Dahmer Flu

by Christopher Cox

  “Shh, sweetie, quiet now. It’s all right, you’re safe, we’re here, you’re okay,” She rapidly poured the near-lies into Madi’s ear as she gently stroked her hair with her fingertips.

  I kneeled to her side after one more glance into the thick darkness. “Madi, baby, it’s Daddy; you’re okay, you just had a bad dream.”

  She broke off with a higher pitch, as if her scream ended in a question. She blinked heavily and bolted upright, frantically looking in all directions. I pulled her close, and Lisa laid a reassuring hand on her small back. “Dad? We’re okay? Where’s Mom?” The dream world falling away, she remembered, and her brave facade fell away; she buried her face in my chest and sobbed. “It was real, I thought it was real,” was all she could manage between pained breaths. Lisa, too, began to weep quietly, sharply drawing in air through her nose, not allowing herself to cry out. But her tears flowed freely, like twin streams falling from her chin onto the dry ground. I didn’t know if she was crying for Madi, or for all that she had lost, or perhaps both, but for the first time in far too long, I cried, too. For the first time in my adult life, I didn’t try to stop it.

  Eventually, our tears devolved into sniffles, and then into silence. I asked Madi, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No. I’m tired, but I don’t want to sleep again.” I couldn’t blame the child. She crawled into Lisa’s lap, who welcomed her in with enveloping arms. “Promise you won’t put me down?” She asked, already making the assumption that Lisa would agree.

  “Promise,” Lisa answered.

  “Okay,” Madi mumbled, already falling asleep in the crook of Lisa’s arm. Soon, she was still, in what I could only hope was a dreamless sleep. Sweet dreams were too much to hope for, any more.

  The sky was beginning to lighten, turning the rich dark purple of dawn. Neither Lisa nor I could sleep, and she kept her promise to hold Madi. We spoke in hushed, conspiratorial whispers.

  “We don’t have any food, no water either,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  I thought for a moment. I didn’t really have one. “We walk north until we find something, I guess.”

  “That’s not much of a plan,” she said.

  “Unless you got anything better, it’s our only plan,” I replied, ending that conversation. We talked trivially as the sun began to rise, bathing the sky in lightening hues of reds, pinks and orange. With the heat of the sun, a light breeze began to rustle through the trees, and the birds began to wake for the day, singing as they darted from branch to branch. They seemed not to trust us, more than usual at least, as if they had already gotten used to living without people. As the sun rose to low above the horizon, throwing shadows in the opposite direction, Madi woke up. Peacefully, this time, rather than screaming like before.

  She smiled at Lisa, seeing that she had held her through the night. “Thank you,” she said. Lisa looked down at her and smiled a warm smile.

  Madi stood up and stretched with a cat-like enthusiasm, making sure to get every muscle. “Daddy, I’m hungry. Do we have anything to eat?”

  The question stung, knowing that we didn’t- the guards had removed the small amount of food that I had left from my satchel. “No, sweetie. But we’re going to go find something right now. Are you ready?”

  “I guess,” she answered. “Not like we have anything else going on.” She rolled her eyes and smiled, and Lisa chuckled at her perception. We took a slow pace along a faint animal trail through the sparse woods; I didn’t want to exert ourselves without any food or water. As I recalled from my childhood, that didn’t work too well in ‘Oregon Trail’ on my school’s ancient Apple computer; I never made it past The Dalles anyways, which wasn’t much comfort now. As we walked, I could feel my throat getting dry and starting to swell with thirst. I was sure Madi was feeling the same, but she didn’t complain; instead she walked on, her thoughts and discomforts kept to herself.

  Eventually, we found the battered remains of a long-disused back road. It was quiet, absent of even the still corpses of vehicles, and the plant-life was slowly winning the war to retake the asphalt. We stood there for a moment, unsure.

  “Which way?” Lisa asked.

  I threw an imaginary coin into the air and caught it, slapping it to my wrist and peeking under my hand. “That way,” I said, pointing to the left. It was as good as any, and I was fairly confident in the luck of a coin toss, until I remembered that had happened entirely in my mind.

  We walked along the lonely highway, which would most likely never again see traffic. Instead, the only sound was our soft footsteps and the occasional panicked animal escaping noisily into the brush. I liked having animals nearby; it meant that an undead horde wasn’t too close, at least. They would tolerate a small number, just avoiding the stragglers, but they would clear out reliably when the masses came close.

  As we crested a gently sloping hill, the top of a tall church spire came into view; a pointed white structure that desperately reached up to the heavens, as if confused by being left on this earth. The bells that could once be heard through the entire town now sat silent; they would someday rust and fall, without the faithful to care for them, and destroy the lower levels. We stopped at the height of the hill, and saw that the church sat nestled in the middle of a small community, which was itself cradled in a serene valley. The road we were on ran directly through the heart of the town and disappeared on the other side of the valley and into the horizon, and paralleled a lazy, tree-lined river on the northern side. A large expanse of land sat still and alone past the city and over the river, connected by the thin vein of a dirt road; a dairy farm, I imagined, although I’d never actually seen one in person.

  Every time that we came to a town, I remembered their binary nature; it would either save our lives, or cost them.

  I took advantage of the higher ground, losing track of time as I inspected the town through the binos. As if our lives depended on it, I watched each window, each street corner, each rusted vehicle. The town was a mocking facade of normalcy; beautiful, until you look too closely. The larger animals and the plant-life fought for turf; wild dogs and feral cats roamed the streets in an uneasy truce, and a single cow ambled down the sidewalk, stopping to eat from an overgrown lawn. The town was surreal, but at least it seemed to be free from the undead.

  We walked down into the valley towards the town. A large brush had grown wild and hidden the sign behind it. We stopped to read it. ‘Welcome to Ashland! Population 549.” Another sign had been erected next to it; this second sign was faded and cracked by the sun, but the red hand-painted letters were still clear… ‘FORSAKEN’.

  Despite the warning, if that’s what it was, we pressed into town, having no real other choice. The first home that we had come across wasn’t exactly right- the lavish windows were too large, and the glass door wouldn’t even hold against living attackers, much less even a small group of the undead. The homes, in general, seemed mostly intact, although they were showing their neglect. It looked as though the citizens had either left in phases, or had a sharp difference in their perception of the danger. Some of the homes, in no particular order, were securely boarded on the windows and across the doors, while others were left as though the owners had expected to return shortly. The town itself told the odd story that, to me, was about the transition between hope and despair.

  The second home, however, was perfect; at least it would be for a temporary shelter. It was a simple, rustic two-story home, the windows were smaller and boarded securely, and the door had two large planks crossed against it, which were themselves nailed to the frame. A single child’s shoe sat alone on the porch; it was faded purple with Velcro fasteners, and had been there long enough for a small plant to grow inside. I told Madi and Lisa to stay, and I circled the home. Each window was secured, and the back door was closed and locked; it held firm when I pulled on the knob. As much as I could see of the second floor, those windows were secure as well. I ca
me back around to the girls.

  “Okay, girls, I’m going to find a way inside and I’ll let you in the back. If anything happens, just run the way we came, we can be pretty sure it’s safe that way. If you need to leave, don’t wait for me; I’ll meet up with you later on.”

  I don’t believe that Lisa was fooled, but Madi seemed convinced. Lisa answered, “Okay, we’ll wait around back. Be safe.”

  Madi gave me a quick hug and looked me in the eye with every bit of sincerity that an eight-year-old girl could manage. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  As Lisa led Madi by the hand to the back of the house, the thought occurred to me; was she still eight? Had her birthday come and gone? It may have without our notice recently, as I had no real idea of how much time had passed since this started, and the season was about right. I made a mental note to find a calendar, maybe something with moon phases, and try to determine the day. If she had a birthday due, she deserved to have it. But, for now, I needed to find a way into the house- my small contribution to make sure that she saw her next birthday, if nothing else.

  I considered the home. The windows were all closed and the boards held firm. The owners, the previous ones at least, seemed to be pretty sure they’d be back, if they weren’t still inside for better or for worse. I wished that I had a weapon; a handgun, a bat, or even a sizable stick, as I thought about going into this strange home.

  One advantage that I had over the undead is that I had the coordination to climb; at least, I hoped that was an advantage that I had over them. I didn’t want to compromise the first floor, so I’d have to go in through the second. I looked methodically, near and around the home, hoping to find a ladder that would reach the window. And in the last place I’d expect to find one, I didn’t. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  The latticework complained as I climbed awkwardly and slowly towards the second story with a heavy rock cradled in my arm. With one hand holding the stone, I had to let go completely to reach higher, having to balance while I quickly grasped for the next handhold, and each time, the jolt caused the aged wood to complain ever more. Still, I continued to climb. I reached the top and positioned to swing wide with the stone, hoping to shatter the glass. I swung, but not hard enough for the surprisingly strong double pane. The glass cracked, and the rock slipped from my hand, falling solidly to the ground and kicking up a small cloud of dust. I stared, dumbstruck, and cursed as I slowly climbed down, being careful not to disturb the alarmingly loose lattice. Slowly and carefully I climbed back to the top, feeling the wood sway as I climbed. Again, I reached the top and, again, I swung. Harder this time, knowing I wouldn’t have another chance. The glass shattered with a satisfying crash, accompanied by the dull thud of rock on wood.

  The wood itself was loose enough that I was able to push it free from the frame, causing one of the planks to fall to the floor and sunlight to cut into the dark room, spotlighting the disturbed dust that danced in the beam. Slowly, I brought my face close to the opening to peer inside, to see if the noise had attracted any attention from anything that remained inside. It wouldn’t have been the first time that a loved one was left behind by escaping family members, only to break loose later and be found by a scavenger like myself.

  The room was quiet and still, with only the spiders watching from their silent webs. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out the shape of a bed against the left-hand wall, and a wide chest of drawers against the far side. A television sat alone and silent on top of the chest, and the bedroom door had been left open. I couldn’t see into the pitch dark hallway, but the room itself was eerily quiet. I pulled the flashlight from my bag and shined it inside, careful to use only as much battery life as I needed to. Still, the room was empty.

  I killed the beam and slid the light back into my bag, then pushed the remaining planks to the floor with the other; the clatter of wood echoed violently in the empty room. Still nothing moved as I pulled myself from the lattice and over the windowsill, clattering off of a low shelf and falling onto the plush carpeted floor. The room was plain and sparsely decorated; I ran the flashlight beam against the wall, and saw a neatly made bed and noted the lack of family pictures or personal affects. The sliding door was open, showing the closet to be empty. Most likely this was, at one time a guest bedroom, making the closed door to the right the guest bathroom.

  The first of many doors. I still hated doors.

  I turned the knob, trying to be as quiet as possible and hoping that there was nothing that would hear it inside. I inched the door open, ready to jerk it shut if anything moved and shone the light ahead, which reflected off the mirror and lit up the half-bathroom with an uneven glow. Everything was in a very exact place, evenly and neatly, as if company was expected. I started to close the door when I heard the slight ‘thump’.

  I strained my ears, I had to be sure. I wouldn’t have Madi in the same home with one of the ‘stalkers, and needed for it to be clear. I heard it again. ‘thump’. Louder this time. I pushed the door open all the way; it hit the wall. Nothing behind it, but the sound was clearly coming from the bathroom. It was hard to hear over my beating heart, which had found its way into my throat, but I could hear the noise again, louder. Another sound echoed in the small room. I noticed then that the cupboard under the sink was moving; it pushed out slightly, and then fell back with another hollow thud.

  I began to hear a faint, pained wheezing and wondered what could possibly be inside; it couldn’t have been any worse than what I imagined. A child? A starving pet? I reached over the sink and picked up the decorative hand soap dispenser; when I opened the cabinet, I didn’t want my fingers to be directly near the opening and that slight bit of distance would give me an extra moment to get away if I needed to.

  I have to be sure, I convinced myself, steeling my resolve. I took a breath and hooked the lip of the counter with the tip of the dispenser. I focused the light on the widening crack as I slowly pulled, showing the unidentifiable trace of movement inside. Suddenly the door burst open forcefully; as I jumped back, I dropped the dispenser, which caught on the cabinet door and skidded across the floor and into the wall. A writhing mass fell out of the open cabinet and shattered across the floor. Rats. Literally, rats; dozens of them. Some ran screeching towards and past me, while others tried to find a way away, settling behind the toilet or back in the cabinet. A few tried to climb, panicked, up my leg and I kicked them off before I pressed myself against the door, feeling the knob sink into the soft plaster wall, while I waited for the mass to pass. Shortly, they were all gone, either hiding or having dispersed into the home.

  My heart slowed down and I let out the breath that I didn’t know I was holding. One room clear.

  From the bedroom door, I carefully peered into the dark hallway. My finger hovered over the button as I strained to look for movement in the home, anything that may have been interested in the migration of rodents. Nothing moved; the house was once again silent. I shined the beam down the hallway, to the right, where there were two other rooms on opposite walls. The end of the hallway was a wall with two picture frames, each showing a circular series of school pictures progressing through time, surrounding large images of smiling school-aged children- a boy and a girl dressed in their finest school clothes. A small half-circle table was pressed against the wall and held a clear vase filled with blue stones and colorful flowers. The flowers were crisp and blooming; they were either recently placed or made of silk.

  Directly ahead were the stairs that descended to a landing with a short bookshelf, and then folded back into the darkness below. There was a door directly to the left of the stairs; from my angle, I could see a tiled bathroom counter, and past that door was another- the only one that was already closed. I closed the bedroom door behind me and started to the right.

  The first bedroom was a young boy’s room. The bed was neatly made and covered with a spaceship comforter. Toys were precisely placed on shelves, with conspicuous empt
y spots- that was a common trend when parents took their children away, hoping to find somewhere safe. In the corner, the boy had a low writing desk that was stacked with papers and crayons. It was the only area in the room- and, so far, in the house- that was untidy. Curiosity drew me to it. I shined the light on the papers; this child, Robert, according to the juvenile scrawl at the bottom of each drawing, had drawn frightening scenes of death and terror in deep hues of reds and grays. While not entirely photorealistic, what was represented in the drawings were terrifying, if only for the reason that Robert was aware enough to know what had happened to the world and close enough to the dangers that he felt the need to represent it. Hundreds of papers, hundreds of drawings, hundreds of violent and bloody depictions. I left the pictures where they lay, but face down.

  Nothing in the closet. Nothing under the bed. But propped in the corner was a t-ball bat next to a ball. At least I was armed, if only with a child’s bat. I closed Robert’s door, too.

  The opposite door was partially closed, and I peered into a pre-teen girl’s room, feeling uncomfortable with the inherent wrongness of the act. Pictures of the latest teen heartthrob decorated the walls, although the subjects were probably long since dead, and smiling pictures of friends stood in frames on the bedside table. This room, too, was empty, except for the cobwebs and rat droppings covering the feminine colors.

  I closed her door, too. I wanted to be done with the search, but I also had to be right when I let the girls in.

  The second bathroom was larger than the first, with a tall mirror running the length of the counter. I jumped when I saw the figure inside, before realizing that figure was me- I looked as badly as I felt, my eyes having sunken and my beard untrimmed and matted. Carefully, I cracked the cabinet door and peered inside. Nothing moved. I crossed to the bathtub, wishing that the shower curtain had been left open. Using the bat, I drew the curtain, relieved to see nothing inside, but puzzled by the sound of water when I moved the curtain. I looked down into the tub. Either it was intentional, to store up water before they had left, or there was a leak before the water had stopped, but the water that filled the tub was undrinkable now. The surface was coated with a layer of floating mold, which climbed over the other surfaces of the tub. I could see, barely, a solid form just below the surface, only partially visible in the murky water and through the moldy surface. Clearly, though, something was there.