by Paul Seiple
Alan picked up the 9mm and stepped out of the SUV. He walked toward Liz. She fought back the urge to attack him. Alan took her hand. Liz shook her head. He placed the barrel of the pistol on her forehead. A guttural moan seeped from Liz's clenched mouth. Alan closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Alan sat beside Liz's body for hours. No cars passed. Being a back road, it wasn't that unusual. And it explained why the store didn't survive. He rocked back and forth and kept repeating the words "I'm sorry."
Alan was a villain. He helped create the thing that was going to destroy his friends, family, and the entire world. He knew he would never be a hero, but he thought if he could save the ones he loved, it would be a form of retribution. Liz's lifeless body was all he needed to see to know that would never happen. She was everything he had.
Alan held the 9mm in the palm of his hand. There was one bullet left. Alan didn't understand why he couldn't contract Judas. He wanted to feel what Liz felt, but he couldn't. Alan had been in close contact with the infected. He was scratched by Elliot, and still he wasn't sick. He blamed it on karma. Alan helped birth Judas; maybe his punishment was to watch everyone he cared about succumb the virus.
But there was one bullet left.
Alan couldn't take any more heartache. Killing himself was the coward's way out, but he no longer cared. He accepted that he couldn't stop the virus. He accepted that he would die a villain. Alan placed the barrel of the gun under his chin and closed his eyes.
Part Two
Order in Chaos
Napoleon Bonaparte Quote
“The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies. “
-Napoleon Bonaparte
Twelve
Fall 2018
Roger Setliff walked the eastern side of the wall for what seemed to be the tenth time. The barrier was solid. He knew it after the first pass, but the lives of a group of people Roger had come to view as family depended on the makeshift wall built of scraps from his farm to protect them from the monsters. Not just the infected. Some people not sickened by the virus posed a greater danger to the survivors fortunate enough to find Roger just as the whole world turned into a shit storm.
Roger was a prepper. He researched every type of doomsday scenario, even a zombie apocalypse. Although it was more of comic relief among the real-life possibilities. He was ready for what the world threw at him. Roger wasn't prepared for the emotional baggage that came from friending other survivors. For most of his life, he had been a loner. It was what drove his wife away. Roger spent the years after his marriage on the farm with Zeus, his German shepherd. Two years ago, the world as Roger knew it began to die. He watched news reports of people getting sick and dying. He felt for those stricken, but knew he had enough rations to survive the end of the world. It made him a target.
The virus spread like wildfires. Roger found safety and solace underground in the 1950s fall-out shelter he modernized. As long as the sun rose, the solar panels would provide enough energy to sustain life beneath the ground. Daylight provided a hint of security that allowed Roger to get a shot of Vitamin D and a breath of fresh air. When night fell, it draped a cloak of uneasiness over Roger's farm. The infected posed a threat, but a bigger concern came from desperate survivors. Many times, Roger woke to find his home and barns pillaged. It didn't matter much since everything valuable was beneath the surface, out of sight.
Roger knew enough about hydroponics to feel confident that he could grow a sustainable food source. Water was no concern. Roger began stockpiling bottled water after a hurricane a few years earlier but had since built a system to collect rain water to run through a filtration system. He had enough water to bathe every day, but why waste it? There was no one around to tell him he needed a shower. No one but Zeus, and the dog had a strong aversion to bathing.
But then, they showed up. Three strangers hunkered in one of Roger's barns as the remnants of a tropical depression passed through. They weren't there to rummage through his belongings. They weren't there to take over the farm. They had no weapons. They were there for help.
Seeing the three people shivering from cold and fear made Roger want to help them. It was a new feeling for him. He never wanted to admit it to himself, but he was paranoid of others. If he would take the time to dissect his thoughts, it was probably what led to him becoming a doomsday prepper. The news focused on the atrocities of man. Roger grew to not trust people. It was what made living such a lonely life bearable. For the first time, he let his guard down and saw the genuine good in people. He invited the three into his underground compound and soon they became his family.
Roger stopped and viewed a hillside through binoculars. The leaves lit the trees like violent embers, but the land was empty of threat. He flashed the binoculars to left, catching a glimpse of a man and a woman laughing as they surveyed another section of fence. It really was hard to believe this was the end of the world, but Roger and the other survivors did a good job of putting a Band-aid on the mortal wound.
"Who ya spying on?"
The voice startled Roger. He dropped the binoculars. Melanie Carpenter bent to pick them up.
"Geez, you're a little jumpy today."
Roger smiled and let a brief chuckle escape his clenched teeth. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."
"I've seen your moves with the dead. I think I'm safe." Melanie winked.
"A true fighter never shows his skills to lesser opponents," Roger said.
"That sounds like you plucked it from The Art of War," Melanie said.
Roger took the binoculars back and scanned the field again. "Nah, I'm paraphrasing Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid."
Melanie patted Roger on the shoulder. "I can never thank you enough for doing this for us. Without you and your underground fortress, we wouldn't have survived."
"Hey, don't thank me. You and Doc just find a cure for this virus. We'll be even."
"Hell, right now we've got about as much luck finding a cure as we do this fence holding," Dr. James Jones said. "Anything good out there?"
Roger lowered the binoculars. "All clear. And I'll have you know; this fence will keep the dead out. They're not that smart, Doc," Roger said.
"That type of thinking will get you killed in today's world," James said. "For all we know, they are smarter than us now."
Roger nodded and turned his attention back to the hills.
"Well, they're not smarter than me," Melanie said, flashing a sarcastic smile.
Melanie knew not to underestimate the infected. Her first encounter with the Judas virus came when her psycho boyfriend tried to murder her. Melanie was one of the few people who survived the virus's assault on Black Dog. Dr. James Jones was sent there to try to contain Judas to the small town. He wasn't successful, but he escaped with his life. Now, a year and a half later, he understood the physiology of the virus, but the evolution of Judas kept him guessing.
"Has it really evolved to the point that they look just like us?" Melanie asked.
"You saw that one yesterday that came to the gate. There were no visible signs of infection. Her eyes were just as green as yours. Her skin just as clear as yours," James said. "Hell, if she hadn't tried to take a bite out of Roger, she would be here now."
"If we cannot separate them from the living, is it really a good idea to come above ground now?" Melanie asked.
Roger tapped the fence with his steel-toed boot. "This will keep them out."
"We cannot become infected," James said. "That means we have a few years left here. We cannot spend them living a mole's life any longer."
"I know. But we are responsible for every survivor we took in. I have to know it's safe for them," Melanie said.
"We have a situation at W4."
The voice crackled through Melanie's radio. As she went to reply, the battery died.
"We're using too much technology," James said. "There's not enough sun with the fall clo
ud cover."
"I plan to build four more panels to catch the setting sun once everything is running normal," Roger said.
"We can talk about that later. Let's figure out what's happening at the west wall," Melanie said.
Gary Hughes poked the leg with a stick. No movement. He jabbed at the thigh. Dug the wood a little deeper into the tissue. Still, no reaction.
"Is she infected?" he asked.
Carolyn Swann didn't answer. She bent to a knee to get a better look at the woman.
"Why do you think her face is painted white?" Gary asked.
Carolyn took the stick from Gary and propped it under the woman's chin, slightly lifting her head. The woman's face was painted with a base white coat. Her lips were bright red with black marks resembling stitches. Pink circles outlined with flowers surrounded her eyes.
"She's in Dia De Los Muertos paint," Carolyn said.
"I don't speak Spanish," Gary said.
Carolyn exhaled. "Day of the Dead."
"Someone took the time to paint a zombie in Day of the Dead make-up? That's a sick sense of humor," Gary said.
"I'm not sure she was infected." Carolyn moved the woman's head with the stick, examining the body for injuries. "There's no wound to the head."
"So she was murdered?"
Carolyn dropped the stick and fell back on her butt. Gary took a few steps back.
"What is it?"
"She was definitely murdered," Carolyn said.
The woman's neck was painted with the thick, shiny black paint hiding the wound. The cut was more of an incision than a slash. Carolyn picked the stick up and pressed it against the woman's cheek, pushing her head toward the ground.
"You think she got attacked by the infected?" Gary asked
"It's not bite marks. Someone slit her throat. It was done to bleed her out," Carolyn said.
"What?"
"Her jugular was cut," Carolyn said. "The make-up was applied to her neck after she was murdered."
"Why do you think they dumped her here?" Gary asked.
"Well, it's obviously not an accident. It's a message," Carolyn said.
"Great, so now we have to worry about a murderer who paints people and dumps them at our gate like a cat bringing a dead mouse home," Gary said.
"What's the problem?"
Melanie's voice drew Carolyn and Gary away from the body.
"Is that a...."
Carolyn interrupted Melanie. "Yeah, but..."
"How did it get in?" Melanie asked.
"She wasn't infected," Gary said.
Carolyn placed her hand on Gary's chest as a silent signal to let her lead the conversation. "She was murdered and painted, after death, in Day of the Dead symbolism."
"This fence is intact," Roger said. "How the hell did she get in here?"
"Someone tossed her in," James said. He walked by the body and pointed to a piece of flannel snagged on the top of the fence.
"I didn't catch that," Gary said.
Melanie moved closer to the woman. The first glance of the face paint robbed her breath. She gasped and fell back onto Carolyn.
"What is it?" Carolyn asked.
Rapid, short breaths made it impossible for Melanie to form words. The image of her ex-boyfriend hovering over her wearing a clown mask and threatening to murder Melanie flooded her eyes. She blinked fast, not different than she would if a speck of dust flew into her eyes. Dean Kurten had striking features that lured Melanie to him. She was easy prey that he stalked for much longer than she realized. Dean was a serial killer who wanted to make Melanie his ultimate victim before the virus beat him to it. Unfortunately for Dean, he underestimated Melanie’s resolve to no longer be a victim. The same resolve she needed to sweep the image of Dean from her mind.
"Melanie?" Carolyn asked.
"I'm fine. I just... I guess I wasn’t expecting that."
"You get used to seeing the dead's rotting flesh. You can never get used to seeing a living, breathing, human dead," Gary said.
"Yeah," Melanie said.
Roger broke free from the group and walked the perimeter with the binoculars to his eyes looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. No infected. No more bodies. It was as peaceful as the east side.
"Whoever did this has, at the least, a rudimentary knowledge of human anatomy," James said, wiping the make-up from the wound on the woman's neck. "Straight for the jugular."
"We should stay underground until we figure out who did this," Melanie said.
"We can handle the threat," Roger said. "There's no one around the compound. We can keep a twenty-four/seven watch. We're safe." Earlier, Roger wasn't sure if that was the case, but after inspecting all sides of the compound, he was confident the group would be safe. The dead woman didn't deter his confidence.
"They got close enough to dump her," Melanie said. "And no one saw anything."
Melanie was right. Roger began to doubt whether the group was as safe as he boasted. He made another sweep of the area with the binoculars. Still nothing out of the ordinary.
"Let's not overreact to this," James said. "We are all intelligent people here. No need to act like this wasn't done purposely as a sign for us. Someone has been watching our progress, but I'm confident we can face any challenge presented. Before this, we knew there would be hordes of the infected as well as survivors with nothing to lose to come knocking at our door. We are very prepared for a violent world."
"He's right," Carolyn said. "We have to be more vigilant."
"Are you one-hundred percent sure she wasn't infected?" Melanie asked.
"The only wound is to the neck. If she were, we would have to fight her off," Carolyn said. "Bleeding someone out will not stop Judas."
“No, but she should have turned, unless she was immune,” James said.
“Why murder someone with immunity?” Roger asked.
“There are evil people still out there with no value for human life,” Melanie said.
"What do we do with the body?" Gary asked.
"Even though we didn't know her, she was one of us," Melanie said. "We’ll give her a proper burial."
"I don't think we are ready for this yet," Melanie said, pouring a cup of tea for James.
"What do you mean? We have tea." James chuckled before sipping from a mug with the words "World's Greatest Dad" written in red on it.
"You're drinking from a mug that belonged to someone who is no longer alive. Why? Because we had to rummage through a neighborhood destroyed by Judas just to find cups," Melanie said.
James sipped the tea again. "You've said it more times than I can count, Melanie. We are survivors." He tipped the mug in her direction. "This is what survivors do."
Melanie took a seat at the table beside James and reached for him. She ran her fingertips over the back of his hand. She interlocked her fingers with his.
"We are going to be fine,” James said. "You're our leader." He winked.
Melanie pulled back. "I'm no leader. I put on a brave face, but the truth is I'm scared shitless. I feel responsible for these people. I've already lost one family in all of this. I can't lose another."
James smiled and sipped the tea. He looked up from the mug. His blue eyes provided an invaluable comfort. His words offered more reassurance. "If you didn't care about us, we wouldn't view you as our leader."
Melanie returned the smile. "You're just saying that because I sleep with you."
"That's a perk, but you are what these people needed when they feared all hope lost. You were the one to make them feel alive in a dying world."
Melanie stood up and gazed out the window just above the sink. The scene could have been plucked from the words of a Thoreau poem. Peaceful fields beyond the fences. The tips of leaves were turning yellow and red as summer had given way to fall. Mother Nature did her best to mask the horrors. Judas had proven to be a damn good cover for the horrors as well.
The dead; they were no longer just the infected. Those sickened by the virus were
dead. There was no cure, no coming back from infection. Survivors witnessed many evolutions of Judas, but the latest, which erased the milky film from eyes, made contact with the dead more treacherous. The virus evolved to the point it was nearly impossible to tell the living from the dead until it was too late.
Melanie wasn't scanning the fields for the dead. Even with the latest evolution, the dead weren't cognitive thinkers or thinkers at all. There was something much more dangerous out there. A survivor or survivors who didn't value human life. The compound, which the group christened Winston, after someone Melanie knew in Black Dog, looked desolate, but it was rich with assets... shelter, food, power. Banditos, as James liked to call them, were a growing problem as the world began to settle after the outbreak. They would take a life if someone got in their way of the bigger goal of looting camps. This was different; whoever killed that girl took pleasure in her suffering and wanted to send a warning by taking the time to paint her face. It was significant, but James couldn't pinpoint the meaning.
Melanie turned back to James. "I have no doubt we can hold our own against the dead. It's the living I'm worried about."
"We have guns. We have hunters with good aim. And we have Gary. I'm not sure he is a hunter or has good aim, but he's crazy as hell," James said. "I'll take him in a fight any day."
"There is no one in Winston with the stomach to do what was done to that girl," Melanie said.
"And that's a good thing. We don't need someone who acts like a predator. We need someone who can protect the herd from predators. We have plenty of those people. Look at Squatch. He's a damn freak of nature."
"I hope you're right," Melanie said.
"When have you ever known me to be wrong?" James flashed a grin as he took another sip of tea.
Thirteen
The cracked glass shattered his view into sections. With the setting sun highlighting the reds and yellows of the leaves, it reminded him of a kaleidoscope he’d had as a child. He adjusted the binoculars, setting his sights on a group of four, maybe five people, huddled in the spot where the dead girl had been tossed. He watched more out of boredom than anything else. It was a given the humans would find her before a pack of wolves did. Wolves were smart hunters. They could sense a predator who posed a threat, so they stayed away from the compound. Humans weren't as intuitive. They were being stalked, and even with the hint, they didn't seem too concerned.