Fire Birds

by Shane Gregory

  I tried to inject as much disgust as I could into that last sentence. I opened the front door of the house, looked around for any close zombies, and ran out to the car–a white, late 1980s Ford Tempo. Grant was right; it was shit. There was so much dried gore in the back seat that it looked like a big scab. There was a body back there that had almost completely decomposed. It smelled plenty bad. Ordinarily, I would have looked for other options, but this was perfect. The keys were in it. I climbed in and started it. It had a half tank of gas.

  I revved the engine, and Grant stepped out on the porch. I waved for them to come. When they both exited the house, I rolled down my window, “I’m driving, and Sara will need to sit up front with me.”

  He hurriedly escorted her to the passenger door and helped her in. After he shut her door, she laid her head on her window and closed her eyes. She didn’t act like she was bothered by the smell. Then Grant opened the rear door and balked.

  “Dude, what the fuck?” he said.

  “Just shove it over to the side, bro,” I said, grinning. “Come on. We need to go.”

  “I am not riding in there,” he said.

  “Then shut the door,” I said. “Sara and I are going to the lake with or without you. You can go back through the woods and wait at the stables until we get back. You need to make up your mind, because they’re getting close.”

  “This is not cool,” he said, and he pushed on the skull of the corpse. It was stuck to the seat. Finally the head popped loose and fell to the floorboard. A clump of hair came off in his hands. He gave the scapulae one hard shove with both hands, and the other bones collapsed against each other somewhat like an accordion. There was still enough sinew to keep most of the bones connected together, so he had to sort of fold it in half. “Not cool, bro.”

  CHAPTER 10

  I didn’t make him sit back there the whole trip. We exchanged the scabby Tempo for a new minivan fifteen minutes in. The van was slow to start and sputtered a little at first. I was having that experience more often with vehicles. I figured the gasoline was starting to go bad, but I didn’t know for sure. Maybe all these cars didn’t like sitting idle for so long. They needed someone to crank them and “blow the soot out” as they say.

  There was an mp3 player plugged into the van’s stereo. We thought we’d get to listen to some music for the rest of the trip, but the player was loaded with lectures from motivational speakers and a couple of sermons by that preacher from that super church. Even though it wasn’t music, I played them anyway, because it made me feel a little like I was normal again.

  -Anything was possible if we believed.

  -The Universe was matching our vibrations and sending us what we wanted.

  -We could make a fortune every month if we followed our dreams.

  -God just wanted to make us smile.

  These were the things we heard. I wanted to believe every word. I wanted it all to be true, but outside the air-conditioned interior of that van, there weren’t many smiles or good vibrations. I looked in the mirror at Grant. He didn’t notice me. He was frowning out his window, and I thought I saw a tear running down his cheek. It might have been because of Sara or it might have been over the disconnect between the words he heard and the reality he knew; it might have been sweat. I turned up the air conditioning. Sara slept the whole time, and I let her.

  We arrived at the cabin around noon. No one came out to greet us. Grant and I left Sara in the van and went inside. I saw a duffle bag and a backpack sitting in front of a futon. On the futon were three long guns and several boxes of ammunition.

  “Julio?” Grant said walking through the small house. I stayed in the front room. When he returned, he shrugged. “They must be down by the lake.”

  “Is this normal?” I said, pointing to the guns and bags.

  “Normal?”

  “Do you always keep this stuff in here?” I said in an impatient tone.

  “No,” he said with a puzzled look on his face. “Maybe they were getting ready to leave.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “Is there any reason why they would go down to the lake? Did you have a boat down there?”

  “We’ve seen boats tied up to docks, but not close by.”

  “Maybe they walked down the road to another cabin. Where’s the closest one?”

  “That way,” he said, pointing. “But why would they do that?”

  “They would need a vehicle.”

  “Oh,” he said. He thought for a moment, then added, “There aren’t any cars at that house. “

  I sighed, “Help me out here, man. Where would they go for a vehicle?”

  “There’s a bait shop about two miles farther. There was a truck there.”

  “Let’s grab this stuff, and we’ll go find them.”

  “Shouldn’t we go check the lake first?”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll load this stuff.”

  “You’re going to leave me. Aren’t you, bro?”

  “I’m not an asshole,” I said. “Go have a look. I’ll wait for you.”

  I carried out the backpack and one of the guns–a 12 gauge shotgun–to the back of the van. When I opened the back, Sara looked back at me.

  “How are you feeling?” I said.

  “Not great, but I’ll live. Where are the others?”

  “Grant has gone down by the lake to look for them, but I’m guessing they walked to the bait shop. They had stuff packed and ready to leave. They were probably coming back for it.”

  “We could just wait for them,” she said.

  “It’s quicker this way. I’m going back in for the rest of the stuff.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “I need you to rest.”

  There were three more guns on the futon; all three were hunting rifles. I carried them out then went back in for the duffle bag. I did a quick look in the kitchen for any supplies, but there were none. When I got the bag out to the van, I opened it, hoping to find some water. There were some clothes, granola bars, a first aid kit and a couple of books. The backpack had two small bottles of a generic red sports drink. I twisted the top on one and had a drink. It was warm and too sweet, but I was thirsty. I shut the back of the van and took the rest of the bottle up to Sara.

  “Here,” I said. “I couldn’t find any water.”

  “There’s a rain barrel around the back of the cabin,” she said. “There should be a jug of bleach sitting next to it.”

  “Is there anything to put the water in?” I said. “I didn’t see anything in the house.”

  She nodded as she took a drink. She swallowed and said, “We keep empty containers with it.”

  I walked around to the rear of the cabin. There was a blue barrel next to the house under the downspout. It was full from the previous night’s storm. A white gallon jug with a blue lid sat on the ground next to it. There was no label, but I recognized it to be a bleach container. I opened it and sniffed it to make sure.

  There was pile of empty plastic bottles and jugs on the ground there too. Most of them had originally been juice bottles. I grabbed one and dunked it down into the barrel and held it there until the bubbles stopped. I filled another the same way then poured a little out of each to make room for the bleach. I put a small amount into each bottle, screwed on the lids, and shook them up. Then I held one up to the sunlight. It wasn’t exactly pure. The rain had washed a lot of dirt out of the air and off the roof.

  I heard footsteps and looked into the woods. Grant was coming up the trail from the lake. He saw me and came over.

  “They’re not there,” he said. He took one of the bottles from me and was about to drink, but I stopped him.

  “Give the bleach a little time to kill anything that might be in there,” I said.

  “How much did you put in? It only takes a few drops for a bottle this size.”

  “About a capful,” I said.

  “That’s too much, bro. I have a chart you can look at.”

  “I have my own chart,”
I lied. “The bleach will dissipate.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not what I read,” he said. “This probably isn’t safe now. It’s probably safer to drink straight from the barrel.”

  “Go for it, bro. When you get the shits, don’t come crying to me.”

  “Give me one of those empty bottles, and I’ll mix my own water.”

  “Sara has a bottle in the–“

  There was a deep howl nearby in the woods. Grant turned and stared into the trees. I stepped beside him, listening. For a while, all I could hear was his heavy breathing and the occasional bird. Then there was another howl.

  “Is it getting closer?” he whispered.

  “I can’t tell,” I whispered back.

  It howled again.

  “I think it’s alone,” I said. “No others are answering it. Come on.”

  I grabbed the two bottles of water and went back to the van. Sara was standing beside the vehicle with the door open, looking in the direction of the sounds.

  “It’s only one,” I said to her as I approached. “We don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “How’s your back, babe?” Grant said.

  “The same,” she said, continuing to stare into the woods.

  “It’s okay,” I said touching her arm. “It’s just the one.”

  She nodded, “I don’t like it. There haven’t been any here for days…any.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” I said. “Let’s go find your friends.”

  We all climbed in the van, and I pulled down the long driveway toward the gravel road.

  “Take a left on this road and then a right when we get to the paved road,” Sara said. “The bait shop isn’t far.”

  I turned off the stereo and air conditioning then rolled down my window. I drove slowly, listening for more howls or other noises coming from the woods. Mostly what I heard was the sound of the gravel under the tires. Grant leaned in between Sara and I from the seat behind us and pointed ahead.

  “Up there,” he said.

  There was a person running down the middle of the road toward us. Behind them, a farther distance away, was a group of twenty or more. When the single figure got closer, I could see it was Christine. She was carrying a satchel in one hand and what appeared to be a length of 2x4 in the other.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Get up there, bro. She needs us,” Grant yelled, gripping my shoulder.

  I mashed the accelerator, and Grant opened the side door of the van. When I pulled alongside her, she climbed in. She was crying. I got a closer look at her than I had before. I could see spots on her brow, lip, and nose where she’d had piercings. The jewelry was gone however. I imagined she’d had the Goth thing going on before the end of the world and decided for whatever reason not to maintain her look. It might have been too much trouble.

  “Where’s Julio?” Grant said.

  “You asshole!” Christine screamed and slapped Grant. “You left us!”

  “I was coming back,” Grant said, cowering.

  “Julio is dead!” she wailed. “He’s fucking dead, and you did it!”

  “I was coming back. I…I came back.”

  “Are you sure he’s dead? Where is he?” I said. “Maybe we can help him.”

  “Up there,” she cried. “In the woods.”

  The creatures that were chasing her were closing in.

  “You didn’t make it to the bait shop?” I said.

  “We made it there,” she said. “But we had to come back because there weren’t any keys to start the truck, and the area was full of goons.”

  I plowed into the approaching zombies and rammed my way through to the other side.

  “Tell me when I’m close,” I said.

  “Up there,” she said. “Up there by that sign.”

  There was a deer crossing sign ahead. I checked my mirror to see how many pursued us. There were a few, but they were struggling. I skidded to a stop next to the sign.

  “Everybody stay put,” I said. “I’m going to check it out. Grant you take the wheel.”

  “Bro, I–“

  “Shut up!” I said. “Just do it!”

  I hopped out and pulled my sidearm. I entered the woods by the sign. I didn’t see anything. I wasn’t sure how deeply into the woods I needed to go before I found him. I heard a moan. Ahead and to my left was a zombie with its back to me. It was facing a tree. I approached it as quietly as I could.

  “We have to leave!” Grant yelled from the van.

  The zombie perked up a little as if trying to listen, but it didn’t move from that spot. I took another step, and Grant honked the horn.

  “Dude, they’re close!”

  “Dumbass,” I said under my breath. Then I yelled, “Dammit, just drive down the road and come back!”

  The creature turned and stared at me.

  “Yo, man,” said a faint voice.

  “Julio?” I said.

  “I’m in the tree,” he said.

  I looked up over the zombie’s head, and behind a clump of leaves, I could just make out one of Julio’s legs hanging down.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked as I holstered my weapon and looked around for a big enough stick to club the creature.

  “They got me good,” he said.

  I picked up a fallen tree limb. It was about twelve feet long, forked, and still had the finger-like branches and dried leaves on the end. I held it up to keep the zombie from getting closer.

  “Can you climb down?” I said.

  He didn’t answer me.

  The zombie walked into the limb, breaking off many of the smaller branches and wedging into the fork.

  “We have a van out on the road,” I said. “You need to climb down if you can.”

  Then I heard rustling in the leaves in the tree, then small branches snapping, and then Julio spilled out. He hit the ground with a loud thump! He had fallen at least ten feet.

  “Julio?” I said. “Julio, are you okay?”

  He didn’t move.

  I steered the zombie around and pushed it against a large tree. Then I jammed the end of the limb into the ground, pinning it there. It leaned against the limb trying to reach me, but it was stuck there for the time being. I ran over and got on my knees next to Julio. I rolled him over. He was unconscious. His yellow t-shirt was torn and blood-soaked at the bottom, and he had bites all over his face, arms, and stomach. The corners of his mouth were foamy. I checked his pulse, and it felt weak. I heard the van returning. Grant was on the horn again.

  “Come on, Julio,” I said. “Wake up.”

  I tried to lift him, but I just wasn’t strong enough. I was about to go get the others to help me, when Grant came running into the woods.

  “Over here!” I yelled, waving my arm.

  Grant rushed over, “Please tell me he’s not dead.”

  “He’s not,” I said. “But he’s really chewed up. Help me pick him up.”

  “Maybe I can lift him,” Grant said. “I was a volunteer firefighter. We train for stuff like that.”

  “I don’t think you can,” I said. “He’s heavy and–“

  “Move over,” he said.

  To my surprise, Grant hefted Julio up on his shoulders.

  “He’s definitely heavy,” he said with a grunt.

  I led the way back to the road, which wasn’t far. The minivan wasn’t there; I saw it farther down the road.

  “Shoot your pistol,” Grant said. “I told Christine to drive back when she heard the gun.”

  I pulled my pistol, and not wanting to waste a bullet, I stepped just inside the tree line and fired it off at the zombie pinned to the tree. I missed. The van pulled onto a side road, turned around, and headed back.

  When it pulled up to us, Grant set Julio in through the side door then we climbed in. Then we lifted him up into the second row seat, and Grant crawled over to get one of the bags from the back.

  “Is he still alive?” Christine said from the driver’s seat.

  “Ba
rely,” I said.

  She shifted the van into park and was about to come back to us.

  “Go,” I said. “We’re going back to the stables.”

  “I want to see him,” she cried.

  “Get us to the main highway first.”

  After we reached the main road and away from the group of undead, I took over as the driver. There was a first aid kit in one of the bags. Grant and Christine did the best they could with the limited medical supplies.

  “He’s not waking up,” Christine said, stroking his cheek.

  “Do you have any antibiotics?” I asked. “Doctor Barr said the bites get infected, and they have to be treated with antibiotics.”

  Grant held up a tube of medicated ointment, “Neosporin, bro. That’s it. It’s just topical, but it’s all we have.”

  “I don’t think that’s good enough,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I’m more concerned about the Seebees,” Christine said.

  The Seebees. The last, and only, person I’d heard use that term was Bern, the young woman from Alabama. It was a shortened version of Canton B (Bern had said, “C for Canton, B for B–the Seebees.”). Another familiar term had come from Christine–“goons.” The last time I’d heard that word was from Wheeler and his men.

  “Get him awake and get him drunk,” I said. “I was bitten, and I didn’t catch it. I’ve known others that were bitten that didn’t get it.”

  “There’s no booze in here, bro.”

  “We took the vodka with us to the bait shop,” Christine said. “Julio must have dropped his bag.”

  “I didn’t see his bag in the woods,” I said. “Why didn’t you have more alcohol than that?”

  “We did,” Christine said coldly. “It was all in the van. Grant didn’t leave us any.”

  Grant didn’t respond to that.

  “We could stop at houses on the way,” Sara said.

  “How would he drink it anyway?” Christine said. “I can’t get him to wake up.”

  “I have plenty at the Lassiter place,” I said. “It’ll be close to an hour before we get there, but I’ve never seen anyone turn that quickly.”