear," Bobby began to rummage in his pack. “I can use the hammer and be quiet.”
“First mistake is last mistake, Bobby. Can’t turn you, no, they can’t do that, but dirty, rotten mouths infect flesh, give you a different infection. No antibiotics, no medicine, no sound living conditions, no Settlement,” Ecky nodded, “You are dead before winter even gets going. Who knows . . . maybe I bury you in these hills?”
“But I can do it!”
“But nothing. We wait till first light. We work in team. We clear. Slow work, safe work, we clear, and like bears, we hunker down for winter. Elk are around, plenty of snow and ice, plenty of shelters. If we are safe and smart we make it to spring. Remember turtle story, Bobby, always remember turtle story.”
“Tortoise.”
“Whatever,” Ecky said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Slow. No sleep tonight. We keep watch on Creepers. I don’t want one stumble-flanking us.”
Bobby’s grip on the hammer tensed, and he felt a stirring of glee with the reassuring weight of the tool. He’d get some space back for humanity, as the vets used to say. The moon stood sentinel over the hillside town, a gray ghost keeping watch on the dead that were not quite dead anymore.
* * * * *
Bobby pumped his short legs double time to keep pace with Yannek. The dawn brought a measure of heat with it, and quickly turned the snow to slush and mud. Which was bad for the Creepers, but even worse for Bobby and Yannek. Footing, after all, was one of the traits, along with balance, that the living could always rely on. But Bobby was finding that his legs were nearly as useless as a Creeper’s. He still had his brains, though.
Bobby left his rifle and pack in a small black sedan that was rolled on its side at the end of the block so he could have freedom of movement. He held the hammer out wide and low. Ecky ran parallel to his position with the crowbar. They watched each other and they cleared each street, working their way from the outside in.
A rotting woman in a muddy pair of jeans and a dingy flannel top dragged her mangled leg behind her like a child towing a teddy bear. Bobby clicked his tongue in a loud snap, drawing her attention. Her outstretched hands groped the air for him. Dirty, sloppy sounds escaped her gap-toothed mouth. Maggoty strands of black hair hung in kelp-like ringlets. Bobby ducked under her arms and swung the hammer up and at her temple. The sturdy tool knocked a half-dollar-sized hole in the skull with a crunch. Her arms dropped in an instant, her groans silenced, and Bobby moved down the road.
Ecky nearly missed the Creeper reaching for him from the open window of the Buick. He cursed himself for not paying attention. The thing, barely more than dried skin and bone, rattled as it reached out of the car window. Its eyes were gone, along with its tongue and whatever it had worn in its past life, a vintage, a fucking First War throwback. Ecky rammed the crowbar through the empty socket, sending a puff of powered brain out the back of its head.
Bobby whistled for Ecky, and pointed the hammer up the hill.
Just beyond what looked like the remnants of the corner store and post office, a group of four Creepers jostled over the carcass of an elk.
The street in that direction was devoid of cars. Strange L-shaped signs dotted the areas in front of those houses. Plaques hung from some of them, but Bobby could not make out any words, only shapes. They were boldly colored though, even weathered from exposure the shapes were familiar. Round balloons in red and blue, gold and brown curves, and there were a lot, they stretched up around the corner. Almost every house had one.
“What are those signs for?”
“Means nobody’s home.”
At the sound of their voices one of the Creepers turned in their direction. Slathered in elk blood, the fatigue-wearing bag of rot rose with a raspy growl. He looked very fresh, perhaps days old even, and he moved with quick jaunty steps.
“Not good,” Ecky mumbled under his breath. He rushed the dead soldier, if in fact the fatigue-bearer had been just that in his previous life.
Focusing on Ecky the dead soldier didn’t notice Bobby slip up behind and bury the cla
w end of the hammer through the top of its skull. Fresh gray matter and thick blood oozed out of the skull.
Drawn by the commotion, the remaining Creepers shuffled towards them.
Bobby stared at the soldier. The man’s eyes were still blue and they had not yet taken on the lifeless pallor of a rotting corpse. Something in that clean shaven face disturbed Bobby, but Ecky’s whistle made him quickly forget.
Bobby had to wriggle the hammer to get it out of the skull. He paused to look at the soldier’s fresh face once more, then he broke left, and circled around a heavyset woman whose entrails had been eaten long ago by either Creepers or wild animals, Bobby couldn’t tell, the ragged hole in her belly was splattered with elk blood and chunks of the dead animal plopped out undigested. The oddity of what he saw did not immediately register to him, for the woman’s neck cracked loudly as she tried to right herself to reach for him. Bobby ended her attempt with a swift strike to her forehead. She hit the wet snow like a deflated balloon.
Ecky swung the crowbar in a downward chop, dispatching what was left of a naked old man. Faded plastic wristbands spoke of a stint in a hospital many years prior.
“Sorry, old timer,” Ecky said a little short of breath. “We need to find house for night. After rest we start real door to door clear." Ecky eyed the dead soldier. “But first we get bodies off street . . . and hope this temperature holds to melt snow and wash blood away.”
“He’s fresh.”
“Too fresh. Look at uniform. Clean like our clothes. Very few have such luxury anymore. Only those like Folks that planned ahead and got into middle of nowhere would have stable power and water to clean with." Ecky used the crowbar to work the trunk of a black sedan open. “Not much left of woman or old man. Should all fit.”
“Do you think he’s a real soldier, or do you think he got it from a soldier?”
“Not sure. Help me get them in trunk then we check pockets. Clean uniform at first glance says yes to question, but too easy, besides all bases in Colorado empty. Even NORAD went down after First War defeat. Could have come from somewhere else, though." Ecky took the old man by the ankles and Bobby took the upper half. The frail body weighed almost nothing. “Either way, not a loner.”
“It’s possible,” Bobby said as he moved to the gutless woman.
“Maybe, not likely, loners don’t fare so well in new world.”
“No one to watch over them while they sleep. And if you can’t sleep, you can’t function,” Bobby snapped off in a monotone.
Ecky looked at him quizzically.
“Survival class. The only time I ever heard Ol’ Randy speak without his drawl.”
With the grim task finished, they stood over the soldier, and one thing became abundantly clear to Bobby. The man was no soldier. Having been raised and trained, for the most part by soldiers through the majority of his winters, he knew they prided, instructed, all but forced order and cleanliness on him and his brothers. The Creeper at his feet had never heard of order in his past life.
Although the uniform was neat, and recently cleaned, nothing else about the man spoke of order.
“He looks like he’s had a shave recently, but it’s sloppy,” Bobby commented, rubbing his own bit of peach fuzz.
“And haircut too,” Ecky added. The engineer didn’t like the implications one bit. Everything about the dead man at his feet spoke of the savage nature of the outside world. The man’s teeth were filed to points, at least those that had not rotted away from a life of neglect, so, too, were his nails, sharp and hard. A fear gripped Ecky then, and his heart began to thud. He looked at the dead solider’s feet.
No shoes. The soldier wasn’t a soldier at all. He was a wild man, a gritty child born to the savagery of this new America. No education, no hope, no guidance. From experience, Ecky knew only a handful possessed even rudimentary language and communication skills. The uniform was not a trophy either, and the haircut, what was this man up to before the Creepers got to him? Ecky’s mind painted a horrible picture, but he pushed it out.
“Grab his legs,” Ekcy pointed, motioning to Bobby to hurry up.
“Where are his shoes?”
“Never mind that. Get him in trunk,” Ecky said, then added, “quickly." He didn’t want to alarm Bobby, for the boy had been performing admirably under such tremendous pressure. But Ecky found himself looking over his shoulder and to the tree line. The wild men never traveled alone. Like wolves they hunted in packs, these new tribes of dead America, scouring the wasteland for food, and they had no qualms about eating other people.
They had to pick a house and hunker down. Ecky hoped he was wrong about his suspicions, but his instincts were never wrong, after all, they had carried him for nearly twenty years in this hell. He retrieved their packs and kept the CAR-15 ready.
“What now?” Bobby asked, scanning the town nervously.
“We find home.”
The place was in sore need of landscaping, but the last lawnmower went out of commission two decades ago, besides, the tall, wild growing brush suited the place, and it provided ample cover to the lower floor windows.
Ecky walked the perimeter of the abandoned home. He felt eyes watching him from the shadowed windows, but each peek, each watchful glance, proved his fears false. This house had been empty for a very, very long time.
The gray vinyl siding weathered the years well, with only a few gaps, some mold, and a couple of missing panels to show for it. The long, peaked roof’s high angels kept the heavy snowfall from building up and damaging it over the years. Ecky found only minor damage on his brief inspection. It had a sizeable plot, and was open on every side, with a clear view all the way around. The closest neighboring houses were several hundred feet away in each direction.
With no broken windows Ecky liked what he saw so far. He whistled for Bobby.
“Clear so far,” Bobby said. He adjusted the rifle on his shoulder. “Grass and weeds are thick, but from what I could see through the basement windows . . . it looks deserted.”
The wind picked up at the boy’s words, as steely gray clouds danced before the Rockies in the distance. Another storm was not far off.
Bobby still didn’t understand why Ecky wanted him to keep the rifle slung on his back. The long barrel and heaviness of the weapon made it cumbersome and difficult to maneuver with. But Ecky had insisted, and their packs followed them inside the house as well, though, they left them in the green carpeted foyer.
The moment they entered the home with the help of Ecky’s crowbar Bobby didn’t like the smell. A mix of stale air, rot, and mold filled his nostrils, and something sickly sweet, something familiar, tickled the back of his throat.
There were dead inside.
Bobby tightened his grip on the hammer.
The house was almost completely quiet, save for the creaking of support beams when the wind gusted. Bobby squinted in the dim light, bands of uneven grayness angled through the tall windows, revealing much about the former occupants of the home.
Green carpet covered the large open room and it seemed to meld perfectly with the rich dark wood of the walls. Heavy pieces of furniture, pale with dust, were neatly arranged around a stone fireplace. A pile of rodent droppings lined the mantle, along with the spoils of its foraging: bits of pillow stuffing, tinfoil, twigs. To the left, a series of trophies gazed at them with plastic eyes, and a fat Black Widow hung from her web between the antlers of a buck.
Beyond the furniture of the main room was an open kitchen, and a dark hallway. Bobby moved around the furniture in a creeping thief’s step. The kitchen looked a lot like the one back in the Settlement. Large cast iron shapes dominated the open space. It was surprisingly clean. Everything had been neatly put away, no dishes in the sink, or on the counter, and nothing appeared to have been disturbed.
Ecky clicked his tongue.
Bobby followed the engineer’s pointing finger to the hallway then moved up to it. Just beyond the threshold the darkness presented his mind with many a col
orful scenario, but he ignored what could be, and focused on what was.
Ecky shined the flashlight down the hall, expelling the darkness.
The hallway ran behind the main room and had two doors on the right, both closed, and stairs leading up to the second floor. Bobby approached the first door and winced as the floorboards creaked loudly under his weight. He held his breath for what seemed like ages, but heard nothing in response. He leaned against the wall.
Ecky moved to the other side of the door and nodded to the doorknob.
Bobby tested it, not locked, he gently opened the door to an ominous, rickety looking staircase that ended in the deep darkness of the basement.
“Close door, we clear last,” Ecky whispered. Though the engineer didn’t like the prospect of leaving a large room unchecked behind them, he preferred to have the escape options of the windows.
Cobwebs, gilded by Ecky’s flashlight, zigzagged up the staircase to the second floor. Bobby stopped at the next door and opened it. The door, in sore need of oil, squeaked so loud it made Bobby jump back. If anything, or anyone was in the house, the door revealed the intruders’ position. Again the house remained silent, nothing stirred.
The small room had a made bed against the back wall, and simple, country style furniture along the others. A framed picture of a smiling old woman beamed at them. Bottles of perfume covered one dresser, but otherwise the room was empty. Only dust and dead bugs called the space beneath the bed home.
Together Bobby and Ecky took the stairs.
The second floor was one large, open room. Rough, darkly stained beams ran along the ceiling, and a slate gray carpet covered the floor. A massive triangular window made up almost all of the far wall. Just in front of it a large four post bed and . . .
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