Fire Birds

by Shane Gregory

  The horse that was left on the property wandered in and came within a hundred feet from us. It stopped grazing and stared at us, ears perked. Grant whistled for it, but the horse kept its distance.

  “This is deep enough,” Grant said, turning his attention back to the grave. “Let’s go ahead and lower him into the hole so Christine doesn’t have to see.”

  Even though I’d seen the deaths of hundreds of people the past few months, some of them friends, Julio’s funeral was the first I had attended since before Canton B. I didn’t know Julio, but I listened to the kind words spoken by Sara, Grant, and Christine over his grave, and got to know him a little through their descriptions. Of course, the things they had to say were skewed by grief. Even bad men, when eulogized by their friends, are portrayed as saints. The especially bad ones might be described as “less than perfect,” but that’s about as close as they are willing to come to the truth.

  Any possible exaggerations and omissions concerning Julio’s life didn’t matter to me. Honestly, I didn’t care at all; I was apathetic. I’d experienced the deaths of too many people I had loved for me to give a damn about the life of someone I didn’t know.

  Christine spoke last. She described Julio’s acts of heroism during the past few weeks. She talked about how he was “tough with a tender side.” She said she had loved him, and maybe she had. When she was finished talking, she knelt, scooped up a handful of dirt and tossed it into the shallow grave onto the bloodstained quilt. Then she and Sara walked back to the house.

  I sighed, knowing my tired body would regret the thing I was about to offer, but feeling like it was the right thing to do.

  “You can go on with them,” I said to Grant. “I’ll fill in the grave. I know he was your friend, so–”

  “Thanks, bro, but I need to do this.”

  I nodded and picked up my spade. I had so many reasons to dislike Grant–some of them justified and some of them invented and nurtured by me. I had always had some contempt for the jock/frat boy/dudebro types, but this jackass was so damned likeable. If he had not had a physical relationship with Sara, I might have made an exception in these desperate times and been his friend. As it was, my jealousy just wouldn’t allow it. I was already starting to tolerate him way too much, and I just wasn’t comfortable with that.

  We all took turns in the little RV shower that afternoon. Christine didn’t feel like eating or even being around anyone, so she carried a bottle upstairs to Sara’s bedroom and stayed. Sara, Grant, and I had a quiet and tense dinner of salad and fried Spam and squash in the kitchen while an army of snarling zombies gathered around the property outside. The noise of their lowing could be easily heard in the house.

  Sara picked at her food and was visibly startled when a particularly loud or shrill howl would rise above the other noise. Finally, she put her fork next to her plate, downed her glass of wine and stood.

  “I’m going to go check on Christine,” she said. “You two can have my food. I’m not hungry.”

  “You okay, babe?” Grant said.

  She paused. I thought she would say something, but instead, she just left the room.

  Grant stared at his plate.

  “I think she’s going to get away from us,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said, taking a big gulp of wine. “There are things to talk about, but it isn’t a good time.”

  “I can’t believe Julio is gone. I really thought he would make it.”

  “He looked like a strong guy,” I said.

  “Like a bull,” he said. He rubbed his eyes and took a drink. “I’ve lost a lot of friends. I’ve seen a lot of them turn to goons. It almost doesn’t hurt anymore. Is that wrong? Is something wrong with me?”

  I shook my head, “I don’t know. If there is, then there’s something wrong with me too.”

  “I mean, Julio was my friend, but I haven’t known him for very long. I know he’s gone, and I kind of feel sad about that, but...I don’t know…I don’t think I feel sad enough.”

  “If we felt sad about everybody, we wouldn’t be able to function. It’s all too much.”

  He nodded. “What do you think will happen to us when the goons all die off? Do you think it’ll all come crashing in on us...all that sadness?”

  “I hope not.”

  We were both quiet for a while.

  “Do you want her food?” he said.

  I shook my head, “Nah, you can have it.”

  He raked Sara’s plate into his and picked up a piece of sliced Spam. The greasy rectangle fell limply across his knuckles.

  “Isn’t there any wild game left here?” he said.

  I shrugged, “Like what?”

  “Like anything–deer, squirrels, rabbits...Kentucky has wild turkeys doesn’t it?”

  “I guess they’re out there,” I said. “I see squirrels sometimes.”

  “Why don’t you hunt some? Save this canned stuff as a last resort?”

  I shrugged again, “I don’t like to hunt. I went with my dad when I was a kid, but I don’t like killing.”

  “We’re killing all the time,” he said. “You’re not a vegetarian, right?”

  “No, but I don’t like killing animals. I would probably be a vegetarian if I ran out of Spam.”

  “Yeah, but animals have to die for you to eat meat. Somebody has to kill them.”

  “I don’t want to be the one to do it.”

  He grinned and took a bite, “Don’t sweat it, bro. I know how you feel. You might be a vegetarian anyway. I’m not convinced this stuff is really meat.”

  “Do you think I’m a hypocrite?” I said.

  “You’re a modern man, same as me. We get our meat from the store all neat and clean and shrink-wrapped.” He sighed, “We used to, anyway.”

  “Do you hunt?”

  “Not before, but I started since the Seebees and goons came and all the packaged meat went bad. I have to keep my strength up if I’m going to survive this. I try to get as much as I can from fishing. I’m an animal lover for the most part. I was going to be a chiropractor, you know. We’re supposed to be into all that holistic and hippie stuff.”

  “Sara told me the chiropractor thing was just a backup in case the NBA didn’t want you.”

  He laughed out loud. It had been a long time since I had heard laughter like that. “She said that?”

  “More or less,” I replied as I picked up the wine bottle and topped off his glass. “If we could find some more chickens, we could forget meat altogether and just eat eggs.”

  “I might be willing to go along with that, but I haven’t seen any chickens in weeks, and if I had, I would have eaten them...just being real. It’s been a long time since I had fried chicken, and that was my favorite.”

  “I have a couple of chickens,” I said. “They give me an egg or two a day, so leave them alone.”

  He raised his hand, “No prob, but listen, I’ve been thinking about that goat we saw this morning, and–“

  “No.”

  “Why not? It’s a billy. I could slaughter it, and you wouldn’t even have to–”

  “No. I don’t care. If I find a female, I’m going to need him to make more goats. After that, once I have a herd, you can kill one…if you’re still around, that is.”

  “I’m with Sara. If she stays in Kentucky, then I stay in Kentucky. I’d follow her anywhere.”

  I shook my head and poured myself some more wine. I started to say something but decided to let it go. I wasn’t going to be the one to convince him that his relationship with Sara was over. The convincing had to come from her. Grant and I could argue and fight about it, but that wasn’t going to change anything. I think Grant knew that too, but he couldn’t resist the occasional jab or assertion. Despite his posturing, or because of it, I still thought he was a man-boy.

  CHAPTER 14

  By dusk, the Lassiter farm was surrounded. Even though I had expected it, and even though the creatures were always around, it had been many weeks since I had been
cut off like that, and I didn’t like it. We weren’t confined to the house–we had several acres–but knowing we didn’t have an escape route made me feel a little claustrophobic.

  “This happened to us a few times down in Biloxi,” Grant said as the two of us stood out on the porch. “It’s no big deal as long as they can’t get in and the supplies last.”

  “It might be a good idea if you left,” I said. “You could come back and lure them away in a few days.”

  “Why me?”

  “I can’t do it,” I said. “I have to take care of things around here.”

  “Nice try, bro, but it isn’t necessary. They’ll leave. They always did for us.”

  “You didn’t have to lure them away?”

  “We did the first time, but after that, we found that if we just stayed inside for a couple of days and didn’t make too much noise they would go away on their own once the woman went off her period. If you think about it, this would be a great opportunity.”

  “For what?”

  “They’re here anyway,” he said. “If you’ve got the ammo, honey, I’ve got the time.”

  “What?”

  “Dude…Willie Nelson.”

  “I know the song,” I said. “What are you talking about?”

  “They’re coming in anyway, so let’s shoot as many as we can for the next few days. It’s not like we have to worry about noise right now.”

  “What would we do with the bodies?”

  He scratched the stubble on his jaw and shrugged, “Do you know someplace we can find a dozer?”

  “How would we get to it?”

  “Oh,” he said, his face taking on a ponderous expression that actually made him look more simian than intellectual. “I’ll go out in a few days and get one after this is all over. We’ll doze them in a pile and torch them. We might have to stay somewhere else a few days to wait for the smoke and smell to dissipate.”

  “Shoot all of them you want,” I said, “but not the ones in the road. Let them clear out on their own. I’m going to want to drive out of here in a few days, and I don’t want the road clogged with dead bodies.”

  “Do you have a generator? We could use one for a couple of days.”

  “No,” I said. “I was going to bring one out here, but I never got around to it.”

  “So you go to bed when it gets dark?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well…I guess it’s almost bedtime then. Sara will probably stay with Christine tonight. Am I going to bunk with you?”

  “Hell no,” I said.

  “Dude, the bedroom downstairs is where Julio died. You wouldn’t make me stay in there would you? Besides, the mattress is all bloody.”

  “You can sleep on the couch, or we can bring the mattress in from the RV.”

  “I forgot about the RV,” he said. “I’ll just sleep in there. Do me a favor and tell Sara where she can find me if she needs me.”

  “Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”

  “She’ll ask, bro,” he said over his shoulder as he walked down the porch toward the RV. “She’ll be mad if you don’t tell her. I’m just trying to save you some grief.”

  He was getting comfortable around me and was taking liberties. It was all jokes and playful needling on his part, but I knew he was feeling me out. He was testing me to see if I was the man Sara had said I was. I felt flattered that Sara thought so highly of me, but I doubted I was half that man. Grant’s escalating confidence troubled me a little, but it also gave me a grin. He was a young buck rattling his antlers. Even though I knew that could be trouble, I could tell that behind the insecurities and occasional bravado he was a good guy. He and I might exchange harsh words and maybe even blows, but at the end of the day we’d be able to put that conflict aside for a while and have a drink together. It was the dudebro way.

  When I woke up the next morning my bed sheets were damp. The warm, humid air from my open bedroom window made me feel clammy. I was alone in bed; Sara had not joined me during the night. I fretted for a moment that she had gone out to the RV to be with Grant, but then I forced myself to reject the thought.

  I got up, put on my boots, and strapped on my pistol. I always slept in my jeans and kept my boots and gun on the floor beside my bed. Boots, gun, and jeans (in that order) were the most important things to have for a quick getaway from zombies. They weren’t the most important things for general survival, but they were imperative for an effective escape, at least in the short term. Boots are the most important with the gun and jeans coming in a distant second. I had to protect my feet. If I hurt my feet, I couldn’t run. If I can’t run, I die. I felt somewhat safe in the Lassiter house, so I allowed myself the pleasure of sleeping without them on. But when I spend the night in less secure places, I don’t dare take them off.

  The sun was just coming up. I put on a shirt and stepped out into the hallway. I walked down to the other bedroom and gently pushed the door open. There was one person in the bed, but there wasn’t enough light to see who it was. I pulled the door shut and went downstairs.

  I found Christine sitting on the couch, her feet pulled up beneath her, staring out the front window. The crowd outside on the road was huge. She knew I had entered the room, but she didn’t acknowledge my presence. I wasn’t sure what I should say to her. I knew she was grieving over Julio, and I knew she probably blamed me a little for his death. I thought I should say something, because not speaking would have been perceived as cold rather than respectful. I sat on the opposite end of the couch. Her eyes left the window and found the floor, but still she ignored me.

  “Can I get you anything?” I said softly. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

  She shook her head.

  “I could make you some breakfast.”

  “Not hungry,” she whispered.

  “Were you able to sleep?”

  “I just want to be left alone.”

  I stood and went toward the kitchen.

  “I got scared and left him,” she said as I walked away.

  I stopped and turned around. Finally, she looked up at me. She sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue. Her eyes and nose were red. Her two-toned hair was a mess.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I offered.

  “You weren’t there,” she said. “I saw them all over him, but I didn’t help him. I just ran.”

  “They were after you too,” I said. “I saw that. There was nothing you could do. If you would have stopped, then you might have died too.”

  “I could have tried to–“

  “No,” I said. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

  “You weren’t there.”

  I returned to the couch and sat next to her. I stared out the front window at the horde of moaning, slobbering zombies. I didn’t look at Christine, but I could feel her eyes on me.

  “Did Sara tell you about the other people we were with?” I asked.

  “She told me about her teacher and the man from the city council…and Bruce, of course.”

  “Bruce?” I looked over at her. “Who’s that? Do you mean Brian?”

  “Oh,” Christine shrugged. “Maybe I’m thinking about something else.”

  “Did she tell you about Jen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did she tell you how we lost her?”

  She nodded.

  “I cared about Jen a lot,” I said looking out the window again. “I blamed myself when she died. I could think of so many mistakes I made that had a part in leading up to her death. I could think of so many things I could have done to help her. I beat myself up over it. I kept replaying that shit in my head. In a way, it made me feel better, because I felt like I needed to be punished. Eventually, though, I realized that none of that would bring her back. I didn’t kill her. I wasn’t responsible for what happened to her. Canton B killed her…Canton B killed Julio. I know you are angry at all of us and yourself. You have to have good memories about him, and let go of the anger and the guilt.”
/>   I looked over at her, and she was staring at me with a doubtful expression.

  “What?” I said.

  “I don’t understand why Sara would leave Grant and go back to you.”

  “Oh,” I said and stood up, suddenly not interested in talking anymore.

  “No offence,” she said. “It’s just that you are obviously hung up on this Jen chick. Grant has his problems, but at least he’s all about Sara.”

  “I’m over Jen,” I said. “I was just giving you an example and trying to help you get past this. I love Sara.”

  “You had better,” she said coldly. “Otherwise Julio died for nothing.”

  “You do whatever you need to do,” I said. “But I refuse to feel guilty for his death. I refuse to allow you to lay that blame on Sara either…or Grant.”

  I left the room before she could say anything more. I hated starting my day in a bad mood. I went in the kitchen and got a pot of water started warming on the stove then I went outside to take a leak. I propped the back door open with a brick with the hope that it would cool the house down. I noticed Grant was coming out of one of the barns.

  “What’s up?” I yelled to him.

  “’S’up with you?” he called back giving me a big wave.

  “No,” I said. “What do you need?” We walked to meet each other.

  “Just looking around,” he replied. “I thought I might split some wood…earn my keep and give me a workout at the same time.”

  “Can’t. We left the axe and maul in the woods yesterday, remember?”

  “You don’t have spares? You have like ten more shovels in there.”

  “I collected extra shovels,” I said dismissively.

  “Need any holes dug?”

  “No,” I said, “but feel free to grab a hoe and work on the garden.”

  “Will do,” he grinned.

  “What are you so happy about?” I said with suspicion.

  “No, bro, the question should be: why are you not happy? Did you have to sleep alone last night?”