World Memorial

by Robert R. Best

  A faint noise came from somewhere, almost like a growl. Angie couldn’t be sure.

  West, seemingly oblivious to both the dark and the sheer amount of objects in the room, dug and poked around, surprisingly fast for his age.

  "Well I'll be, didn't know I had one of these," he said as he dug. "Oh and one of those. Wait, what's the hell's that? Oh yeah, I remember that. What an asshole that guy was. When was that? 82?"

  Another sound came from somewhere. Louder this time, and definitely a growl.

  "You guys hear that?" said Walsh, his voice tense in the near-dark.

  "Yeah,” Angie replied. “Sounds close, too."

  West either didn't notice the growl or didn't care about it. "Well, that's an interesting something or other but not exactly what we're looking for, is it?"

  Angie moved her head around in the dark, trying to pinpoint the growl. "You hear that, West?"

  "Hear what, Angela?" said West, continuing to root through things. "My hearing ain't what it used to be. Well fuck me sideways like I'm you're sister, look at that thing. That's something, that is."

  The growling grew louder, followed by the sound of something moving. Something like fabric straining, like something trying to escape.

  Angie looked to her right. A darkened doorway was open and she was sure the growling was coming from there.

  She stepped toward the doorway. West kept muttering and rooting, his back to her. The growling grew louder as she drew near the open darkness. She stopped, listening.

  The two guards stepped up behind her. Angie felt Dunwoody looking over her shoulder.

  "Yeah," he said. "It's coming from here."

  "Can't see shit," said Walsh, looking over Angie's other shoulder.

  The growling continued. It sounded maybe ten feet away from Angie, from about the height of her stomach.

  "Fuck this," said Dunwoody, digging around in his coat.

  "What are you doing?" said Angie.

  "Getting my flashlight."

  "Make it fast," said Angie. "Don't waste the batteries." Batteries were hard to come by, and once they were used or expired there likely wouldn't be any more.

  "Sure thing," said Dunwoody. He stopped rustling in his coat and lifted something over Angie's shoulder. It clicked and a sharp beam of light shot through the open doorway.

  It was a bedroom. The bed had no sheets. In one corner, tied to a heavy post bolted to the floor, was a crazed dog. The dog growled, mouth dripping. A strap of something Angie guessed was leather held the dog to the post. The dog strained against the strap, desperate to get to her and the guards. Angie had no doubt what the dog would do if it succeeded.

  "Fuck me all to hell," said Dunwoody, pulling back from the door. "Take this." He handed the flashlight to Walsh. There was a moment of shifting light and shadow before Walsh re-straightened the beam on the dog. Dunwoody steadied his rifle and cocked it.

  There was a second cocking noise as West pushed his long-barreled handgun into Dunwoody's bearded cheek. "That's my dog you got there, son," said West. “Her name’s Peacock. Like the bird.”

  "Are you crazy, old man?" asked Dunwoody, not taking his gun off the dog. "It's gone crazy. All animals have gone crazy. You can't get near one without it trying to rip your nuts off."

  West pushed his gun in further, dimpling Dunwoody's cheek. "Now, you might be willing to abandon whatever scabby whore you're buttfucking back in town, but a man don't abandon his dog."

  For a moment no one said anything.

  Angie sighed. "For fuck's sake, let's not get all shot in the face over this."

  Dunwoody smiled, looking over at West's gun. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you say she was your dog? Simple misunderstanding." He lowered his rifle.

  "Figured it might be something like that," said West, lowering his handgun and slipping it into his back pocket. He stepped away from the door. Angie and the two guards turned with him. Walsh still held the flashlight, flinging shadows around the room as he turned.

  "Batteries," said Angie.

  "Oh, right," said Walsh, switching off the flashlight and handing it back to Dunwoody.

  "Now," said West, scratching his chin and adjusting the cap on his head, "let's see what we have in the other room."

  He led the two guards into the next room, as dark as the last. Angie watched them go, then turned to give the crazed dog one last look. It growled and drooled, straining against its strap. Angie could hear the leather creak from across the room.

  "Stay," said Angie, then turned to follow the others.

  * * *

  Maylee ran toward the screaming, leading several guards behind her. People stood outside their shelters, watching them go by. Dalton and Carly ran behind them, despite Maylee telling them to keep out of the way. The snow picked up, obscuring her vision.

  "Bobcat!" yelled someone up ahead.

  "Shit," said Maylee under her breath. "Everyone hear that?"

  "Yep," said Dalton.

  "Stay out of this, Dalton!" yelled Maylee. "Mom would kill me if—"

  They ducked around a rusted shack and there it was. A bobcat, lean and large and covered in half-frozen hair. It crouched and growled. An older woman lay next to it, her face and neck torn open. Small branches and chopped blocks of wood, probably meant for a fire, lay next to her. Blood spread out from her body. Fresh blood coated the bobcat's face and paws.

  "Oh no," said Maylee.

  The bobcat saw her and roared.

  "How are these things getting in?" yelled Maylee, taking slow steps backward as the bobcat hunched down.

  "Maylee!" yelled both Carly and Dalton as the bobcat leapt. The guards started shooting. Bullets pinged off nearby shacks and pelted the snow.

  Maylee stepped to one side to let the bobcat pass. It landed in the snow as she brought her bat up over her head. She slammed down. The bobcat ran past the bat as it hit the snow. The bobcat roared, ignoring her as it raced forward. It was focused on Rooney. He was kneeling with his rifle and had no time to stand.

  "Look out!" yelled Maylee, racing forward. The other guards turned, aiming at the bobcat.

  They fired as the bobcat leapt. Two bullets found their mark, ripping through the cat's body midair. The cat cried out but did not stop. Rooney screamed, dropping his gun and lifting his arms defensively.

  Then the cat was on him. It growled and clawed, scraping deep gouges in Rooney's face and arms. It leaned forward, biting a huge chunk out of the man's face and neck. Rooney screamed as blood shot from his wounds, coating the ground. He gurgled and the cat kept ripping.

  The guards kept firing. The cat jerked with each shot but kept clawing and tearing, even as Rooney’s struggles grew weaker.

  "Keep firing!" yelled Maylee, rushing toward the bobcat. The guards shot bullet after bullet into it. It jerked and bled from each shot, still growling and pawing at Rooney.

  Maylee screamed as she reached the bobcat. She slammed her bat down on the cat's back. It howled and turned to face her. Blood was thick on its face, matting its hair and falling in thick rivulets to the snow. It growled at her.

  "Come on fucker!" yelled Maylee, brandishing her bat.

  The bobcat took a step, shaky for the first time.

  "Come on!"

  The bobcat leapt. A guard fired. This bullet found the cat's throat, tearing through flesh and hair before thudding into a nearby shed. Blood spilled out thick and fast. Maylee saw the cat's eyes glaze over as it flew toward her.

  She stepped aside and the cat landed on its stomach in the snow. It slid a foot or so, smearing blood against the white next to Maylee's feet. Then it came to a rest, finally still.

  Maylee panted down at it. "Fucker. Son of a fucking fucker. How the fuck did you get in here?"

  * * *

  Angie shut the truck’s tailgate. The truck bed was stuffed full of supplies- some weapons, some ammo, a few tools. There was also a microscope, battered but in better shape than the one Dr. Graham was currently using. There were a few beakers Dr. Grah
am could use as well. And a large circular object sitting in the middle of the bed.

  "I can't believe you had a centrifuge," she said, shaking her head.

  West adjusted his ball cap. The walls of his fortress rose up behind him. "Well, you know, things just come my way."

  "I guess they do," said Angie. She stepped to one side, using her cane for support, as Dunwoody walked past her. He opened the passenger door and reached behind the seat. He produced several bags that bulged with something heavy and brought them over to West, who took them and peered inside.

  "Aww, now Angela. More canned vegetables?"

  "It's the middle of winter, West," said Angie. "It's not like anything can grow in our gardens. Unless you've got stuff we can build a greenhouse out of."

  "Oh, I'm just giving you shit, Angela," he said, setting the bags down in the snow. “Speaking of building, how’s the traps I made working for you?”

  “We hardly ever need them, but they are very effective when we do.”

  “Have you had to use the Failsafe yet?”

  Angie shook her head. “No.”

  “Good. Don’t wanna use that unless you’re so fucked you’d rather be cornered than dead.”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

  West frowned, leaned over to scratch at the small of his back, then straightened. "But I don't think we're quite done. You said you wanted information?"

  "I did," said Angie, shifting her weight on her cane. "Something strange has been going on back in town."

  West chuckled. "The word 'strange' has been getting a lot of use these days."

  “Yeah,” Angie said, looking down at the snow. She imagined she heard groaning on the wind. Or was it real? Either way, it wasn't close enough to be of immediate concern. Part of her was amazed that her mind now had categories of which walking corpses were of immediate concern.

  She lifted her head. "You know those kids who've been showing up at World Memorial? The ones I mentioned before?"

  West nodded. "Sure do."

  "Well," said Angie, "the most recent was a little boy. And he said he'd escaped from a group of people. A group of people with pictures of all these kids. And here's the thing. According to this boy, they also have a picture of my son."

  West let out a long, slow whistle. "Well, that's something to consider, ain't it? And you believe this little one?"

  Angie shrugged. "No reason not to."

  A loud groan came from behind Angie. She turned. A thin woman missing both arms was coming from around a tree across from Angie. The woman groaned and hissed, straining her frozen stumps at the group. Black blood was frozen to the stumps. Angie gripped her cane, starting to twist the handle. The two guards scrambled, moving to get their guns.

  "Don't bother, boys," said West. Angie heard him slip something from his back pocket. She braced for the gunshot. Something gleaming whipped past her head. The woman jerked backward, a knife handle jutting from her forehead. She spit out a thick glop of black blood, then fell over backward.

  Angie twisted her cane's handle back into place and turned back to West. "No gun?"

  "Didn't want to hurt your ears again, Angela. Man has to be considerate."

  Angie shifting on her cane. "Well, thanks then."

  "No worries," said West. He lifted up his ball cap to scratch at the thin white scraggle of hair atop his head. He replaced the cap. "I think I may have seen this group the boy was referring to."

  Angie turned slightly to rest on the hood of the truck. "Damn. I was hoping the kid was making it up. Or maybe just loopy from being alone too long. I don't like groups of strangers looking for my children, West."

  "Well, I wouldn't like having this group after anyone I loved, either. They played all nice and such, pleasant as you please. But there was something off about them. Led by this preacher. Called himself Brother Joel, I think it was. Lots of bible shit coming out of that one."

  Angie frowned. "And they're looking for these kids?"

  "Sure were. Had pictures. Drawings, actually. Just as your new guest described."

  "Was one of them Dalton?"

  "Now how would I know that, Angela? It's not like you ever brought the boy with you."

  Angie shrugged. "Guess you got me there."

  "We need to get going," said Dunwoody, opening the driver-side door. "Just a few more hours of daylight left."

  Angie turned to nod at Dunwoody, then turned back to West. "You heard the man."

  "Reckon I did,” West said. “I thank you for the provisions." He bent to pick up the bags, then straightened to smile at Angie.

  "Don't mention it," said Angie. "You know, you're always welcome to move into the town. Strength in numbers and so forth."

  "I think I'm doing okay here."

  "Yeah. Hard to argue with that." Angie pushed herself off the hood and headed for the passenger door.

  * * *

  Maylee stomped away from the dead bobcat. She was seething, and encouraging the emotion to keep herself from crying. Several guards followed behind her, looking grim.

  "How in the hell did these things get in?" she said, stomping along in the snow. Dalton and Carly walked next to her. Maylee wanted to tell them to leave, but didn't have the energy.

  "No idea," said a guard behind her. It was North, a young man with a dark, bristled goatee. Blood coated his coat, from both the bobcat and Rooney.

  "I swear to fuck," said Maylee, rounding the corner back to where Rhia's trailer stood. The fallen corpse slumped against the chains. "If anyone was responsible I'll..."

  "You'll what?" said Elton. He stood next to Rhia, who was holding a bloody rag to her cheek and looked at the ground, pale and shaking. A crowd of townsfolk had gathered. They looked at Maylee.

  "And where were you, Elton?" said Maylee, crossing her arms.

  "Taking care of another corpse next to the Brown's trailer," said Elton, noticing Carly and giving her a quizzical look. "But don't change the subject. What exactly will you do if you find out who's responsible?"

  "Grandpa..." said Carly.

  "Stay out of this, Carly," said Elton, pointing at her. "You shouldn't even be out here." He looked to the woman cradling the bloody rag to her face, then back at Maylee. "Well??"

  "I don't know." Maylee’s chest pounded under her coat and her cheeks were hot against the bitter air.

  "Because here's the interesting thing," said Elton. "I noticed these things were getting in under the loose sheet of metal along the east wall."

  "What?" said Maylee. "We secured that thing two days ago!"

  "Maybe you think we did," said Elton. "Maybe you told someone to do it and didn't follow up. I don't know about any of that, but I know it didn't get done because this happened. And who is supposedly in charge? Who is supposedly responsible for all this?"

  The crowd kept looking at Maylee. Wind battered the outside wall, whistling and shaking the metal.

  Maylee cleared her throat. "I know we fixed it."

  "Really?" said Elton. "Well know this. For some reason I can't fucking fathom you were put in charge. And this happened." He jutted a finger at Rhia. She looked at him, clutching the bloody cloth to her cheek.

  "So know this is your fault, Maylee," said Elton. He lifted his rifle to Rhia's forehead and fired.

  Five

  Park slowly became aware again. He was sitting up, his back against something hard and bumpy. His rear was cold, and everything was still dark.

  "Ah," said a woman's voice from somewhere in the dark. "You're stirring. Good." The woman's voice was familiar, but Park couldn't say from where.

  His neck hurt and there was pressure on his chin. He realized his head was slumped forward against his chest. He lifted it and opened his eyes.

  Everything was a dark grey blur.

  "That's right," said the woman's voice, coming from a blurry shape near him. Things became clearer and brighter. The shape was human. With long hair.

  "Come on, Mr. Welch. You can do it."


  "Fuck me," said Park, his voice thick and hoarse.

  "I hope that's an expression and not a suggestion," said the woman.

  Park blinked to clear his vision. He was still at the bottom of the hill, the crashed bus about thirty feet to one side. He was sitting against a tree. Snow fell lightly.

  A woman in a long white dress stood a few feet away. She knelt and examined him closely. Park guessed she was about 40. She brushed back her long black hair and smiled.

  "Pleased to meet you in person, Parker," said the woman. "My name is Beulah."

  "What happened?" said Park, lifting a hand to feel his forehead. He had the remnants of a painful headache and was afraid to move too quickly lest he set it off.

  "You passed out," said Beulah. "If I had to guess, you ran right up to the edge of a heart attack. Good thing you didn't keep going."

  "Wait," said Park. "I know you."

  Beulah raised her eyebrows. "Well I should hope so. I've been talking to you almost every night. Not like this, mind you, but still."

  Park stared at her, trying to make sense of it. This was the woman who'd shown up in his dreams. It looked like her. It sounded like her. Night after night she told him to stop trying to kill himself. He was sure of it. And he was also sure he'd never seen her in person until this moment.

  "It's strange, I know," said Beulah, standing. Her dress wafted in a cold breeze, the hem of it brushing the snow.

  "Little more than fucking strange," said Park. He decided to risk the headache and climbed to his feet. His head throbbed but it wasn't unbearable. He looked at her, frowning. "So assuming it is you, why do you give a shit whether or not I kill myself?"

  Beulah smiled. "I have something I need you to do."

  "And what the fuck would that be?"

  "Not yet. Can't just spring everything on you at once," said Beulah.

  Park snorted. "You prop me up against the tree?"

  "Yes," said Beulah, smiling. "You passed out on your face. Couldn't have you smothering in the snow."

  "No," said Park. "Wouldn't want that." He saw his rifle leaning against the tree and picked it up, slinging it over his shoulder.