by Jacy Morris
"Anyone got a bottle opener?" Quigs asked, looking dubiously at a brown bottle with a smiling cavalier on the front of it.
"Just use your teeth," Gregg said before sinking his own teeth down on the bottle cap, popping it off with a quick twist. Amanda cringed at this display of machismo.
Tejada yelled, "Don't use your goddamned teeth, you idiot. You see a dentist out here? You break one of your choppers and you're in for a world of hurt. Whiteside, gimme one of those."
Whiteside tossed him a bottle, and Tejada caught it in mid-air. He looked at the label and shook his head. "Of course you'd give me a damned IPA. What's a guy gotta do for a can of Coors Light? Lookit here." Tejada pulled his sidearm and wedged the butt underneath the bottle cap. "A soldier's sidearm is a man's best friend for more reasons than one." He twisted the handle downward, and the bottle cap popped off with a hiss. "Just make sure you got the safety on." He upended the beer, and the other soldiers used their sidearms as Tejada had done.
Whiteside tossed Amanda a bottle, and she bobbled it a bit before clamping her hands around the glass.
"Nice catch," Rudy said. She looked at him like she did it every day, and then turned to the soldier next to her and held the bottle out. He popped the top off using the trick Tejada had shared, and Amanda took it back. She held it up and looked at the label. It was a brand she had never heard of. The red and gold label featured the word "bitter," which she didn't think boded well.
Epps handed Rudy an open beer before catching another from Whiteside.
"Everyone good?" Tejada asked, not intending to wait for an answer. "Great. Let's walk."
"Bottoms up," Amanda said, looking dubiously at her beer. She wished it was one of those sweet flavored numbers that her friends used to bribe their older brothers into buying for them. Rudy and Amanda clinked bottles, and then Amanda held the beer up to her mouth.
She wanted to spit it out immediately. As she forced herself to swallow the beer, she was struck by the sensation of three things: bread, piss, and ear wax. The draught had an initial bready flavor, which struck her as odd, but not as odd as the warmth of the drink. This was where the piss sensation came in. As she swallowed, the bitter aftertaste of the beer reminded her of ear wax.
Rudy gasped and spit his beer out on the road, where it foamed on the dusty pavement. "Bah!" he grumbled. "Tastes like shit."
"Don't waste it, Rudy," Epps said next to him. "What do you got there?"
"Dusty Mummy Imperial Stout," Rudy said.
"Here, trade me. You'll like mine better."
Rudy and Epps traded. Amanda watched Rudy take another swig, laughing at his grimace.
"What are you laughing at?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"I don't see you drinking yours," he said.
Amanda, always up for a challenge, tilted the bottle back. The bitterness of the drink must have screwed her face up something awful because Rudy couldn't contain his laughter. They walked down Walker Road, sipping their beers and eyeing the shadowy, overgrown yards of the houses to their left and right.
Occasionally, an Annie would appear as if from out of thin air. The clothes of the dead were bleached and tattered now. They blended right in with the brown and green, knee-high stalks of grass that jutted up from lawns that hadn't been watered for the better part of the summer.
A slight breeze set the overgrown grass to rustling, and the noise covered the approach of the dead as they pressed through the stalks of grass and other weeds. In one yard, a patch of giant sunflowers grew. Amanda caught sight of movement in several yards, without being able to see exactly what was moving. It could have been a dog or a cat, or maybe just a common squirrel. Or maybe it was a legless Annie crawling towards the sounds it heard on the road. Either way, she didn't feel safe.
Whiteside, drained his beer, and chucked it at the head of a distant Annie working its way through a patch of ivy that had grown onto the road. The bottle smashed off the poor bastard's head, and Whiteside pumped his fist.
"Why don't you show some class?" Rudy said.
Whiteside looked at Rudy sideways, smirking,
"Big boy, the next time one of those things is coming to make a meal out of you, by all means, show it all the respect you got. Me? I'll be shooting the fuckers."
They lapsed into silence, but when the other soldiers were done with their beers, they tossed them into the overgrown grass, not at the Annies. Whiteside didn't seem to notice. They pressed forward, enjoying the day, until they crested a hill and saw a line of black-walled fortifications in the distance. Twelve-feet tall, the blockade started at the corner of Walker Road and shot off to the west and south. It was a good sturdy wall. They could all see that.
But they could also see the hundreds of Annies that crowded around the wall as well. With another growing comet tail behind them, they had a decision to make. They stood in the middle of the street, their tail getting closer and closer.
"What do you boys think?" Tejada asked.
"Nice big walls. I fucking love walls right about now," Epps said.
"Nah, it's a trap. Those walls come down, and those things will be all over us, hundreds all at once," Brown said.
"But, if it's a safe place, we have to try, right?" Rudy asked.
Tejada scrubbed a hand across his stubbly face. "Yeah, but we don't know what's on the other side of those walls. We might jump over one wall and find hundreds of Annies just dying to get out."
"I say we give it a try. It's... providence. That's the word, right?" Quigs asked.
Whiteside punched Quigs in the shoulder, "I wish you'd quit readin' that damn Bible, you sumbitch. It's sucking all the fun out of you."
"Providence is right," Brown said. "I'm still willing to believe in a little bit of that God luck, what about you, Izzy?"
Allen ran a hand through his curly brown hair. He looked down at the wall in the distance, "My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; look on my works ye mighty, and despair."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Whiteside asked.
"I wouldn't expect you to know," Allen said.
Tejada, annoyed by the by-play and feeling a little pressed by the Annies approaching behind him, said, "Alright. This isn't the fucking View. Let's do this the old-fashioned way. Anyone that wants to get over that wall, raise your hand."
They looked around as six hands went up. Tejada nodded. "Those that want to go around, raise your hands." 5 hands went up. "And what about you two?"
Rudy and Amanda looked at each other. Amanda had so many thoughts running through her mind at that moment, but the biggest concern of hers was not the men with the guns and the hard faces. It was not her own safety either. Her biggest concern was Rudy. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to make the call. She knew he wouldn't survive. He was too, big, too out of shape, and she couldn't stand the thought of losing him, or even worse, seeing him become one of those things.
"This could be a good thing," Amanda said. "I say we give it a shot."
Rudy nodded his head. "I'm with her."
Tejada nodded. He had expected as much, but then he regarded them both with an eye as hard as bronze. "You know that if this thing goes south, that could mean more running."
They nodded.
"Are you up for more running, Rudy?"
"I'll do what I have to do," he said.
Tejada nodded. It was as he expected.
****
They turned down one of the side streets and circled around, trying to shake their tail. The plan was to hide inside an old elementary school they had seen, and if they couldn't get inside the school, they could always find a way onto the roof. Tejada wanted the men to be rested when they approached the wall.
As they walked, Tejada fantasized about what was on the other side of the wall. He imagined that there were other soldiers. He imagined that there were civilian families sitting in a cafeteria eating food from cans. Maybe there was even a little garden that was growing food. There could be anything on th
e other side of that wall, anything at all. It was too good an opportunity to pass up, until he thought of the alternative scenario... of an army of the dead waiting on the other side. He put the thought out of his mind and focused on the task before him.
They pushed through the backyard of a couple of residential homes, whacking the few straggling Annies with their rifles and sending them to the ground. They moved as silently as they could, but even so, Tejada could hear Rudy's wheezing behind him. Rudy needed a rest as bad as anyone. The boy was pushing himself, and Tejada, despite the needs of his soldiers, couldn't let Rudy run himself into the ground. If they found a safe place on the other side of that wall, Tejada would put the boy through his routines. He had come this far; it wouldn't do to not train him to survive on his own. Tejada wouldn't always be around; he knew that was a possibility. He would impart his knowledge to as many people as he could, even to Amanda if she wanted it.
It was the only sort of legacy he would have now. The chance of him having children was all but over. He cursed himself for being so dead set against starting a family in his younger years. He had indulged in the company of many women of course, but he had always held them in check, refusing to allow them to come between his career and what he had seen as his real family, the fine men and women of the United States Army. If he could find a place for his soldiers to live, maybe he could have that legacy. Maybe, after he was long gone, he would be able to live on in the memories of those he had served, and maybe their children would remember him as well. Hell, if they were the only people left, he would be the only grandparent any of those kids would ever know. He kind of liked the thought of that.
The walled compound was a bit close to Portland, but it was far enough away that he didn't think the hordes of downtown Portland would ever find their way to this part of the suburbs, not for a long time at least. Would the beach be better? Maybe. But this place certainly had its attractions. Close to shopping centers and unlooted stores, they could survive for years, giving themselves a chance to get their feet under them and strike back against the undead menace that plagued their each and every day.
Ahead of them, the low, functional structure of a school appeared. The pavement looked dry; shoots of persistent weeds jutted up and out from jagged cracks in the pavement. Waist-high glass windows ran up to the ceiling, reflecting the sunshine above while hiding the contents inside. Without having to be told, Day sprinted up to a window and bashed it in with the butt of his rifle. In the old days, this would have set off a silent alarm, and within minutes, police cars would be on the scene, their lights flashing blue and red in the daylight. But there were no more policeman. There were no more alarms. Everything you wanted was right at your fingertips, just a broken window or busted lock away.
Day swept the frame of the window free of glass with his rifle. Whiteside threw a towel over the frame, and then Whiteside and Allen climbed inside. Once they had cleared the classroom, they helped pull the others inside. Epps and Quigs boosted Beacham through the window, with Whiteside and Allen helping him in. Despite their best efforts, Beacham's face still screwed up in pain, but he managed to keep quiet. Next, they boosted Rudy up, his upper body lacking the strength required to climb in himself. As soon as everyone else was inside, Tejada ran and jumped, hauling himself into the window not a moment too soon, as the first of the dead shuffled into view. Everyone laid low on the floor, resting.
The classroom was warm; its large windows trapped the heat inside. The soldiers and survivors lay on the floor looking all around them. Rows of abandoned desks sat in neat rows, as if the students were going to come back any day. The whiteboard was empty, the outbreak having started at the beginning of summer. Around the upper edge of the whiteboard, a cardboard border ran. The alphabet was printed on it in cursive letters, and more than one of the survivors were hit with a wave of nostalgia.
Day and Gregg crawled across the ancient, wooden boards of the classroom, towards the door. Day rose into a crouch, and pushed the door open. He tested the outside doorknob, and found that it didn't turn. Gregg grabbed a math textbook from a bookshelf and wedged it between the door and the jamb to keep the door from closing behind them. They stepped into the cool darkness of the interior hallway, their rifles at the ready. There was nothing to see, except for chairs stacked randomly in the middle of the hallway.
The hallway ran down the middle of the building where there were no windows, so there was no need for them to hide. It was stuffy like the air inside a sealed mausoleum. The only air coming into the hallway flowed through the window they had broken and then through the door they had propped open. The bulletin boards along the walls were blank and unused.
"Spread out. Take a look around. We don't want any Annies creepin' up on us," Tejada whispered.
Day and Gregg, covered in dust from their crawl, moved silently through the hallway, though the weight of their bodies caused the old wooden floors to groan. They turned the knob of a door, but it wouldn't budge. All up and down the hallways, they found the same. The school was locked up tight, with the exception of the bathrooms, which were empty.
Day elbowed Gregg as they stood in the men's bathroom. "Check it out," Day said, pointing, "toilet paper."
Gregg and Day looked at each other before sharing a muted high-five.
With the building pronounced clear, they group to the time to rest in the hallway, eating and regaining their strength.
****
Andy basked in his newfound fame. He was one of them. The other soldiers finally saw him for who he was. It was glorious. He was no longer a weak nothing, whose sole existence seemed to be to give rich kids something to punch. He was somebody now.
He sat, playing a quiet game of poker with the others. They referred to him as Walt now, and Andy wondered if they had ever truly learned his name to begin with. Most of the soldiers had just called him "kid" up to that point.
"Here you go, Walt. Try one of these; you earned it," Whiteside said. Whiteside held out a somewhat crinkled cigarette, and Andy just looked at it.
"Go on. Take it, man," Epps said. "That right there is like the highest honor one can give in this world. You know how hard it is to find cigarettes these days?"
It was true. Even in the grocery store, Andy had watched as Whiteside and the others had combed the grocery store looking for cigarettes. While there was plenty of food around, it seemed that humans, in their infinite stupidity, had found cigarettes to be more important than food because there were only a few cartons left lying around. For Whiteside to offer him one of his few remaining cigarettes was a high honor indeed... but Andy didn't smoke. He reached for it anyway.
"I've never..." he began, but then Whiteside interrupted.
"Why? Cuz you thought you were gonna get cancer?" Whiteside laughed. "Hell, we should be so lucky to die of cancer."
"You have a point," Andy said.
"Of course he does," Allen said from the corner where he was tying bundles of rope into intricate knots. For what purpose, Andy didn't know.
Andy held the cigarette up to his lips, between his fingers the way he saw others do it. It felt awkward. Whiteside lifted a lighter to the tip of the cigarette. Andy breathed inward, and his mouth filled with the disgusting flavor of smoke.
He leaned back and blew the smoke into the air.
"You didn't do it right," Whiteside said. "Breathe it in, man."
Andy tried to breathe the smoke this time, but he breathed it in too deeply, and he began to cough. He put his arm over his face to muffle the noise, and through the tears in his eyes, he could see Whiteside and the others rolling on the wooden floor of the hallway, their hands over their face to keep their laughter from floating outside and alerting the Annies to their presence. From the end of the hall, Tejada tossed them an annoyed glare, but they could see the trembling at the corners of his mouth as he stifled a smile.
Eventually the coughing passed, and tiny spots swam in Andy's vision as he tried to regain the oxygen he had been depr
ived of during his coughing fit. He held the cigarette up to his lips like a boy about to have his first kiss. He breathed inward, slower this time, and the smoke made its way into his lungs, with only a slight burn in his trachea. He exhaled the smoke, knowing that he had done it right that time.
His head began to swim in the most pleasant of sensations, and he understood now why people smoked. Whiteside gave him a wink, nodding his head up and down.
"You in?" Epps asked him as he took another drag off of the cigarette.
Andy nodded his head, as Epps' brown hands dealt the cards.
"You like it?" Whiteside asked.
Andy nodded his head, incapable of speech through the spinning euphoria of his head.
"Yeah, well, the next one's on you. So keep your eyes peeled out there," Whiteside said.
****
Izzy Allen flipped and knotted the ropes using the knowledge that he had learned as a Boy Scout. He had learned much as a young boy, stuck among other boys who had never quite seen the world the way he had. It was funny which of those lessons had stuck with him. Tying knots was one of those things.
He disliked the feel of the nylon rope, its garish patterns sliding in and out of his hands as he looped, circled, pushed, and pulled. He would take coarse rope any day. Coarse rope, that cheap hemp stuff with the fraying edges and the prickly feel, that was what he liked to use. When you knotted classic rope, you felt like a snake charmer, taming something that was never meant to be tamed. With the nylon stuff, there was no such sensation.
Still, he twisted and he knotted, listening to the conversations of the men around him. The memories of Ramirez and Kazinsky were drifting away like the smoke around Walt's head, lifting upwards, fading into nothingness. But just like smoke, they were still there, a faint smell on the fingers and clothes that would intrude at the most random of moments, but eventually this too would fade. When we die, we turn to smoke.
It was a depressing thought. He cinched the last knot and then stood up and swung his creation around, testing it. When he was done, he stepped past Quigs who was engrossed in reading a small, pocket Bible.