All That I See - 02

by Shane Gregory

  “I don’t know where Tucker Road is,” I said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for them to go out to the high school; it’s so close to the fairgrounds and that other bunch.”

  She was standing in the entrance to the kitchen. She looked tired.

  “Thanks for everything,” I said. “I’m sure I wasn’t a very good patient.”

  “You were fine,” she said flatly.

  “Go get some sleep,” I said. “I’ll get you up in a couple of hours.”

  She nodded, “Are we going to look for them?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “it’s still early. We’ll have a few hours to drive around.”

  She went upstairs, and I went out on the front porch to get some air. I looked out across the property, and I had a little flashback about the day I lost Jen. I’d been standing on that very spot shooting zombies while my friends were trapped in the truck. The truck was still there, but aside from the damages to it where I had crashed into it, there were no traces of the violence that day. The bodies had been burned, the blood and gore had been either washed away by the rain or lapped up by some animal. This really was a good place. Had we put a little more effort into securing it, everyone might have survived that day.

  Sara and I had not confirmed that the menstrual cycle attracted the creatures, but we would know soon enough. We hadn’t talked about it, but I figured she would be having her period any day now….or should have had it already.

  There was some movement out in the pasture in front of the house near one of the watering troughs. It was one of the chickens. I was amazed the poor thing had survived all this time. I looked around for the other one, but I didn’t see it. Chickens usually stuck together, so either the other one had died during the past couple of weeks or it was off somewhere laying an egg or brooding. With all of the zombie activity, I didn’t think it would be easy to catch them. They would probably be wary of people.

  The front door opened and Sara stepped outside.

  “I can’t sleep,” she said, coming out and standing next to me.

  “Good to know one of the chickens made it,” I said, nodding toward the pasture.

  “The other one is around somewhere,” she said. “I saw them both out there this morning.”

  “I’m curious,” I said. “Shouldn’t it be about time for your period?”

  “I’m late,” she said.

  “How? I mean—“

  “I don’t know. Stress probably.”

  “Oh.”

  We continued to stare out at the pasture.

  “Well, it’s bound to come,” I said. “When it does, we need to be in a secure location, just in case it is something that affects the infected.”

  “We should go back and check on our seedlings,” she said. “They’ll need to be watered. I hope those men didn’t steal all of our food and supplies.”

  “Chances are, they did,” I said. “They have the M-four.”

  “I’m really worried about Nicholas and Judy,” she said, “especially with those men in town. I’m afraid something has happened to them.”

  “Let’s go right now,” I said. “I’m going to need you to drive; I’m still not a hundred percent.”

  We drove the Crown Victoria. Sara still had her AR-15 with a partial magazine, and the Somervilles left her a loaded .22 revolver. She told me that she and Mr. Somerville had gone out right after I got sick and collected a few supplies from some of the nearby houses. However, they had not been able to find any more firearms. My hope was that Wheeler, Corndog, and the others had ignored our school bus where we kept most of our supplies. We had enough stuff in the house for them to think that was our complete store. If they did take the bus, then we’d have to start over.

  “Let’s go over to Tucker Road first,” I said. “I’d rather not have to see that bastard if I don’t have to.” I was referring to Nathan, the leader of the group at the high school.

  “I don’t know where it is,” Sara said. “We’re going to have to find a map of the area somewhere.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to get one,” I said. “It’s not like the county back roads show up on the highway maps. I always had to look them up on the internet. The map from the helicopter would have come in handy about now.”

  “The welcome center has maps,” she said.

  “Yeah, but that’s close to town, and I think those are just city maps.”

  “No, they have county maps, too. I’m going over there. Couldn’t hurt.”

  “Well, it could hurt, but we don’t have much of a choice.”

  CHAPTER 8

  I was very familiar with the welcome center. Being the director of the museum, a possible destination for visitors, I was in there at least every other month for meetings. I’d never really looked at their brochure rack, except to make sure the museum was represented. If Sara had seen county maps in there, then I’d have to take her word for it.

  She pulled up in front of the building.

  “Wait here with the engine running. Let me know if any infected come around,” I said.

  “No, I’m going in,” she said. “You’re still sick.”

  “It’s just a map,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  We’d seen a lot of sick and undead out that day. They seemed to like the warmer weather. They’d all been infected for a little more than a month by that time, and it showed. Many of them were emaciated. Their clothes were rags. Also, there was a stench in the air to which I could not get accustomed.

  I went into the visitors’ welcome center with the .22 in one hand and the machete in the other. I was still a little light-headed and tired, and I really needed for this to be a quick in-and-out. Of course, it wouldn’t be.

  Alan was in there.

  Alan ran the welcome center. He had been a nice enough guy, I suppose, but he was cursed with a tendency to overthink simple things and overlook the obvious. He’d always done a good job of running the office itself, but he didn’t have much of a vision for what out-of-town visitors could do for Clayfield. He liked to stick with safe and mediocre, and for the most part no one ever questioned it because the town–both citizens and government–had been content with the status quo.

  Knowing the history of the town, I had attempted to get him to focus on some of our more colorful past events and some the landmarks that went with them. “Everyone likes a good story,” I’d told him. But he was never interested in taking a chance. He felt those events would put Clayfield in a bad light, and he thought it would be best if they remained hidden.

  He stood in front of me now, bloated and dirty. A clump of his sandy hair had fallen out, and though it was difficult to tell in the dim light, it looked like maggots were working on his face. His mouth dropped open, and he made a gurgling sound.

  “Hey, Alan,” I said.

  “Gaaaahh,” he replied.

  “We’ve got some newcomers in town this week,” I said, pushing the .22 down in the front of my pants and gripping the machete with both hands. ”It looks like that clever ‘Clayfield is Cool’ campaign of yours is finally paying off. Thanks for including the museum in that, by the way. Oh wait…you didn’t.”

  “Heeeeehhh.”

  “You were probably right to ignore Clayfield’s history. I mean, it was just the only thing that made the town interesting.”

  “Gahhggg.”

  “It turns out we have some new attractions. The visitors are coming into town for guns, food, and…let’s see, what did they call it?…oh yeah, ‘healthy pussy.’”

  “Ggggeehh.”

  “We should try to work ‘healthy pussy’ into the town’s slogan at our next meeting.”

  “Are you about done?” the voice startled me. I turned around and Sara was standing behind me, rifle in hand. She brushed her bangs away from her eyes and looked at me expectantly.

  “I told you to wait in the car,” I said, embarrassed.

  She rolled her eyes, “Just take care of him and get the damn map. Or do you need to
vent some more over things that don’t matter?”

  “You just said ‘damn,’” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss before. What would Jesus think?”

  “I’m tired,” she said. “Leave me alone, and stop with the Jesus jokes. You know how I feel about that.”

  “Gaaagh,” Alan chimed in.

  Sara lifted her rifle and blew Alan’s head apart.

  “Me and my healthy pussy will be in the car. Don’t take all day.”

  She left the building without looking back. I stood at the glass door and watched her walk to the car.

  “I think I might have crossed a line there, Alan.”

  I turned and walked past Alan’s body to the brochure rack. I took every map there–both county and city. I figured they would make good additions to our future supply caches.

  There was a toot on the horn from outside. I exited the building with my stack of maps. Some zombies were approaching, but I had plenty of time. I got in, put the machete in the floor at my feet, and pulled the revolver out of my pants to make sitting more comfortable.

  Sara put the car in reverse and actually swerved so she could hit one of the nearby creatures. The thing flopped up onto the trunk then rolled off.

  “I’m sorry if I made you mad,” I said. “I was just joking.”

  “I’m not mad,” she said, putting the car into drive and ramming a second creature.

  “If you say so,” I said.

  She looked over at me, but she didn’t reply. She pulled out onto the road and headed south. I kept waiting for her to say something. I wasn’t used to the women in my life letting me get in the last word. My ex always got in the last word, as did Jen. Sara’s silence bothered me. It made me want to needle her some more so she would talk, but I didn’t.

  “I knew Alan from before,” I said, trying to make conversation.

  “I could tell,” she replied.

  “He always shot down my ideas. He was nice, but…you know…kind of passive aggressive.”

  She looked at me and nodded.

  “I just had to get some things off my chest….you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “One time he told the city council that they should cut funding to the museum. He said it was a waste of money.” I shrugged and looked down at my feet.

  “Sorry to have stolen that moment from you and your machete,” she said.

  Ouch.

  “Yeah…listen…I’m sorry about the Jesus joke. It’s just that I never heard you cuss, that’s all.”

  “Water under the bridge,” she said. “Open the map, navigator. We’re looking for Tucker Road.”

  Tucker Road was out away from town and almost out of the county. It was one of those long, narrow, meandering back roads that probably started out as a wagon path more than a century before, its course determined by trees and barns and property lines that no longer existed. We took it slow on the road, not just because of its unnecessary curves, but because we were looking for a house with solar panels on the roof. We didn’t have a specific address. Luckily, the road didn’t have that many houses.

  We passed an intersection with another road, and I looked at the map.

  “That was Sion Lane,” I said. “We’re almost to the end of Tucker now. Are you sure it was Tucker?”

  Sara sighed heavily and gave me an impatient, “Yes.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Somerville was mistaken,” I said.

  “Maybe,” she replied.

  We drove for another mile and the road ended at a stop sign where it connected to one of the main highways. Sara pulled out into the highway, did a U-turn, and headed back the way we came.

  “We must have missed something,” she said. “I’m going to pull in at every house this time.”

  “If we’re doing that, we should check for supplies while we’re at it,” I suggested.

  She shook her head, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to focus on finding Nicholas and Judy.”

  The first house was a newer mobile home with a small yard. The property butted up against a fenced cow pasture. To the side of the home was a child’s swing set. Next to the swing set was a scrawny, naked undead woman. She started toward us, dragging her feet. I stared at her, but Sara ignored her.

  “The panels might not be on the roof,” Sara said. “In one of your Mother Earth News magazines, I saw how some people mount them on stands in their yard.”

  “I don’t see anything like that here,” I said absently as I kept my eyes on the approaching woman.

  “I know,” Sara said, even more impatiently as she backed out of the driveway and back into the road. “I’m trying to tell you what to look out for.”

  “Are you okay?” I asked, turning my attention to her. “You seem upset.”

  She sighed again, “I’m tired, and I’m worried.”

  “Don’t worry about the Somervilles,” I said. “They’ve proven they can take care of themselves.”

  We pulled into four more driveways on Tucker Road before I thought we found what we were looking for. It was a ranch-style house with a small yellow and black sign in the yard that said PRICE REDUCED * FORECLOSURE * BANK OWNED. There were six long metal brackets attached to the roof.

  “I’ll bet this is it,” I said. “The solar panels were probably mounted on those brackets.”

  She put the car in park and rested her head against the back of the seat, staring at the roof of the house.

  “It must have been a while since Judy was out here,” she said. “This was a wasted trip. Now we have to try the high school, and I was hoping we could avoid that.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “They’re not going to be very welcoming. I’m sorry; it’s my fault.”

  Sara looked like she was going to say something, but just shook her head instead.

  “What?” I said.

  She acted hesitant, like she was trying to decide whether she should talk, but then just came out with it.

  “It keeps coming back to Jen,” Sara said. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but I just can’t seem to get a break from that woman.”

  The mention of Jen’s name caused a sharp twinge inside me.

  “What do you mean?” I said

  “Yeah, it’s your fault we’re unwelcome at the high school,” she continued, “but it was all because of Jen. The Somervilles are missing now, because they went out looking for a new place where you wouldn’t be reminded of Jen. When you were sick, you kept calling me by her name and—“

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know. I had a fever; I must have said a lot of crazy stuff.”

  “—if all that weren’t bad enough, she’s still out there somewhere.”

  “Oh,” I said. I had no idea how to respond to that.

  We both got quiet and stared out the windshield. The only sound was the idling engine.

  “I’m sorry” she said finally, “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m…I’m sorry.”

  She put the car in reverse and backed out into the road.

  CHAPTER 9

  The drive into Clayfield was quiet and tense. The infected were everywhere outside. We were aware of them the way one might be aware of a thunderstorm while safe and dry inside of a shelter—the phenomenon was out there and kind of scary, but now so commonplace that it could be tuned out.

  I thought we’d go directly to the Grace County High School, but instead Sara drove us to the house in which we had been living before our run-in with Corndog and Wheeler. The front wooden fence was a splintered mess where they’d rammed through.

  “Better park on the street,” I said softly, breaking the silence. “We don’t want to risk damaging our tires driving over that debris.”

  She parked and we got out. We stood by the car for a few seconds listening and looking around. Other than birds and the occasional distant howl of one of the undead, it was quiet. The trees on the street had been leafing out for more than a week, and since the rain, they were a vibrant, almost unnatural, green. Sara checked her w
eapon to make sure it was ready and we proceeded along the wooden fence toward the house.

  The hay truck was still parked in the driveway, but the bus was gone. There were a lot of clothes and other items we’d collected from Wal-Mart scattered around on the ground outside. They’d stolen the bulk of our supplies and discarded the rest. I doubted we’d find much left inside the house.

  Sara bent over and peeled up a pair of jeans that had been trampled into the mud.

  “It doesn’t look good,” she said.

  “No.”

  “They left the cistern tank and some of the heavy stuff on the hay truck,” she said, dropping the jeans.

  “Let’s go inside,” I said.

  The house had been thoroughly looted. All of the food was gone, all of the guns, alcohol, bottled water, medicine—

  “Ugh,” Sara said coming out of one of the bedrooms. “They took all my underwear.”

  “The night vision goggles are gone,” I said.

  “What about the sunroom?”

  We both went into the glassed-in back porch, hoping it had been ignored. It had not. The flats where we’d started our seeds had been upended. Potting soil darkened the floor. I saw a tiny, wilted seedling laying on top of the dirt, its bare roots exposed.

  “Dammit,” I said, squatting down and scraping up the dirt with the side of my hand.

  Sara knelt beside me.

  “Do you think we can save them?” she asked.

  “So long as the seedlings aren’t broken and have stayed moist, they might be okay,” I replied. “I wonder if they found the stash of seed packets.”

  “I’ll go check,” she said.

  She returned with a small cardboard box.

  “They didn’t take them,” she said. “They left the sweet potatoes, too.”

  I looked up and she was holding one of the shriveled sweet potatoes I’d found on the floor at Wal-Mart more than two weeks before. Of course, they made me think of Jen, but I didn’t mention it.

  “Good,” I said, relieved.