Fire Birds

by Shane Gregory

  “Shut up,” I said. “I have to take a piss. There’s a hoe leaning on the fence by the garden.”

  Since I had company and since I was surrounded by hundreds–possibly thousands–of zombies, I went into a stall in one of the barns to relieve myself. I had always had a shy bladder. I can’t go if I know someone is watching me; it doesn’t matter whether those eyes are living or undead.

  When I came back outside, I did a quick check of the cistern, then looked around to see that the perimeter fences looked okay. I didn’t take the time to walk them and check every section, but I would do that after breakfast. Thinking about breakfast made me remember my water on the stove, and I decided to go back into the house.

  Then I stopped. There was a dirty quilt in the back yard. I went over by the fence for the back pasture and looked at Julio’s grave. The ground was sunken in, and there were narrow ruts on the edge of one side. They were like claw marks. There was a bare human footprint in the disturbed soil.

  CHAPTER 15

  I ran to the quilt and picked it up.

  “Grant!”

  He came around the house carrying a hoe and saw me holding the quilt. His mouth opened then closed again. He dropped the hoe, looked over his shoulder, and then spun around.

  “Do you see him?” he said, pulling his pistol. “Where is he?”

  “This is exactly what I was talking about,” I said. “It’s shit like this that’s going to get us killed. We can’t make exceptions for anybody!”

  “He’ll be around the house,” Grant said, ignoring me. “Or down by the road with the goons.”

  I pulled my pistol, “Or in the house. The door is propped open. I’ll check inside. You go around front.”

  I ran in through the back door and stopped. There were prints made by bare, dirty feet on the vinyl floor.

  “Sara!” I yelled. I heard movement upstairs so I went toward the staircase. “Sara!”

  “What?” I heard Sara say from behind me.

  “Where are you?”

  She came out of the kitchen.

  “You left the stove on,” she said.

  “Did you see him?” I asked.

  “Grant? No.”

  “Julio.”

  Her eyes widened, and she looked up at the ceiling.

  “Is Christine upstairs?” I said.

  She nodded, “She’s changing her clothes.”

  “Search the rest of the house,” I said. “I’m going up. Grant is out front. Yell if you need us.”

  Christine screamed before I made it to the stairs. Sara followed me, and I heard Grant come in through the front door. I got to the landing where the stairs made a right turn, and there was a gunshot.

  “Sara!” Grant yelled.

  Christine screamed again.

  When I got to the top of the stairs, I saw Julio at the end of the hallway standing in the open door of the upstairs bathroom. He was covered in dirt and mud. When I looked down between his legs, I could just make out Christine in the bathroom floor. She had wedged herself between the toilet and the tub. Her gun went off again, and a squirt of yellowish goop came out of the top of Julio’s head and speckled the ceiling. He stumbled backward and turned as if disoriented. There was a chunk of his chin missing where Christine’s bullet had entered. Then his milky eyes fixed on me. He snarled and charged.

  I barely had time to bring my pistol up. I fired once and hit him in the gut. That knocked him off balance, and he started falling. He turned sideways and hit the wall, knocking a hole in the drywall with his shoulder. His momentum kept him moving, however, and he plowed right into me. I landed on my back, and he fell on my legs just below my knees. I got this strong whiff of freshly dug dirt. Sara stepped into view. For a moment, all I could see was her standing over me, straddling my head. Her pink gun went off. I tried to look down at Julio. Then Sara went down into a squat, keeping her eyes ahead and on Julio. She fired again.

  “Watch him, babe!” Grant yelled. “He’s still moving.”

  Christine screamed again. I tried to scoot back, but Julio was too heavy. Grant came into view over Sara. Sara went farther forward on my chest, and I couldn’t see anything but the back pocket of her jeans.

  “No,” Sara yelled. “Stop him!”

  There was a dull pinch in my right calf.

  “Get off!” Sara yelled. “Get off!”

  “Grab his hair!” Grant said.

  “Julio!”

  Another gunshot rang out, and Julio’s weight lifted off.

  Christine screamed from the bathroom. Sara stood, stumbled a little, and leaned against the wall. She and Grant looked down at me, but neither spoke.

  I propped myself up on my elbows. Julio was down by my feet. His eyes and mouth were open. It looked like he was staring at my knee and surprised by what he saw. His brains were sprayed on the wall. I looked up again. Grant was putting his arm around Sara’s shoulders, and Sara was letting him. Down the hallway, Christine, dressed only in black panties, was braced in the doorway. There was mud smeared on her cheek, right breast, and stomach. She had another tattoo of a woven design around her navel.

  “Shit,” I whispered still stunned by what had just happened.

  “He bit you,” Sara said, seeming to come to her senses. She pulled away from Grant and knelt beside me. “He bit your leg.”

  I looked at my leg, and shook my head. “I felt it, but I don’t think it broke the skin.”

  The bathroom door slammed, and Grant walked down to the end of the hallway.

  “Christine,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  Sara rolled up my pant leg.

  “My leg is fine,” I nodded. “You go help her.”

  My leg did hurt, and it would likely bruise, but it didn’t slow me down. I was able to help Grant carry Julio’s now lifeless corpse out to the grave. We had to dig it out again, but it was easier since the dirt was already loose. There was no ceremony the second time. We just lowered him into the hole and filled it in. When we were finished, I returned the shovels to the barn. It was still morning, but I was done; I just wanted to eat, have a drink, and go back to bed. Unfortunately, there were things that needed to be done.

  During the next three days I spent a lot of time in the garden. Being forced to stay on the property and trying to avoid Grant and Christine kept me out there and allowed me time to finally get on top of all the weeding. Grant helped me some, but he was more interested in shooting zombies. I would have complained about him slacking, but I was glad to have him otherwise occupied and out of my hair.

  Christine kept to herself in the upstairs bedroom the whole day that Julio died, but came down the next couple of days and went out to vent her frustrations on the horde at the fence with a 12 gauge. Even though she and Grant were doing the same thing, they did it away from each other on opposite sides of the farm.

  Sara helped me with the produce. The cucumbers and zucchini were coming in plenty by that time, and I brought in enough for her to can sixteen quarts of pickles. She’d had experience canning with her grandmother, and even though she kept saying it had been years since she’d done it, and even though she kept referring to the book, I thought she looked like a pro. Only two jars out of sixteen didn’t seal. I counted that as a success.

  “I can’t guarantee they’ll taste very good,” she said when I came in to see how she was doing. “We didn’t have some of the spices they called for.”

  “They smelled like pickles when you were cooking them,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  The sound of gunfire from outside was steady with brief interruptions when Christine or Grant had to reload. It had been like that for two days.

  “We had the vinegar and dill, but the recipe called for dill heads, and all we had were the leaves. Also, I used wild garlic instead of real garlic, and we didn’t have–”

  “They’ll be preserved, won’t they?” I said. “It’ll be food to eat this winter. That’s what I care about right now. If we can do it right so t
hey taste good, even better, but if it comes down to starving or eating pickles that don’t taste as good as store-bought, I don’t think that’s a hard decision to make. Besides, there will still be plenty of store-bought pickles for us to eat. These are just a backup. If you don’t get it right this time, we’ll just chalk it up to training for next year’s harvest when getting it right will be more important.”

  “I was reading in the book that some food has to be processed in a pressure canner,” she said. “You have to do it or it might get botulism. What if I do this wrong, and we die from food poisoning?”

  “Did the pickles need that?”

  “No, but some other things do.”

  “What about berries?” I asked. “I was thinking you could make some jam or preserves next.”

  “No,” she said. “Fruit is okay. Tomatoes, pickles…anything that has a lot of acid in it we can process the way I did here. Anything else, and you’re going to have to find us a pressure canner.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “My mom had a pressure cooker,” she said. “I guess it will look like that only bigger. The lid of the pot can be clamped or screwed down and there is a hole in the lid and a little thing you put on top of it…I don’t know. It’s been a while.”

  “When we’re able to go out again, we’ll look for one.”

  I turned to go back outside.

  “Christine is having a rough time,” she said. “I’m worried about her.”

  “We’ve all had a rough time,” I said. “She’ll get over it. I don’t mean to sound callous, but it’s a fact. You know that.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I know.”

  “Was she really that close to Julio? Did they know each other from before?”

  “They’ve been a couple for about as long as Grant and I have–I mean as long as Grant and I have known each other.”

  I heard that, but I didn’t say anything.

  “Is he still trying to persuade you?” I asked. “I saw him come in earlier.”

  “I talked to him. I set him straight. All of this is a big adjustment for everyone.”

  I sighed and rubbed my eyes, but I didn’t know where to go with the conversation from there. Sara was being vague, and I didn’t want to have to pump her for information. I just didn’t feel like going through the trouble right then. The gunfire from outside seemed louder in that moment.

  I looked around the kitchen. It was messier than I usually kept it, but it was being used more.

  “We need to do something about the trash,” I said, nodding to two full garbage bags in the corner.

  “What have you been doing with it?”

  “I was putting it in that old silver car that’s parked around back and hauling it to the dump every week, but the car is full right now.”

  “We can set it out the back door,” she said.

  “Animals will get into it. I’ll find a place to put in the meantime. I guess we’re going to have a lot more trash now that your friends are living here.”

  “It won’t be that bad,” she said. “We’ll pick up after ourselves.”

  “I’ve got some extra squash seeds,” I said, turning to leave again. “I think I’ll plant a few more.”

  “I’m worried about Christine,” she said again.

  “What do you want me to do?” I said, frustrated. “She doesn’t like me. She probably blames me a little. Do you think she’s going to hurt herself? Do you think she’s going to hurt us?”

  “I don’t know. She won’t talk to me.”

  “People grieve in different ways,” I said. “Right now, she’s out there shooting fish in a barrel. Maybe that’s her way. Maybe she just needs to be alone and loud for a while. I don’t know what she was like before. She hasn’t been happy since I met her.”

  Sara shrugged, “I don’t think I’ve seen her really happy either. It’s just that she’s different now.”

  “I don’t know what that means. I don’t know how to help.”

  “Never mind,” she said. “If you’ll tell me where the berries are, I’ll go pick them.”

  “How’s your back?”

  “Stiff. Sore. I’m taking the pain killers, so I’m good.”

  “You’ve been on your feet in front of the stove all day,” I said. “Why don’t you go rest a while?”

  “I told you, I’m okay,” she said. Then she got a strange look on her face, took a step toward me and hunched so she could look out of the kitchen window that faced the road.

  I turned just in time to see an airplane come in low over the field and the road, and then disappear over the house. We both ran for the back door and made it to the yard as the shadow of the thing slid over the back pasture.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Wow,” Sara said. “Who do you think it is? Is it a drone?”

  I didn’t answer. I watched it bank to the left and go behind a line of trees. I could see Christine in the distance looking at the sky. The plane’s shadow had gone right over her. Grant, however, was still shooting and hadn’t heard it come over.

  “Do you think it’s the government? Do you think it is the military?”

  “No,” I said. “It was small and red. I don’t think the government uses red planes.”

  “Maybe they use what they can get,” she said.

  “They can get anything.”

  Christine was running toward us carrying the shotgun.

  “Oh my God!” she was yelling. “Did you see it?!”

  Grant paused his shooting to reload, and I heard the airplane returning.

  “Should we signal it?” Christine said as she joined us.

  “Why?” I said. “They already know we’re here. If we signal them, they might think we need help, and we don’t.”

  “But it’s more people,” she said.

  “They know we’re here,” I repeated. “If they want to introduce themselves, they know where to find us.”

  The plane came in from the west and flew directly over Grant just above treetop level. He couldn’t miss it that time.

  “Did you see those things under the wings?” I said. “I think it was a crop duster.”

  “It didn’t spray anything,” Christine said.

  Grant ran across the pasture toward us. The plane made another pass from the east, higher this time. Then the sound of it waned until we could no longer hear it. Grant climbed the fence, ran past Julio’s grave, and joined us in the backyard by the well house.

  “What do you think?” Grant asked me, breathing hard from the run. “Could be bad.”

  I agreed and nodded.

  “Don’t be so negative,” Christine said. “If there is someone around here that is a pilot then maybe they can fly us someplace where there aren’t any goons.”

  “That thing could hold two people,” Grant said. “Four at most…including the pilot.”

  “I know, dumbass,” Christine replied. “In a different fucking plane.”

  “Stop,” I said. “Yes, that is a possibility, but I’m with Grant on this. I think we should be cautious.”

  “How did they even know to fly over here?” Grant said. “I mean, there are miles and miles, but they flew right over us.”

  “You and Christine have been shooting for two days. I’m sure someone heard it and flew around trying to find the source. The crowd around the property probably made it easy to spot from the air.”

  “So that means they’re close,” Christine said.

  “Not necessarily,” I replied. “Now that there aren’t any extra noises like cars and stuff, I would imagine the sound of your guns could have been heard two or three miles away…maybe farther…maybe even in the Clayfield city limits.”

  “How far is that?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “About six miles, I think. I’ve heard the city fireworks out this far.”

  “Those big fireworks are really loud, though,” she said. “Where’s the airport?”

  I pointed toward the north, “The county
airport is about four miles that way.”

  “Well, that will be the first place to check,” she said.

  “I wonder if it has anything to do with the heads or the yellow cars,” I said.

  “What?” Grant asked.

  I told them about my findings the past several days.

  “Whoa, babe, you love yellow cars. Bingo, right?”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “Sara has this game she plays where she says ‘bingo’ when she sees a yellow car,” Grant replied.

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  “It’s a thing I used to do when I was a kid,” she said. “It’s no big deal.”

  I thought it was a big deal. It seemed like an odd coincidence. Plus, Grant knew something about her that I didn’t know. He probably knew a lot more about her that I didn’t know, and that bothered me.

  “Sounds like there’s a nut in town that likes to chop off goon heads and knows how to fly a plane,” Christine said. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

  “Tell me about the yellow cars,” I said to Sara.

  “I told you; it’s nothing. It’s just a little thing I used to do for fun,” she said. “Grant and I would do it when we’d go out with our group sometimes.”

  “You don’t think it’s strange? Could it be someone else from your group?” I asked.

  “It was just the four of us that came here,” Grant said. “The rest wouldn’t leave Mississippi.”

  “That’s what Sara said, but–“

  “It’s no big deal, okay?” Sara said. “I’m going inside. Are any of you hungry?”

  “I could eat,” Grant nodded. “I’m thinking a pepperoni and mushroom hand-tossed.”

  “Good luck with that,” Sara said. “I’ll open a couple of cans of soup, and we can all share. If you want a salad, you’ll need to pick it yourself.”

  We all went inside and washed up. Over the meal, Grant and Christine talked about the plane and the possibility of traveling by air to someplace far away. Sara sipped her soup quietly.

  “I find it odd that the plane and the heads and the yellow cars all happened so close to your arrival in Kentucky,” I said. “There hasn’t been much of anything going on here for a long time.”