World Memorial

by Robert R. Best

  She changed her line of questions again. "Have you seen this place before?"

  Zach started to nod, then stopped. "Sort of."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've seen this place when I sleep, ma'am," Zach said. He looked at the floor, then back at Angie. "And heard a voice telling me to come here."

  Angie squeezed Zach's hand. She stood, wincing again at the pain when her ankle flexed. "Well, you're here now and we'll do our best to keep you safe, okay?"

  Zach nodded. He looked long and hard at Dalton a second time, then down at the floor.

  Angie looked to Maylee. Maylee took the cue, and headed for the door.

  "Let's go, then," said Angie.

  Angie and Maylee led Zach out of the shed and back into the cold. The wind assaulted them and they drew up their clothing as tightly as they could. Dalton followed a ways behind, hurrying to get his coat on as he exited the medical shed. Angie did her best to shield Zach from the wind.

  A few people milled around the town. Most were inside, staying out of the cold. Life in the impromptu shelters of World Memorial was easier during warm months. But during the winter, it was a fight not to freeze to death. And this winter the windstorms made it worse.

  "Bet it was hard to keep warm," said Angie, trying to keep the tone light and Zach's spirits up. He was quiet, too quiet for a little boy. Then again, she realized, they were all quiet.

  "Yes, ma'am, it was," said Zach. "But the voice told me to keep going."

  "The voice in your dreams?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  They took a few more steps in silence. The snow crunched under their feet.

  "I also had to stay ahead of the bad people," Zach continued.

  "The dead people?"

  "No, ma'am," said Zach. "The other bad people."

  Angie said nothing for the moment. They walked in silence for another minute before emerging into the town square. They were almost at their destination, the old farmhouse that Angie and her kids had taken shelter in three years ago. The start of World Memorial.

  Dalton stepped ahead of the others and trotted up the porch stairs. He opened the door. Angie watched him move, pained at how pale he looked. They had to find something soon, something usable, or the slow bleeding of Dalton would have to stop.

  Dalton held the door open and motioned the others inside. Angie stepped in first, Zach behind her and Maylee walking in last. Dalton followed, closing the door behind him.

  Angie looked around the living room. Or, what had once been the living room. All the furniture was gone, long since moved elsewhere or broken down for firewood. Cots, mats and blankets were laid out everywhere. Each room in the house was like this. Several families were crammed into each room.

  A set of wooden stairs led up to an open landing and a second floor. This floor held the master bedroom where Angie, Maylee and Dalton lived. Two other families slept in there with them. At one point they had lived elsewhere in the house. But as more and more people came, those there before pushed closer together to make room. Eventually there was no room and construction of the town outside began.

  The living room, the largest room, was where most of the children lived. Dozens of them, all looking up from their cots and blankets as Angie and the others entered the room. Battered toys and games, all scavenged from Lakewood and surrounding houses, sat around them. In one corner, next to a large old fireplace stood Mikella and Rhia, two women who volunteered to care for the children. Mikella was older, with long grey hair pulled into a ponytail. Rhia was younger and looked constantly sad. They were closing the lid over a large iron pit slung over the fireplace.

  "Here we go," said Angie to Zach. "It's not much but better than stumbling around in the snow, huh?" She chuckled, again trying to lighten the little boy's mood.

  "Yes, ma'am." said Zach, showing no sign of mirth.

  Angie turned her attention to the children set around the room. "Hey guys," she said, smiling. "Everyone doing okay?"

  The children nodded. One, a young girl of six named Lilly, flipped her off. Lilly was always doing that.

  "Did you guys eat, Lilly?" said Angie.

  "That was food?" said Lilly. "I thought you all just took shits on plates." Several of the other children, the newer ones, looked shocked. The others didn't. Lilly had been one of the first, and the few things she'd shared about her past explained her aggression. Angie just smiled at her. She could smell food and was glad they'd been fed. Glad that in spite of everything, she and the others still had enough food to feed a group of lost children.

  But they aren't lost, are they?Every one of these kids came here on purpose.

  "Good," said Angie. "I hope you guys saved some food for our newest arrival."

  Zach looked around the room at the other children. He gasped, taking a step back.

  Angie turned and looked down at Zach. For the first time since he'd arrived, they boy's face showed an honest emotion: Fear.

  "What is it?" said Angie.

  Zach blinked and looked at her. "The bad people I told you about?"

  "Yes?" said Angie.

  "They chased me for a long time. They said they wanted me to come with them. But the lady in my dreams warned me so I ran."

  Zach was speaking rapidly, backing up as he did. Angie knelt, balancing on her cane, and held out her hand. "Don't be scared. It's okay."

  "It's not okay," said Zach, almost spitting out the second word. "They'll come. The bad people will come. They have pictures of me. Drawings. Of me and all of them." Zach pointed at the children in the room, continuing to back up.

  "What?" said Angie, frowning.

  "They had pictures," said Zach, taking steps backward. "They chased me for a long time. They want all of us."

  He stopped as he collided with Dalton. Dalton had stepped as far backward as he could, pressed up against the door.

  "Whoa, dude," said Dalton, reaching out to stop Zach. "Watch out."

  Zach turned to Dalton. He pointed up at Dalton, his eyes wide.

  "Him too," said Zach.

  Both Angie and Maylee frowned. "What?" Angie repeated.

  "They have a picture of him too. The bad people are coming for him too."

  Zach turned to look Angie in the eyes.

  "The bad people are coming for us."

  Three

  Park trudged through the snow, tracing a winding path around trees and rocks. His rifle bounced on his left shoulder. A backpack of food hung from his right. He hoped he was right about where he was going. If not, he would be dead in a week. It was too cold to play games or be wrong.

  He looked at the sky. It was maybe late morning, but the weather made it hard to tell these days.

  He swore under his breath as he started up a steep hill. He'd never been much for travelling on foot, and he wished he'd had more time to pick an easier path.

  "Who the fuck am I kidding?" muttered Park to himself. "Nothing but hills around here. Shitting hills that lead to other hills." In the last few years, Park had taken to talking to himself. He wondered if it meant he was crazy. He also wondered if he cared.

  He drew near two frozen trees. Frozen branches hung low, blocking his path. Not wanting to bother with going around, he pushed his way through. Ice snapped and fell around him.

  As he stepped past the trees, a groan came from his left.

  He turned to see a man with a deep split running down the center of his face. Frozen pus coated his cheeks and chin. The man groaned and reached for Park.

  "Whoa there buddy," said Park, stepping back. He slid the rifle off his shoulder. "Hold on a second. Got something for you."

  Park took another step back, resting the butt of the rifle on the ground and slipping the strap off his arm. Cold arms closed around his shoulders from behind. A woman hissed in his ear.

  "And shit," said Park. The woman leaned forward, opening her mouth to bite his cheek. Park dropped to his knees, slipping from her grasp.

  The man bent over, still reaching fo
r him. His frozen fingers creaked next to Park's ear.

  "I said to hold on, fuckdamit," said Park. The gun still rested on its butt in front of him. Park put his thumb in the trigger and pushed downward.

  The gun fired, blasting through the man's chin and out the top of his head. The man jerked, thick black glop raining down onto the snow. Several drops spattered Park as the man toppled over.

  "See," said Park. "Told you I had something."

  The woman hissed behind him and bent down, grabbing at his shoulder. Park rolled to one side. As he moved, he felt the woman's hand close on the strap of his backpack. When he spun, she spun with him. They both landed on their backs in the snow.

  Park whipped his head over to look at her. She had no eyes. Ice and snow were caked in the sockets. She started to sit up, leaning toward him and groaning.

  Park still had his right hand on the rifle. He spun it around, arcing over his body and slamming the butt down on her head. Her skull rammed back down into the snow, a dark split in her forehead. Park climbed to his feet, slipping his shoulder out of his backpack. Her frozen hand still clutched the strap.

  She hissed up at him, gargling in the dark liquid oozing from her forehead and running down her face.

  "Yeah yeah yeah," said Park, turning the gun around to point down at her. He fired into her forehead. The bullet thudded into the split he'd made. She jerked as dark goo sprayed onto the snow behind her.

  He panted, wiping dark gore from his face and chest. "Well, that was fun." He knelt to retrieve his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. "Too bad there was no one around to watch."

  He straightened, slipping his rifle back over his other shoulder. He heard something in the trees behind him and spun, looking.

  Nothing.

  He was sure he’d heard something. He stared, waiting. The dead weren't known for subtlety or sneaking up. If he'd heard a corpse, one would stumble into view.

  He waited a few more seconds. Nothing. He decided he'd imagined it.

  Or it wasn't a corpse nearby.

  He shrugged to himself and kept walking.

  * * *

  Angie shut the tailgate of a battered old pickup. She nodded to Walsh sitting in the truck's bed. He was a guard and would serve as lookout for the journey to Old West's house. He held his rifle in front of him.

  She turned to face Maylee. Behind Maylee, the makeshift gate to World Memorial stood open. They were outside the city walls. The road nearby was packed with snow. Angie listened for corpses but heard none nearby. She suspected she listened for corpses in her sleep.

  Maylee sighed. "I really think I should come with you."

  "We discussed this, Maylee," said Angie. "I need someone to watch over things. Especially if that little boy's right and those kids are in danger. If Dalton's in danger."

  "You could be in danger," said Maylee, crossing her arms. The bat strapped to her back bobbed as she moved. "This snow's too bad to be travelling."

  "We need supplies, Maylee. And information. Old West knows a lot about the area. He might know something about these 'bad people.'" Angie walked to the passenger side of the truck and opened the door. Dunwoody sat at the wheel. "And while this whole role-reversal thing you're doing is cute, I think I'll be fine. I'm not the one running around outside chasing corpses all the time."

  "They elected me, Mom."

  "They didn't elect you to join in the first place, Maylee," said Angie. "But we aren't talking about that or about how I wish you would behave more safely. We're talking about me going on a supply run to Old West's. And whether or not I'll be fine."

  Maylee smirked. "And what did we decide?"

  "We decided I'll be fine." She climbed into the truck and shut the door. The engine sputtered to life.

  Angie turned to look at Maylee. She and the town looked small and defenseless. She thought about what the boy, Zach, had said. Bad people after the children. After Dalton.

  She told herself Zach was just shaken by the cold. She willed herself to believe it.

  "Let's go," she said, nodding to Dunwoody in the driver’s seat. He pulled the shifter down and started for the road.

  * * *

  Park rounded a frozen tree and exited the forest. He was on the side of a snow-packed road. A few shallow ruts showed occasional traffic but they were mostly filled with new snow. Park looked up and down the road, not really expecting any cars. He did it mostly out of habit.

  He looked to his left, down the road until it wound around a corner and disappeared among trees. He knew the road would eventually get him where he needed to be. Where he was pretty sure he needed to be. He was putting a lot of trust in strange dreams. He considered the very real possibility he was going crazy. Or already there. Then he disregarded the thought and focused back on the task at hand.

  Years of hunting in the area had taught him that if he kept cutting across the woods, he'd get there faster. He looked across the road and frowned. Something jutted up just past the other side. He knew there was a steep, long drop on that side. It had been a bad stretch of road for accidents back when people cared about traffic accidents. And something was on the far side, sticking up just past the edge.

  He took a step out onto the street, his feet crunching in the snow underneath. He looked left and right up the road, looking for corpses more than cars, then took another step. The object up ahead resolved into the front of a large vehicle. There was a large grill and two big round headlights. The metal around the headlights and grill was yellow.

  "Fuck me," said Park. It was a school bus.

  He began walking across the road. The school bus had swerved off the road and stopped just before falling the rest of the way down the hill. Park didn't know how long it had been there, but it must have been years. Kids didn't go to school anymore.

  He stopped. The windows were dirty, but he thought he'd seen movement inside.

  He heard something behind him. He spun, slipping the rifle from his shoulder. He stared into the trees across the road, the way he had just come. He stood as still as he could, staring into the trees. Waiting for something dead to stumble out. Nothing did.

  "Losing my mind," he said, snorting into the cold and slipping the rifle over his shoulder. He wasn't sure he believed that.

  He turned back to look down the hill. At the dirty windows of the long-wrecked school bus.

  Something moved inside. He was sure he'd seen it this time.

  He started down the hill, slowly and carefully heading for the hood of the bus. He leaned back as far as he could to keep from sliding down the hill. The drop was significant. Even with the snow to cushion him, a fall would be serious.

  He was a few feet from the front of the bus when his footing gave way. He slid the remaining distance, holding his hand out to catch the bus. His palm hit the grill and he stopped. The bus shuddered in the snow, shifting under his weight. He wondered how sturdy it was, how close the bus had been to finishing the drop when it had skidded to a halt years ago.

  "Pretty damned close," said Park to no one.

  He looked over the hood of the bus and through the windshield. It was dirty and broken, but he could see the driver still strapped to his chair. His stomach was ripped open and his grey, half-frozen organs were splayed out across the steering wheel and dashboard. The organs had chunks missing. Three years ago, that would have counted as a mystery. Now, it went without saying that they had been eaten.

  The driver groaned and reached for Park. He was caught in his seatbelt, sitting with his back to the ground and face to the sky like some sort of dead astronaut. Park was thankful corpses didn't have the presence of mind to work seatbelts. The only question was what had eaten the driver.

  Park saw more movement from the bus. He focused further back and had his answer.

  Numerous dead children wandered the back of the bus, clogged up against the back door by gravity. A few climbed slowly on the backs of seats. A few others saw Park and hissed at him, reaching up with tiny gray hands.
Their fingers were coated with ice.

  "Shit, kids," said Park, looking down at them with his palm pressed up against the hood of the bus. "How long you been in there?"

  He thought about how rotted they didn't look. And how it hadn't always been this cold. There'd been springs and summers, same as before. As the years had dragged on, he'd noticed the corpses decomposed more slowly than one would expect. Of course, he reasoned, they were also walking and that was already pretty different from what one would expect.

  He heard noise behind him. He turned, putting his back to the bus. It groaned under his weight. He slipped the rifle off his shoulder and listened.

  A loud rustling came from the woods on the far side of the street. Park pushed himself off the bus, which groaned in complaint. He used the momentum of his push to stride back up the hill and onto the road.

  He stared into the woods, listening. He waited for a corpse to emerge. Or a crazed animal to charge.

  Neither happened.

  Which meant it was a living person.

  "Hey!" yelled Park into the trees. He pointed his gun across the road. "You suck day-old dick at following people! Might as well come out."

  He waited. Nothing. He caught a sound on the cold wind. Voices. People muttering to each other.

  "Talking to each other isn't exactly helping your case!" Park yelled. "Now get out here and tell me the fuck what you want!"

  He cocked the rifle for emphasis.

  A shot rang out from across the way. A bullet struck the snow near Park's feet. He stepped backward involuntarily. His feet gave way and before he knew what was happening, he was falling down the hill.

  His back slammed into the hood of the bus. He careened off it, rolling to one side. He felt the strap to his backpack break from the impact. It slipped off his shoulder as he rolled off the hood and continued falling.

  As he fell past the bus, the dead children in the windows clawed at him. As he passed the back of it, he heard it groan and give way. It fell after him, bringing an avalanche of snow with it.