by Russ Watts
“I’m not going to hurt it, Dad,” Charlie said through her tears. She was shaking, yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She had to make him see that he was wrong. “I think we can save it. I think—”
Kyler shook his head. “You’ve got to grow up one day. You have to fight or you die, Charlie. Your boy bands are gone. They’re not making another Star Wars. There are no more trips to the golden arches or the mall, so grow a pair.”
“No!”
Charlie screamed as Kyler reached down, scooped up the crow in his hands, and snapped its neck. The sickening crack sent shivers up and down Charlie’s spine. Kyler held the lifeless bird in his hands and walked toward his daughter.
“Here.” He thrust the bird to her and instinctively Charlie held out her hands. Kyler dropped it into her hands.
“You can serve it tonight with that tin of potatoes we’ve been saving. I need a good feed for a change. I’ve had enough of this shit. It’s time for you to start taking on some more responsibility, Charlie. Hurry up and get inside.” Kyler walked back to the house and turned in the doorway. He looked at his daughter holding the dead bird, her face a mixture of shock and fear. “If I don’t see that bird on our plate tonight, maybe I’ll snap your fucking neck too,” he said calmly, and then disappeared back inside.
Charlie stared at the bird in her hands. Its head lolled loosely around in her palms, and yet it was still warm. Its feathers were soft and its body fat. She knew she had to do it. Would her father hurt her or hit her or kill her if she didn’t? She doubted it, but he would make her life Hell.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Crow. I thought…I just wanted to help.”
A song started playing, a distant voice that soon turned into a full choir. It was the song she had used earlier to drown out the noise of the zombies. Now it was drowning out her thoughts.
‘I want to kiss your mouth, hold your hand, and all I feel is the distant wind as you turn your back on me.’
The thought that kept coming to the front of her mind was how she wished she could swap places with her mother. Charlie didn’t want to wish herself dead and she didn’t want to remember her mother like that, or remember how much her father had willfully hurt her. So she played the song at full volume and slowly walked back toward the house, toward her home, and letting the tears fall, she began to think how she was going to cook Mr. Crow for dinner.
CHAPTER 3
“You sure about this?” asked Rilla. “I mean, maybe we should wait. He listens to Lyn. I’ll talk to her.”
Schafer shook his head. “It’s too late for talking. He won’t listen anymore. The more you try to explain things to him, the more he digs in his heels. It’s like he’s making a point now. No, this is our best shot, Rilla. I’ll be careful. I’ll be fine. Just look after your mother. Magda’s not doing so well. She’s worried. She… just look after her for me.”
“Okay, but…”
Schafer kissed his daughter’s forehead, his gray beard tickling her skin. He was worried about venturing out into Peterborough, but he saw no other choice. They would run out of food in two more days if they didn’t find more, and they had enough water for three or four days maximum. Jeremy was insistent that it was too dangerous to go out, and that they wouldn’t find anything if they did. He thought they should wait for the crops they had planted a few weeks ago; wait for the bountiful harvest that his garden was supposed to bring. Schafer knew that waiting was not an option anymore. They had tried it Jeremy’s way, and it wasn’t working anymore. Magda had lost even more weight and was becoming lethargic with every passing day. They had all lost weight, and if he didn’t do something about it today, then tomorrow might not come. Schafer knew his headache was a result of becoming dehydrated, and it was another reason why he had to leave the house. He had tried talking to Jeremy about it, but he was continually shut down. Over the last week they had argued more and more, until it just wasn’t worth the effort anymore. If Jeremy wanted to stay and starve to death, then Schafer knew he couldn’t convince him otherwise. That didn’t mean he had to let his family suffer too.
“I’ll be okay, Rilla.”
Schafer had found one of Victoria’s empty backpacks and pulled the straps around his shoulder to make sure it was secure. He was going to use it to hopefully bring back some food. Schafer patted his pocket, checking the kitchen knife was safely stowed away, and gripped the old baseball bat in his hands. Rilla had found it in the back of the garage collecting dust, probably one of Jeremy’s old toys from his own boyhood, and she had stolen it away for her father, insisting that he take it.
“Just keep quiet, don’t draw attention to yourself, and get back here if you run into any trouble. Don’t take any chances, okay?”
“Promise.” Schafer winked. “Now go. Just make sure you’re here when I get back.”
From the confines of the laundry room they ceased their whispering, and Rilla stepped out to head for the kitchen. She had to cause a distraction to make sure that Jeremy and Lyn were looking at her and not at her father who was about to sneak out the back. Jeremy would never allow Schafer to go out, so they had planned how to do it carefully. Rilla would make a lot of noise in the kitchen from where the back yard was hidden from view. Schafer meanwhile would run out back and use the garbage bins to scale the retaining wall into the neighbor’s property. If Jeremy or Lyn asked where Schafer was during the day, then Rilla would simply say he wasn’t feeling well and was still in bed.
Schafer waited patiently in the laundry room, for Rilla to start shouting and drawing everyone to the kitchen. He looked around the room as he waited, marveling at how white and clean everything was. With everything that had happened, it was surprising how Jeremy and Lyn liked to keep up appearances. Lyn regularly swept and cleaned the house, even dusting the TV when it hadn’t worked for months and wasn’t likely to ever again.
A short scream sounded from within the house, and Schafer knew that was his cue. It was Rilla screaming, and he could already hear the others running to the kitchen. He crept silently out of the room, down the corridor to the back door, and outside where the sun was waiting for him. He heard Rilla scream again and shout something about rats, and then he was gone, running over the brown garden and the dead vegetable patch to the wall. It looked higher than he remembered, but he couldn’t afford to back out now. He dragged two of the garbage bins over and pushed them right up against the wall. Clambering on top of them, he put his arms on top of the wall and began to pull himself up. When he reached the summit, he looked back briefly, noticing the crowded zombies around the front of the house. When they did go, they would all have to go over the wall too.
Before he jumped down, Schafer scanned the neighbor’s yard, ensuring it was clear. The drop, about ten feet, wasn’t as high on this side as the land rose up, and he knew he could safely let himself down without breaking anything. The whole area had been concreted over and seemingly used to store old car parts. Bits of engine lay all over the place, and dead leaves had collected in the corners of the yard. The small house beyond looked deserted. Two small windows upstairs were open, and the dark rooms within appeared to be empty. There was one large window downstairs, also open, and Schafer dropped to the ground. As he landed he dropped the bat, and it rolled into a rusty old carburetor, sending out a clanging sound that echoed around the yard. Schafer bristled, but nothing came running from the house. He scooped up the bat and paused. If the noise had disturbed a zombie inside the house, then it would be out any moment. At least if he were here he could scale the wall and be back over at Jeremy’s safely and quickly.
Nothing came. Cautiously, Schafer approached the house. It was similar in style to Jeremy’s, though it didn’t appear to be in such good repair. The paint around the windows was cracking and peeling, and the yard was dirty. There was a small path leading around the side of the house where Schafer noticed a discarded child’s bike, its wheels flat and a cobweb stretching from the faded pink seat to the handlebars. A spider scuttled awa
y under the rim of the seat as Schafer came nearer. The bike was on the ground, probably abandoned when the occupants of the house had left town. He had learnt that as many people had run as had stayed, and he hoped this was one family who had left town. Though he was prepared to do what it took to help protect his family, he didn’t really want to have to face one of the zombies. Putting down an animal was one thing, putting down another human was something else. Escaping the motel, he had managed to push them away, avoid them, and dodge their clutches. He wasn’t actually sure what he would do if he came face to face with a zombie directly and was hoping he wouldn’t have to decide anytime soon.
Schafer put his hand on the back door and pushed. It opened easily, revealing a dark interior. Stepping over the threshold, the warmth of the sun on his back evaporated quickly, and the still coldness of the house wrapped around him. The air was cool, and Schafer had to force himself to breathe naturally. He felt like he was breaking in, even though the door was open, and he held the bat firmly in front of himself. It didn’t come naturally to him to break and enter, and he was no hero.
“Food. Find the kitchen.” Schafer needed to speak to break up the silence. Rilla had wanted to come with him, but there was no way he would let her. It was far too dangerous, and he would move quicker on his own. He didn’t want to spend half of his time looking out for her when he had to concentrate on watching himself.
Schafer didn’t have to look far. He walked through the ground floor of the house slowly, looking solely for where the kitchen was. Soon he found it, a small, dirty room buzzing with flies. The sink was piled high with dishes and the counter was filthy, riddled with leftover food and stains that didn’t need close inspection. Schafer wasn’t looking for fresh food and left the rotting meat to the flies. He needed tins and packets of preserved food, maybe bottles of drink too. He opened all the cupboards, coming across cutlery, dishcloths, plates and utensils, none of which were of any use. He finally opened a cupboard that contained two small tins at the back. The rest of the cupboard had been cleaned out, but he grabbed the last two remaining cans and examined the label.
“Macaroni cheese.” He didn’t know what it was and the picture on the front of a yellow mush looked foul, but he took it anyway. If that was all he found all day, he was going to go home disappointed.
The rest of the kitchen turned up nothing useful, and he carefully went to the front door. There was a broken pane of glass at the top of the door, and he stood up on tip-toe to see through it. As he looked out onto the front of the house, he tugged at his beard. The corpses were everywhere, not just at Jeremy’s house, but all over the street. Rotting bodies walked slowly up and down the street as if waiting for an order; men and women bumping into one another without even noticing. Some held onto bloody bones like teddy bears or as if they were security blankets, their fingers wrapped tightly around the white femurs and humeri. Others looked around trying to find something of their own, their blank gazes only coming to life when they spotted raw meat. Schafer knew if he stayed at the door too long they would find him. It would only take one, and then it would bring more. He retreated into the confines of the dark house. The road was too full of them, so clearly he was going to have to stick to using the back yards to get around for now. He just hoped they didn’t all have such high walls as Jeremy’s.
Schafer went back to the yard and examined the wall leading to the next house. It wasn’t too high, and he knew he could get over it with a little help. Spotting a spare tire, he dragged it over to the wall, the effort of it making him sweat. All he had eaten in the last twenty-four hours was half of a dark chocolate bar and a cold tin of tomato soup. They were down to one cup of water a day each, and it wasn’t enough to keep them going. He ignored the pain in his head, and using the tire to lever himself up, he climbed the wall to the next house.
The neighbor here obviously took more pride in their house, and the garden, though overgrown now, clearly had been loved at one point. There was an abundance of flowers and roses that had intertwined around each other, unattended too for months, and vines had grown all along the length of the dividing wall. Dropping into the garden, he landed softly on a mound of earth, his feet sinking into the dry dirt. The house proved less successful than the last, though, as all the doors and windows were locked. Schafer reckoned he safely had three or four hours before he would have to turn back, and it would be easier moving from house to house as the fences got lower and easier to climb.
Using a discarded trampoline, Schafer clambered into the next property and found one more dead end: another locked house, and no way in. He could have smashed a window, but was reluctant to draw any attention to himself with the inevitable noise that it would make. Plus, if he accidentally cut himself, he didn’t want to bleed to death before he could make it back to Jeremy’s. As he made his way over another fence, he realized he had reached the end of the small terrace. The last property had no fence bordering it and the garden gave way to a small path, and then the open road. He spotted a couple of zombies meandering amongst the discarded vehicles on the road, and he quickly ran to the back porch. There was a glass atrium over a wooden deck where the occupants of the house had probably spent many hours enjoying the sunshine. Schafer didn’t want to stay outside for long and expose himself to the corpses close by, so he entered the house quickly, finding the back door wide open.
The heat in the atrium was intense and he moved fast, jogging into a downstairs sitting room furnished with photos on every wall. A black and white picture hung above the couch of a couple on their wedding day reclining in an orchard surrounded by flowers. The man wore a smart suit and tie; the woman a white dress. Both had gleaming white teeth and large smiles. They were beaming with happiness, and suddenly Schafer felt overwhelmed by sadness. Where were these people? Had they left and made it somewhere safe, or were they rotting in a field, their decomposing bodies exposed to the elements, their wedding bands destined to be buried forever in the earth? Schafer looked closer at the other photographs around the room, all immaculately mounted in plain silvery chrome frames: in one the woman held a tiny baby, in another the baby had grown into a small boy and was playing with a plate of spaghetti and had it draped over his head as he laughed. Schafer saw drawings made in crayon, stick figures holding hands as a purple sun shone down on an over-sized house with blue grass and a giant fish inexplicably floating in the sky above them all. They were the sort of drawings that Rilla used to do before she grew up and got into boys and partying. As Schafer made his way around the room, he tried to shun the feeling of sadness, to summon up his energy and concentrate on finding what he had come here for.
Next to a bureau full of papers was another open door, and he made his way to it. Sat atop the pine bureau was a square fish tank, the liquid in it a murky dull gray. The parapet of a plastic castle poked above the thick soup-like shallow water, and the tiny skeletons of two fish lay on the crusty surface, reduced to nothing but bones amid dirty sludge. Feeling queasy as he moved through the house, Schafer wanted to hurry. The hallway stretching from the sitting room was dark with no windows to allow in any light, and he almost dropped the bat as his sweaty hands fumbled past a coat stand and onto another door.
He felt uneasy looking around the family home of dead people and was relieved when he finally found a large kitchen through the next doorway. The curtains were drawn, and the kitchen was clean and tidy, aside from a large brown stain on the floor in the center of the room. Moving swiftly, he started to ransack the cupboards, instantly finding a packet of chips and two unopened bottles of Sprite. He dusted them down and shoved them into the backpack, grateful it hadn’t been a wasted trip. If nothing else, he would be able to go back with a few supplies to tide them over. It also meant he could concentrate on the next part of the plan; the true reason he had left Jeremy’s house.
Aside from gathering food, he needed to do some more investigation of Peterborough. With the food and water rations all but gone, it was important to replen
ish them, and in the short-term they needed anything he could lay his hands on. But whatever he found was only going to be a stop-gap. With six mouths to feed, they simply could not all go on living together at Jeremy’s place. There would never be enough to go around. Schafer needed to check out the house on the hill. It was their best chance of making it. Germany was a dream, but the house was attainable. It was barely visible from Jeremy’s, and Schafer had to get closer. He needed to check it out, to see if it really was an option. He wanted to know if it was as secure as they thought, if the walls were still intact, or if it had been overrun with zombies. Rilla was convinced it was safe; sure that if they could all make it there then they could ride out this whole zombie thing. Schafer wasn’t so sure. Jeremy and Lyn had filled Rilla’s head with tales of Attwood and his house. Intending to warn her off the place with stories of how obscenely rich he was, and how the mansion wasn’t suited to the area, they had inadvertently put the idea in his daughter’s head that it was in fact the safest place in the whole area. It was run more like a compound or a military base than a rich man’s sanctuary. Maybe they were one and the same thing. Schafer just knew he couldn’t risk taking his wife and daughter out onto the dangerous streets of Peterborough based on rumors. He had to know what they would be getting themselves into if they left.
Creeping forward to leave the house of death, Schafer turned back to the hallway. As he made his way back past the coat stand, he heard a noise coming from above his right shoulder. A carpeted staircase had hidden the slow footsteps of the women until she was almost upon him. Hopeful he had found a survivor, Schafer turned to discover the woman with her hands reaching for him, her fingers already brushing his shoulders. A nervous excitement made his skin tingle, and he felt suddenly energized, ebullient for the first time in months.