by Brown, TW
“I want to thank each of you,” I started. “And I hope that none of us will ever again have to face the choices we faced today. I have no clue what Graham and the others will say or do when we arrive. They may ask each of us to never speak of what happened out there. Hell…they may not care, but judging by what I’ve seen in just the short amount of time that I have been here, it just feels like too many of the old ways still exist. Secret missions, killing folks because they don’t fall in line with some master plan.
“But we will always know…and maybe some of us are okay with things.” I looked up, realizing that my head had slowly dropped while I spoke. I needed to look them in the eyes when I said this next part. “We killed innocent people…children.” That word soured on my tongue and threatened to make me physically ill. “We can convince ourselves that it was us or them. We can try to justify it by saying that if we had not struck, then it would be our loved ones, the children of Island City that perished. Maybe that is true…or maybe that is what we will force ourselves to believe so that we can sleep at night.
“Personally, I believe that there had to be another way. I’m not saying that we should have just rolled over and let somebody else come storming into our homes, but right now, the other side of the town of La Grande might as well be another country. How long will it take for us to actually secure it? Are we going to build a fence around the entire city? Is that even possible? Sure, there are a few hundred people here…maybe even a thousand. And with all the possibilities of bringing on wind turbines and having some sort of power restored, this place will become a Mecca for other survivors.
“Somebody is going to have to decide who you let in and who you exclude…and you know that is going to happen. Is this how you want to start over? When will the gates close to outsiders? Is this why we went out today and killed total strangers?” I paused, not sure where I was going with this or what I was trying to say. Finally, I shrugged and gave a motion for us to move forward and approach the main gate.
“Whatever you decide…” I heard a voice beside me and turned to see Thomas. “I just want you to know that I will have your back. You are the first person who hasn’t looked at me like I was garbage.”
I nodded and came to a stop when the person on watch in the tower called down for us to do so. We identified ourselves and were admitted. Our entire team was escorted to the medical center and given a checkup to ensure there were no bites or scratches. I didn’t pay attention much, and more than once the person checking me had to repeat themselves.
At last it was done, and we were issued clean clothes after being assured that all of our field gear would be cleaned and returned to us at our residences. It was as if a part of me had disconnected. Somehow, I found myself standing alone in the parking lot of the Walmart. I looked around, noticing the black stain on the asphalt, but the entry doors had been replaced.
Standing in the middle of the big, black smear of charred pavement, an idea began to form in my head. The harder I tried to force it away, the firmer it seemed to become.
I started walking back to the house. I passed people on the street and in their yards, but I took no notice. Each step closer to home was one step closer to having to make a choice. The thing was, each step closer only helped to firm my resolve to the point that, before I’d even gone halfway home, there was no choice. My mind was made up. It was not going to be easy, but I felt in my heart that it was the right thing for me.
The last half of my walk home was spent trying to figure out how I would break the news. I was certain that it would meet with resistance, but I would not be pushed to change my mind. I practiced my opening statement at least fifty times by the time the house came into view.
“Billy!” Katrina burst from the house.
I watched everybody else filing out behind her to gather on the porch. For some reason, Gable Matczak and Sylvia Peretti were there. Also, some man that I’d never seen before was standing in the midst of everybody. I could tell that he was military right away. I mean, a lot of people can slap on the fatigues, but a real soldier or Marine has that certain quality.
The looks plastered on everybody’s faces told me that something was up. Of course, I thought. Why would this be easy? Well, it didn’t matter. My mind was made up and it was final. I would let them blabber on about whatever new drama had unfolded, because, after all, that was the norm. Every day was some new form of drama to get folks all worked up. I was going through the list in my head of what it might be when Katrina reached me.
“We know why Jake and the others launched that attack,” Katrina blurted.
15
Vignettes LIII
Emily-zombie led her group into the mass of large ones that were trudging past. They were all headed in the same direction—towards that newest and most massive sound. It had been just moments ago, and the draw had just been too great to resist at first. As a whole, she and the others had reflexively turned towards that immense sound.
She and the others had walked along with the large ones for a while until the spark renewed its vigor and caused her to stop. Fortunately, they had all clustered close since leaving behind what had basically been their home for so long. It had been an urge within each of them; that desire to stick together coming as a clear signal in each of the zombie children.
It took time and effort to maintain that closeness as Emily-zombie and the other zombie children waded through the large ones that continued on their mindless quest towards a sound they had forgotten almost the instant after it sounded. Some of the large ones actually turned and fell in behind Emily-zombie and her group.
That was of no concern and so it was ignored. Then she saw it, several of those sources of warmth. She watched as a few of them detached from their group and then vanished from sight. Still, it had been clear as to the direction they were headed.
Having to actually resort to physically grabbing hold of some of the other zombie children with her hands, Emily-zombie finally got them all to come to a halt. The last one she had managed to stop right at the edge of a fence. She could actually see flashes of the warmth through the cracks in the fence, and so she knew that they were close.
There was no place to hide except for a nearby shrub that had grown well past the bush stage as it had almost become a small tree. It was into that thick foliage that Emily-zombie retreated.
She heard noises from close by and did her best not to allow that diminished but still present instinct to send her towards that source. She was doing okay until one of those sources came around to her side of the fence.
There was a commotion, and Emily-zombie saw the one zombie child that she had just managed to bring to a halt start to stumble in pursuit of that source. Moving after it, she was able to snag the almost non-existent remains of a pair of pants and stop the child. However, that now put her within an arm’s reach of the very thing that she had sought to avoid.
“What the f…” one of the sources of warmth started making noise, going silent when the zombie child broke free of Emily-zombie’s grasp and turned its attention back towards the two sources of warmth.
“…fuck,” another voice finished.
Emily-zombie turned to face the second sound. Her head tweaked one direction and then the other. A rustling came from nearby, and another zombie stepped past her towards the living, warmth-filled creatures.
“No…” the larger of the two sources of warmth managed. “That can’t be possible.”
That was said as Emily-zombie moved and emerged to take her place beside the one that had managed to get free from her.
The smaller of the two sources’ hand twitched, sending a spark of the danger warning through Emily-zombie. Another…and then another child stepped into view.
“Emily,” the larger of the sources made a sound.
There was something about this source that sent images flashing in Emily-zombie’s remnant of a brain. This source was…familiar. It was somehow tied to the little girl…the man…and the
others. Emily-zombie tilted her head to one side and then the other as she puzzled with the images flashing from the suddenly very active spark.
Billy.
The spark sent images that made Emily-zombie pause. She would let this one go…as long as it went away. If it left her and the others be, she would not steal its warmth.
“Do you know this zombie?” the smaller source made noises that brought all of the attention to it.
“I did. She was part of our group when we still lived up in the cabin.” The larger source made noises again, and drew the attention back to it.
Emily-zombie made a mewling noise and turned. The others of her group turned and followed. She would lead them away. For some reason that was far beyond her ability to fathom, Emily-zombie wanted this group of living beings to escape. As she stumbled back towards where she knew the large ones would be emerging, she scooped up a brick and came to a halt at a large piece of octagon-shaped metal.
As soon as the large ones came into view, she raised the brick in the air and brought it down on the flat piece of metal. The loud noise caused the approaching group to turn in her direction. This would take them past those sources of warmth…
Billy.
…but at a distance that they would not likely spot those sources that she felt suddenly compelled to help.
Billy.
Emily-zombie turned and moved on once the large ones had fallen in and altered their course. Every once in a while, she would smack the brick she held in her hand down on something in order to create more noise and ensure that the large ones continued to follow. Somewhere along the line, the reason faded and the brick dropped from Emily-zombie’s hand.
Leading her group off at an angle away from the large ones, Emily-zombie turned her face towards the orb that was almost gone from the sky. It would be dark soon and they made their way to an open field with grass so tall that the group of zombie children vanished from sight.
***
Vix sat against the tree, opened the pack beside her and rummaged until she produced one of the few remaining tins of food that they had scavenged at the last house they’d dared to venture inside. Pulling out the multi-purpose Swiss Army knife, she said a silent prayer that the contents not be creamed corn and opened the lid.
“Green beans,” she said with an agreeable sigh.
Plucking them one at a time, she ate the entire contents of the can slowly, washing it down with lukewarm water from her canteen. Leaving nothing to waste, she sipped at the liquid in the can until it was completely empty.
She glanced skyward and noted the position of the sun. It was still a good ways until dark, perhaps she should scout around for a suitable place to sleep. Being alone, she was certainly not going to chance staying in a position where some zombie could just wander up and take a bite out of her. Also, if there was a settlement of some sort nearby, there might be patrols.
Walking through the trees, she eventually found a spot that looked like it might support her. She could climb up and secure herself in place with a length of rope that would keep her from falling and breaking her neck.
Satisfied, she went back to sit at the base of her tree. The problem now was that she was entirely alone with her thoughts. Had she misjudged? Could it be that she was so conditioned by the gloomy stories she’d read that she held out no hope for humanity.
The more she sat there, the more she thought that using zombie limbs to make a sign was actually quite ingenious. There was no rule saying that just because somebody did something that either she hadn’t, or wouldn’t think of, that it meant a person or group of people were evil.
It was just that she had been so sure of herself. She had believed that she could passively guide this pair of youngsters to do what she wanted and that they would simply give in when she put her foot down.
“Now you are all by your lonesome,” she sing-songed in a nasally twang that she felt did an absolutely horrible job of impersonating those American country singers. Maybe it was her British dialect; perhaps it did not lend itself to the honky-tonk sound.
She barked out a laugh as she realized how quickly her thoughts had drifted to such trivial things. She glanced at the sky again and was startled to realize that the sun had moved a good ways towards the horizon. Before long, night would fall and she would be alone.
“The Queen’s balls,” Vix swore as she got up and slung her pack over her shoulder.
Maybe Gemma was correct. Just maybe this place was nothing to be afraid of at all. Would it be so terrible if they were able to settle down in a secure place…a fort of all things?
She’d seen some of those massive mobs of the undead and seriously doubted that any regular fence could keep them out if they numbered in the thousands. A fortress was not too far off from her original idea of securing the palace. If it had a proper moat, the zombies would never be a threat again.
Emerging from the trees, Vix had to take a few moments to orient herself. Gemma and Harold had headed towards the A13. Once she spied what had to be the highway, she set out. A few singles and small groups of zombies could be seen scattered in various directions, but none of them seemed to be close enough to notice or pay her any mind.
When she reached the A13, Vix scanned for signs that would lead her to the fort. If the people there had gone so far as to make one, surely there would be others. Keeping the sun on her right, she crossed the several lanes and headed for a large wooden sign that definitely looked to be of primitive construction. Sure enough, there was a sign of identical wording and design as the one that she and the others had spied. Approaching slowly, Vix noticed something else that made her gut churn.
At the base of the sign were two bicycles. One of them, Harold’s, was blood splattered. A small voice wanted to scream “I told you so!” but she was too upset to pay it any mind. Breaking into a jog, Vix ran to the pair of bicycles.
The area showed definite signs of a struggle. There was one particularly large dark stain on the ground that she did not need to touch or see up close to know it for what it was as flies buzzed in and around it. She could smell the lingering coppery scent of blood.
Her head was drawn up to the sign by a snapping sound. Throwing her hands to her mouth, Vix took several steps back and felt the tears fill her eyes at what she saw. Harold’s face peered down at her with dead, black bloodshot eyes. His mouth opened and closed, teeth coming together in a clacking sound on the metal spike that had been driven through the back of his throat when his head had been nailed to the sign.
Vix dropped to her knees and felt the tears pour from her eyes. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rage. She wanted to go back in time and slap Harold and Gemma for being so stupid. Gemma had said that she read too many books and that was why she had such a bleak outlook on people. No, she remembered what society had been like before the zombies.
Before the zombies came, she had watched the news every night and been shocked, often to the point of disgust, at the ability of people to be so inhumane to one another. She had seen all the stories—murder, rape, assaults—and those stories only took on an even darker cast when committed against children or the elderly.
When all of this had begun, she knew that the first to die would be those who sought to help. It would be the police, the medics, and then good citizens who would try to help those in need. So what did that leave?
And while she was certain that not every good and decent person had been killed, she knew that the numbers were heavily loaded in the wrong direction. The world was being left to people who could do things like what had apparently been done to Harold. And only heaven knew what had become of poor Gemma…a young, sweet girl who was still so naïve when it came to the ways of the world; a girl who was just now coming into her own.
The desire to reach out and help was swelling in Vix, but it was shattered by the hammer of reality. She was one middle-aged woman. Alone. She was no action hero like the type in some of her stories. She was a nurse from a small community in
the UK that many folks had probably never heard of before. She had been just a normal person in real life, and that was all that she was now. If she made any attempt to try and rescue Gemma, she would end up suffering with the girl…or worse. And yes, she thought bitterly, there was worse.
She had no choice but to sneak away. It might haunt her for however much of her life that she still had left, but it was the only real choice that she had available.
Looking off in the direction that she believed the fort to be, Vix wiped the tears that had begun to spill from her eyes as the futility of her situation sunk in deep and spread its roots. Perhaps it would have been better to die early on and avoid all of this insanity. And when it came down to it, that was exactly what this all was in the end: Insanity.
What was she fighting so hard for? And now that she was alone, what chance did she have to survive more than a few days…weeks at most? The one thing that the zombie apocalypse had taught her was that it was a terrible thing to be truly alone.
She had thought back to when this had all been words on a page. She remembered thinking that it would be so grand if the world was gone and she could have some peace and quiet without all of the day-to-day stupidity. She had been wrong.
“I’m am sorry, Gemma,” Vix whispered as she turned to walk away. She paused at the base of the sick and twisted sign and looked up at Harold’s dead face. “I am so sorry, Harold.”
Vix vanished into the tall grass, her soft weeping carried away on the breeze.
***
He had no time to slow up. He had already committed to running down the stairs. And even if he had wanted to stop, Tigah had bounded past and hit the sand with the joyful exuberance that only a dog can muster.