“Quite a stash. You guys were doing well for yourself,” Morris said.
He rested her Sai on the table last, closest to her field of vision; taunting her that he had her weapons. He grunted, sweating, pleased with himself, wearing a greasy-toothed smile. He twirled his long Bowie hunting knife, pressing the point under his nail, running his finger along the blade and the back’s serrated edge.
“It’s a pity you didn’t stash any knockout drugs. I’d try to take you over to the bed to have some fun, but I get the feeling that you’d fight me, even with this big old knife in my hand, and then I’d have to gut you, and that would be no fun. Actually,” he corrected himself, “It would be fun for a minute, but then you’d lose your usefulness, and well, that would just be- sad.” He presented her with an exaggerated frown to show her just how sad it would be.
Xinga mumbled something behind the duct tape.
“What, you got something else smart to say, that it?”
Xinga shook her head. No.
He took the tape off.
“Water, please,” she said. “I’m thirsty.”
Morris Beckel looked her up and down. She did look parched and not in any shape to try anything. “Yeah, all right.” He found a glass in one of the cabinets and poured her a glass from the jug in the fridge. He tipped it slowly into her mouth. “See, that’s not so bad. You be nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.”
Xinga didn’t choose this moment to comment how being tied up and threatened with rape and torture wasn’t exactly nice. She needed the water to hydrate. She needed to stay strong until she could formulate a plan of escape.
“I’m going to head into town,” Morris said, as she took the last sip, “assuming there is a town near, and see if I can find some more food and supplies.” And, I hope, a knock out drug so I can finally get what I brought you here for.
He placed the tape over her mouth again. “Now don’t you go anywhere,” he laughed.
It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes after, although it was truly hard to gauge time anymore without a watch or a cell phone handy, when she heard the door open.
She’d been trying to squirm out of the ropes to no avail. Could he be back already?
A man and a woman in their early thirties entered the cabin, with what looked to be plastic bags filled with groceries in both hands.
She stared at them and they stared back, eyes opening with shock and dismay.
The man gently let the groceries slip to the floor, as he took in the sight of the bound girl and said, “What in the holy hell?”
***
“I’ll drive for a while,” Samir said, “You look tired.”
Kamara nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
She pulled over on the shoulder. Kamara sat in back next to Marina, and Samir sat on the driver’s side next to Ian. Kamara laid her head back and drifted off. Marina was saying something but she couldn’t make it out. When she woke up hours later they were stopped. They were no longer on the highway. It looked as if they were parked by a curb in front of a building. The building sat atop a large green hill with steps leading up to it and was almost blinding white in the sunlight with its grand Roman columns.
“Where are we?” Kamara asked, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.
“We’re in Richmond,” Ian said. “This is the Capitol Building.” Though he felt as if there might be a rich sense of history here, there was also a sense of dread that came with that. They were, after all, able to park right in front, where normally this area would be cordoned off to vehicles, likely by way of heavy steel poles with chain links in between.
“Remind me again why we’re here,” Marina said.
“It’s a large government building,” Samir said. “There may be someone in there that knows something about the virus, or a safe place we can go where there are other people.”
“Right, because the government is so trust-
worthy,” Marina said.
“I’m with her,” Kamara said sleepily.
“Regardless,” Samir said. “They may have answers we need. But on the offhand they don’t and there’s trouble, it is a big building. I say we bring in the heavy weapons.”
Marina smiled. “Now you’re thinking.”
Kamara grabbed the sword, sheathing it as a backup, along with her battleaxe. Marina kept her two Rugers in their holsters and picked up the AK-47 and the shotgun. She handed the shotgun to Samir, along with a box of shells.
“Maybe you should leave your peashooter in the trunk and take this,” she said.
“I’ve become quite fond of that musket.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I’ll take it,” Samir grumbled.
“You can load it one at a time or through the bottom port here, and you have to slide the round in like this,” she said. “And it’s got a lot more kick than your musket, so watch the recoil, or you’ll knock yourself out.”
Ian was fine with his spiked mace, but asked Marina if he could have one of her Rugers.
“Sure thing,” Marina said.
“Just in case,” Ian said.
“You know how to shoot?”
“No, not exactly.”
Marina huffed. “Here.” She gave him a quick lesson as well. “Sure you don’t want the other Ruger?” she asked Kamara. “I’m good with my AK.”
“Yes,” Kamara said, “I’m fine.” Quickly she added, “Thank you.”
Marina nodded.
“Everyone ready?” Samir asked.
“As ready as we can be,” Ian said.
“Good enough.”
***
One hour later Lupe and Jomo passed the Welcome to Virginia sign.
“Do we know what we’re looking for?” Jomo asked.
“Food, gas, people,” Lupe said, “Anything or anyone that can help us. Just one more stop on the way to D.C.”
They both jumped when the car radio crackled to life. Lupe hadn’t even known it was on as there were no broadcasts. At first there was only static, and then distant, almost whispering rose a voice.
Jomo stared across the dash at Lupe.
“Get to...” the voice began, “Any...”
The voice kept warbling in and out between the bursts of static. They could only catch a couple of words every ten seconds or so. It was agonizing.
“Turn it up,” Lupe said. Jomo did. The static was like an ocean crashing and the voice as if it arrived through its deepest depths.
“Move... listen...my voice... travel... shelter.”
“Shelter?” Lupe said. “Did they say shelter?”
“Yes,” Jomo smiled, “I believe so.”
The radio went dead again.
“Damn it!” Lupe said.
Jomo tried to change the channels but wasn’t picking up anything. “Nothing!”
“Leave it where it was,” Lupe said, “Maybe we’ll pick up the frequency again.”
“All right.”
“If we keep moving north it will probably get stronger.”
Jomo nodded. He hoped so, and didn’t want to
seem negative so he did not voice his doubt.
It was soon dark. Lupe saw the neon sign for Freeland’s Whole Foods from the highway. They turned off the exit ramp into the supermarket parking lot.
“Gotta be better than all the rest stops we’ve tried,” she said.
“Agreed,” Jomo replied.
The lights weren’t completely off but most of the market seemed dark, as if only every thirty or so of the overhead fluorescent lights was on. They were probably only on because of an emergency back up generator.
The parking lot was empty, all the front display windows smashed as expected. Jomo led with his spear, Lupe following close behind with the Bo Staff. There were two doors, one intact, and one not, that could be opened in opposite directions. The one on the right with the shattered glass was unlocked and swung open easily. If the doors had been auto-matic then their electronic sensors were disabled.
&n
bsp; Stepping over broken glass and debris they went in.
***
The man and woman appeared to be husband and wife. They quickly untied her.
“Who are you?” the man said, “What’s happened?”
“Are you all right?” the woman asked.
Xinga nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you. There’s a man. He kidnapped me, took me away from my friends, and tied me up here. He’ll be coming back soon!”
“That’s terrible!” the woman exclaimed.
“Well, he’s not coming back to a welcoming party that’s for sure,” the man said, indignant.
“You live here?” Xinga asked.
“Yes, we’re groundskeepers for the park. I’m George, this is my wife Lana.”
“I’m Xinga.”
“Do you want some water, food?” Lana asked.
“No, I just want to get away from here.”
George shook his head vehemently. “No, that’s no good; you might run into him again out there. You need to stay put until he comes back. We’ll have to deal with him.”
Lana smiled kindly. “It will be safer for you here sweetheart.”
George looked around. “He didn’t find my gun did he?”
“Your gun?” Xinga asked.
“My shotgun?”
“No, I don’t think so. He would have set it on the table with the rest of my stuff.”
George looked at the table. “This is yours?”
“Yes, there were supplies in our car, my friend Samir’s vehicle. I was in it when he stole it.” Xinga looked at them worriedly. “You do know what’s out there?”
George coughed a laugh. “The meat eaters, fucking zombie fucks,” he said, spitting out the words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Meat eaters? We started calling them shamblers,” Xinga said.
“Yeah, that’s appropriate.”
“Where did you get the groceries?”
“There’s a small food mart in the campgrounds further up. Crazy Joe is still running it like it isn’t the end of the world. They haven’t gotten in here yet. We’re hoping they don’t. ”
George hurried over to the wall, to the right of the bed and pulled out one of the wooden wall panels. Therein sat the shotgun he’d been anxious about. It was a double barreled Colt.
“Now what?” Xinga asked.
George turned one of the chairs around so that he sat with his back to the table, facing the doorway. He snapped open the breakaway barrel, sliding a round into each chamber, and placing the shotgun gingerly on his lap. “Now we wait for the bastard to step through that door.”
BATTLEGROUNDS
Rise up, warriors, take your stand at one another's sides, our feet set wide and rooted like oaks in the ground.
- Tyrtaeus
War would end if the dead could return.
- Stanley Baldwin
Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war,
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.
- William Shakespeare
twenty-one
A bronze statue of Washington on horseback atop a granite pedestal surrounded by other men of note, also in bronze, stood outside the courtyard. Inside, entering through the capital extension on Bank Street, a bronze of Thomas Jefferson holding parchment in both hands stood; on the base his signature inscribed, and underneath that the words Architect of Liberty. As they moved through the halls and chambers the vastness of the space with its statues, portraits, marble and black limestone tiles, terrazzo, and granite, emptied of people gave them a chill. But along with that a sense of history and turbulence; of importance.
Kamara observed a fleeting shadow moving at the end of one of the halls. “I just saw something,” she whispered, in case it was one of them.
“Shambler?” Marina asked.
“Not sure. It seemed to be moving fast so I’m doubtful. But can’t be too cautious.”
“Right,” Samir said. He motioned them to silence as they crept toward the end of the hall where it closed off on one end and then veered into another passage on the left.
As they approached with weapons raised, what they had at first mistaken for a sigh was actually the panting of a four legged creature. The dog, which looked like a German Shepherd/Border Collie Mix looked back at them distrustfully but also with a degree of curiosity, stopping before rounding another corner. Its fur was caked with dirt, overgrown and matted, so it was hard to tell what color it was.
“Hey boy! Hey boy!” Ian said.
“Be careful,” Samir said, placing his palm on Ian’s chest as he tried to advance. They followed the dog quietly, trying not to scare it off.
It stood at the end of the hall, fully facing them now, its eyes challenging them.
“We’re not here to hurt you boy,” Samir said. “It’s okay.”
The dog panted, tongue lolling from its mouth as it observed them again. Samir got down on one knee.
“You going to propose?” Marina chuckled.
“Hey, the dog looks better than some of the women my parents have tried to hook me up with.”
“Ouch,” Ian said.
“Come on boy,” Kamara said, extending out her hand.
The dog cocked its head to one side, and then slowly, guardedly approached her.
“I’ll be damned,” Ian said.
The dog padded along right up to her hand, getting bolder the closer it got. Kamara stayed bent forward with her outstretched palm. She tried not to make any sudden moves. But the dog still hesitated and backed away a moment.
“It’s okay,” Kamara smiled and nodded.
The dog moved forward and carefully sniffed her hand. It decided she was all right and licked her palm. Kamara ruffled its head. “Good boy.”
The dog seemed to smile happily, mouth open in a toothy tongue wagging grin. A layer of dust flew from its head as she brushed through its topcoat with her hand.
“Boy has been through some stuff,” Ian said.
Kamara noticed a heart shaped faux gold dog tag around the animal’s neck. There was a name engraved on it. “Well, I think it’s a girl, and it
belongs, or belonged to somebody. Her name’s Ariel.”
***
The market was either a treasure trove of goods or a dimly lit deathtrap where every shadow could mean potential danger. There was litter strewn throughout the aisles, and Lupe and Jomo navigated these with an excess of caution. The lights were out in the cases, so anything cold was out of the question. There was an especially rancid odor coming from the dairy aisle and meat section. ¾ of those sections had been ransacked; the rest left to rot. Likewise with the produce section which had a moldy vegetable stench. Some of the remaining overhead fluorescent lights were flickering, so there was not much life left in them. They moved into the next aisle where the dry goods section began. It consisted of mostly salad dressing and condiments. Most of that aisle had been left untouched. Not much good there.
They found an empty shopping cart at the end of that aisle and Jomo grabbed it, swerving it into the next aisle, filled with mostly all natural, gluten free and organic cereal. Half of those shelves were empty.
“Cereal without milk?” Jomo asked.
“Pass,” Lupe said.
“We can’t afford to be picky now. It may serve as a late night snack if we get particularly hungry.”
“Fine, grab a couple. Let’s just make sure we can fit everything in the car.” They moved on to the canned goods aisle, where there were only a few scattered cans of tomato, mushroom soup, and green beans.
“Crap, they got all the good stuff,” Lupe said, “Foiled again.”
A heavy bang made them swivel their heads
toward the back of the supermarket.
Jomo said, “What was that?”
“I’m not sure I want to know.”
Bang. Bang. It was as if someone was pounding on metal, likely with their fists.
Jomo s
et the cart aside leading with his spear, as they approached the back of the store. Lupe followed but questioned him. “Are we really going to check it out?”
“There could be someone alive in here.”
She grumbled, “All right. But I think we should just grab up what we can and go.”
“Noted,” Jomo said. “I need to know.”
“Fine,” Lupe said.
The back of the store was where the naturally sourced ice cream and Skinny Cow frozen treats were. They slowly went around the glass cases to the back stockroom where the sound seemed to be originating from, and quickly found its source.
Behind the square inset window in the freezer was one of the zombies. He was the one making a racket pounding on the metal door, trying to get out. He became quickly agitated when he saw them, pounding on the thick glass now, and he didn’t seem to be the only one locked in there, as other fists began to pound on the metal door.
They could hear them growling behind it. There was no telling how many of them there were, but it seemed to be quite a few.
“Well, someone got out of here just in time, and was quick enough to trap them in there,” Jomo said.
What Lupe said next sent a chill through him as if he were in the freezer himself. “Or someone wasn’t brave enough to kill them after they were bit and locked them inside before they turned.”
***
Morris Beckel drove up the highway with new supplies in the trunk. He was within a mile of the trail back to the cabin, when hugging a curve he came upon a line of undead blocking the road. He squealed the brakes to a halt. Before he could think to simply plow through them, they thickened into a cloud, more of them coming out of the adjacent woods from both sides.
“Ah shit!” Morris said. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!!”
He could have backed up, found another road, maybe even driven the other way on the road itself or on the shoulder until he hit another exit ramp and taken a detour around them, but he wanted through now! He had to get to the girl, and these fucking rotting corpses weren’t going to get in his way! He stomped down on the accelerator. The car jolted, lifting off the ground, as zombies flew through the air. Several fell back on to the car, on top of the hood, on top of the trunk, on top of the windshield. Wheels spun over one of them, suddenly stuck before he could manage to climb over it, crushing bone, turning another’s brains to mush. Others clung to the sides of the car. At one point it seemed like he had five or six of them on the car but he was able to keep going. One of them eventually fell off.
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