by Mark Tufo
“That is eerie. I don’t think I like that song anymore,” Gem said.
Her breathing grew long and steady, and within a minute, I knew she was asleep. And I was right behind her.
*****
The next morning we all got up and did what we said we’d do. It was Sunday, so we put on our cleanest, if not our best clothes – it was time to do laundry, and we all hated it – and went in for breakfast. Hemp had learned to make bread sometime or other, and during the big bread machine craze I actually bought one, along with all the mixes needed.
Hemp put it to work and we had some nice bread, sliced just right. Charlie made some cinnamon toast with light butter, and coffee all around. It was perfect. But the hard part was about to happen, and I watched Trina gobble down her last piece of toast before clearing my throat.
“Trina, we have to talk to you about something.”
“Are we not gonna be able to say fuck anymore?” she said, indignantly.
Gem shook her head. “That’s not it, baby. You can still say it. It’s about your mommy and big sister.”
“Jesse? Mommy? Are they back?”
“No, they’re not, Trini,” I said. “There was . . . well, you know some of what’s going on? How we carry guns around and we watch for bad people?”
“Yes. And always to listen to the adults when they tell me to do something because it’s different now.”
“Well,” I said. “you always listened really good. But what I have to tell you is hard, because I love your mommy and Jesse, too.”
I looked at Gem, and my words were stuck in my throat. She took my hand beneath the table and squeezed.
“Trina, your mommy and sister have gone to Heaven. They’ve become angels now, and they’re watching over all of us now.”
Trina stared at me, her eyes excited at first at the thought, but then her brow furrowed, and her little eyes wrinkled as much as little eyes can.
“They . . . died?”
Hearing the words come out of her lips caught me off guard. I hadn’t been able to use the ‘dead’ or ‘death’ or ‘died’ words. But she had.
I nodded. “That’s right, Trini. So you won’t see them anymore – not in the physical sense, anyway. But whenever you see something that makes you smile or laugh, you’ll know that they’re smiling and laughing, too. That’s how it works. They feel your joy, and it gives them joy, too.”
She nodded, and Gem smiled at me.
“So when I’m happy, mommy and Jesse are happy? So if I’m happy all the time, so will they be?”
“I’m pretty sure it works just like that. I know we’ll miss them, but I do have some picture albums here that we can look at when you want. And remember the video, too. Do you think that would make you sad, or do you think that would make you happy?”
Trina smiled. “I’d be happy to see them on a video.”
Charlie said, “I tell you what, Trina. We’re going to have a ceremony this morning where we get to say good bye to your mommy and sister. We’re all going to take something that means a lot to us, put it in a hole in the ground, and we say a prayer over it, then cover it up. And then we say a prayer for your mommy and sister, too. And you can bring wildflowers.”
“Beaker means a lot to me. Can I bury him in the hole?”
We all looked at one another in shock.
“You knew he died?” Hemp asked.
“Yeah,” Trina said. “I found him yesterday. I figured it out.”
“He was sick, baby,” Charlie said. “He’s at peace now. Sure you can bring him. We’ll put him in a little box and you can decorate it if you like.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll decorate it first, then we can put him in. I think that’s better.”
Charlie laughed. “Yes. Makes much more sense. I’ll get you some markers and we’ll get the kitchen cleaned up while you prepare the box.”
*****
The ceremony was short and sweet. We’d all been through enough. Last night, Hemp and Charlie had wrapped Jamie’s body tightly in stretch wrap that’s normally used for palletized goods, making the cocoon airtight. They then dug the hole, put her in the grave, and covered her with about two feet of dirt. Two more feet remained to be filled, so as far as Trina knew, this was just a symbolic hole.
I had a tee-shirt from a Billy Vera and the Beaters concert that Jamie had given me, and I put that in the grave. Gem had a tattered copy of Watership Down that she had left at my place before we split up, and was delighted to find it. She knew it was the perfect tribute to her Rabbit, so she kissed it and dropped it in as well.
Hemp had picked up some Earl Grey tea at the store, and threw two teabags in – one for Jesse and one for Jamie. His British contribution.
And following in my footsteps, Charlie tossed in her beloved AC/DC concert tee shirt.
And finally, in a gloriously decorated little cardboard box, Trina knelt down and dropped the box containing her lost pup Beaker into the hole.
We stood back in silence, and I closed my eyes.
“We honor the lives of Jamie and Jesse, the love they shared and the light they shined on this Earth. As we stand here missing them in our hearts and souls, we also turn our faces to the heavens and know they’re looking down upon us with love and hope for the future. God bless the two newest angels – our guardian angels – whose presence will give us comfort for the remainder of our lives.”
Tears streamed down the faces of each of us. We all came together, arms around one another, and when our group embrace met its natural conclusion, Hemp and I picked up the shovels and began filling in the hole.
When the earth was mounded over the grave, Trina took the handful of tiny wildflowers she’d found and put them in the center of the grave.
She was a brave, strong little girl, like her mommy and sister. My heart ached for the loss we shared.
Then we all began walking back to the house.
Gem and Charlie got there first, with Trina between them, swinging on their hands. Hemp and I brought up the rear, our guns over our shoulders.
The girls had entered the house already, but when Hemp and I were twenty feet from the door, we heard a sound from beyond the tree line.
A snapping, crackling sound, the sound of a tree branch rustling. Startled moans.
Then again. And again.
The moans were constant now.
I looked toward the forest, then back at Hemp, then checked my gun even as he checked his. We both had additional magazines on us.
“You and me,” I said. “Now.”
“You’ve got to warn them,” Hemp said.
He was right and I knew it. I ran to the door and stuck my head in. “Stay inside, get your weapons and wait for us.”
Gem looked at me, her face pale. “Flex, what is –”
“No time,” I interrupted. “Be ready, but stay inside.”
I rejoined Hemp and we jogged toward the forest.
*****
As we ducked under the low-hanging branches, we scanned the line of traps. The four we could see had all snagged zombies. Three males and one female struggled against the snares, but to no avail. Hemp ran toward the first one and fired a shot into the thing’s brain and it fell still.
I didn’t like going in, but we’d committed. I ran to the second trap and as the woman-creature floundered there, snarling, snapping, and trying to scratch me with her remaining fingernails, I fired directly into her face, destroying it, and the brain behind it. That one also fell motionless.
And then we heard rustling all around us. I looked up to see twenty – no, at least thirty of them closing in.
We were surrounded.
Hemp ran to me, and we positioned ourselves back-to-back, our guns held up.
And we worked our way through magazine after magazine of ammo, knowing we would run out before they were all dead.
“The girls,” I said, turning my head toward Hemp.
“I know,” Hemp replied, in between shots.
&nb
sp; “God help them,” I said. “Please, let there be a God to help them.”
I fired my weapon with intensity, exploding the heads of the zombies approaching me and Hemp from all sides, and I felt his back against me reverberating as he did the same.
My eyes glanced at the sky, and for just a brief moment, I prayed that the guardian angels that were once my Jesse and Jamie – the ones we promised Trina were there – really existed, that they were really looking down on us, and that they were truly guarding us.
All of us.
A new chapter of our war with the walking dead had begun.
The End Of The Beginning
OTHER BOOKS BY ERIC A. SHELMAN
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SURVIVORS OF THE DEAD:
FROM THE ASHES
By
Tony Baker
KINDLE EDITION
***
Survivors of the Dead:
From the Ashes
Copyright© 2013, 2014
Tony Baker
Kindle Edition
SURVIVORS OF THE DEAD
FROM THE ASHES
COPYRIGHT© 2013, 2014 by Tony Baker, Author
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, except for historical and public figures, is purely coincidental. Although many of the places and items depicted in this novel do exist, i.e. geographical locations, vehicles, weapons, and other equipment, numerous liberties have been taken and intentional embellishments made. This book does not purport to provide accurate descriptions of any actual locations, things, or entities. This is an original work of fiction and all intellectual property rights are reserved by Tony Baker, Author.
***
ISBN-13: 978-1493561308
ISBN-10: 1493561308
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I began my writing journey in September of 2012 after harboring that desire for years. Although I have faced some interesting hurdles, and many learning curves, I would not change one single thing that I have been privileged to experience. Meeting incredible people, both fans of the genre as well as other amazing authors, are just two of the highlights of this adventure so far. I have so many people to thank for their unwavering support throughout this adventure.
First to my family: nephews, Eric and Jimi, sister, Tommi, and brother-in-law, Jeff. You are the center of my universe and without your support over the past year I am not certain I could have made it. I love you all more than I could ever put into words.
To Wanda and her granddaughter Nevaeh. Not only did they grant permission for me to create characters based on them, they are steadfast supports and true friends.
To David P. Forsyth for granting permission to include a few minor references from his Sovereign Spirit Saga. Although Mr. Forsyth had no direct participation in writing Survivors of the Dead: From the Ashes, nor is my book a spinoff of his series, it was a pleasure to add a sequence directly from the second book of that series, **Flotilla of the Dead, along with a few of the events found in the SSS and one character. In addition, I am pleased readers will find an excerpt I wrote pertaining to Angel Island for the third book of the SSS, Deluge of the Dead, which was used with my permission. I also wrote, with Mr. Forysth’s approval, a sequence between one of my characters and his toward the end of my book.
Finally, and most importantly, I wish to personally thank all of the wonderful people I have met and who have supported and shared this writing journey with me. This includes many authors and readers of the genre. You all initially accepted me with little more than a book cover and a Facebook page, as I talked about a concept while writing this book, but you stood with me along every step of this adventure. To list each of your names would take pages. You know who you are, so please also know that each of you have my most sincere heartfelt gratitude, appreciation and admiration.
“From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
a light from the shadows shall spring.
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
the crownless again shall be king.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien
SURVIVORS OF THE DEAD
FROM THE ASHES
1
Harold Lancaster woke to screaming and that incessant moaning again from the street outside his bedroom window in the San Francisco apartment building he managed. Or, more specifically, had managed. He was not certain what rule of law applied in a zombie apocalypse, but it was still his building for now, and he wasn’t allowing an apocalypse to change that just yet. After all, he had been forced to kill several of the residents in the first few days of the madness, even wittily concluding that little endeavor might have given him some form of property ownership. “Yep, I’m taking adverse possession of the building,” he’d thought at the time.
Harry had been in the bathroom getting ready to shower on the morning the madness began, that date being set to memory quite clearly: April 1st. As he finished using the toilet, he heard an obvious squabble erupt in the unit above his. That was unusual, as the upstairs tenants were a very nice young couple that both travelled extensively in their professions. Harry had rarely heard them in the past, which raised an immediate red flag. There was yelling and thumping; it sounded like items were being thrown on the floor. Then came a heavy thud, like a body falling, and a long, drawn-out scream that raised goose bumps on Harry’s body.
Rushing out of the bathroom, he pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and his slip-on shoes. Without thinking, he also grabbed the Glock handgun that he kept in a nightstand by the bed. Harry had never felt the need to arm himself in the building before, but something made him pick up the weapon this time. Tucking the gun in the rear of the jean’s waistband, grimacing slightly at its coldness against the bare skin at the small of his back, he pulled the sweatshirt down over it and rushed out of his apartment door into the hallway. His plan was to proceed down the hall and take the stairs located just before the lobby up one flight to the second floor. From there he could quickly reach the couple’s unit. Harry almost immediately forgot that plan after only taking a few steps outside of his apartment.
The first thing that hit Harry was an odor so rancid it nearly brought tears to his eyes and actually caused him to gag. It was as if rotten meat had been left in the sun for days while sitting in raw sewage. Breathing through his mouth, he walked toward the lobby area and the stairway. As he got closer, he began to hear what could only be described as a wet, ripping sound, and a low moaning that was coming from the lobby, just out of his line of sight. Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry continued on past the stairway.
As Harry walked around the corner and into the lobby, the scene that met him was like something out of a nightmare; it shook him to the very core. He had been witness to some gruesome things in his career as a cop, but what he now observed was incomprehensible. Lying next to the mailboxes was a body so mangled that the person was unrecognizable, although the brown tattered shirt and pants probably meant it was a UPS driver that had been making an early morning delivery. The face had been completely torn away, and the only discernible feature was a bl
oody, whitish skull with a few tatters of flesh, muscle, and hair remaining.
The upper portion of the body had not fared much better. What little of the brown shirt remained had been shredded, exposing the abdominal area which had been eviscerated, its contents spilling out and across the floor. Hunched over the corpse, next to several packages lying in a spreading pool of blood, were two elderly women he immediately recognized as Katy and Edna, tenants of the building.
Harry said, “What the fuck?” which garnered the immediate attention of Edna. Katy ignored him, continuing to rip bloody strips of flesh from the body with gnarled, claw-like hands and then stuffing the grotesque tidbits she had liberated into her mouth. Bile quickly rose in Harry’s throat but he did not have time to actually vomit because Edna, who had been sharing this ghoulish meal, began to struggle to her feet, staring right at him.
Edna was a long-term tenant in her late 70’s, robust for her age although hard of hearing and nearly blind. She was the epitome of that ‘nasty old lady’ everyone has met at one point in their lives, with never a pleasant word and always complaining about something. She was renowned for her loud, screeching ‘fingernails on a chalk board’ voice, and would corner any unsuspecting person with venomous avowals as to the current state of the nation or her categorical disapproval of San Francisco politics. It was the long-held conclusion by most of the building tenants that she should be avoided at all costs.