Dredging Up Memories

by A. J. Brown

  “What about you? What about your people? What are you going to do?”

  He nodded toward the entrance to the Healing Springs, to God’s Acre. “We will take one of the houses as our own. We will survive.”

  “Sounds like you have a plan.”

  A nod. His eyes held the steely gaze of a man who had made up his mind. I wasn’t wanted there. I didn’t belong with them.

  “Can I take a jug of that water with me?”

  “It is not mine to give but yours to take if you so choose.”

  I chose.

  I drank the last of the water I had in a gallon jug. Then I filled it with the water God had touched. It was my shot at redemption if I ever got bit. I took a clump of clay from close to the water and marked the jug with a brown HS.

  It neared noon and the time to leave. I went to Alaya and held my hand out to her. “I need to go now. Can I have the bear back?”

  She looked from me to Humphrey and back to me. With her lip poked out, she pulled Humphrey away from her chest and lifted the stuffed bear up. I took Humphrey in both hands. Her white bunny pajamas were stained red and were rough where Alaya’s blood had dried. If I would have looked beneath the clothes, I’m sure Humphrey’s fur would have been crusted red as well.

  “Are you ready to go, Humphrey?”

  No, she whispered.

  “What?”

  I don’t want to go.

  “But we have to. Imeko said we have to leave.”

  Then leave.

  “Humphrey…”

  I’m not leaving.

  “What are you…what are you saying, Humphrey?”

  I want to stay with her. She needs me.

  “But…”

  I need her.

  I could say nothing. For a few minutes, I didn’t move. If there had ever been life in that little bear, it was at that moment. There was a fierceness in her eyes, much like Imeko’s had been. I squatted to eye level with young Alaya, six years old and almost seven and who will see another day as a living person thanks to what I always thought had been a myth. I placed Humphrey in her hands.

  “You take good care of her, okay?” I was talking more to Humphrey than Alaya, but it was the girl who answered.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  I turned and went to the van. I didn’t look back to see if Humphrey was watching me leave. Part of me was afraid she wouldn’t be.

  Twelve Weeks, Three Days, and a Few Hours After It All Started…

  Rain. It was appropriate.

  There were no real clouds in the sky when I left Healing Springs. But an hour away, my life changed yet again. Clouds appeared off in the distance. Fat, nasty, gray clouds with black ones lurking behind them.

  I pulled off the road at a gas station that I’m certain had little gas to give. I still had plenty of full tanks in the back of the van, but it wasn’t gas I was after. I needed a map.

  A rumble of thunder came from overhead. In the far away clouds, I could see the strobe effect of lightning. Then came thunder again.

  The glass door of the gas station had been busted out. I stepped through, pistol ready. I surveyed the gray-tinted store. Near the counter was what I needed. I walked over, reached for the South Carolina Roadside Map. I took it and didn’t bother looking around the store after that.

  Still, I saw the dead man in the aisle. He was probably the store clerk. From the looks of him, he had been dinner to several of the dead.

  “I’m sorry,” I said and put the bullet through the center of his head.

  Outside, there were a couple more rotters making their way toward me. Even as members of the dead race, they had seen better days. I could have probably let them rot away, but there were souls trapped inside. I knew this sure as the day was long. I should have saved the bullets, but the bat was cruel, and they had suffered enough. Besides, I had no desires to exert any more effort than I had to at that time. Two shots, one to each head, and they were finally at rest.

  In the van, I looked at the map.

  “We’re on 321, Humphrey,” I said. “If we take it out, we can pick up Number 1 here, and that will take us back toward Batesburg and—”

  And Humphrey wasn’t there. I looked at the empty seat where she had sat for so long with me, where she had been my constant companion. I wiped my mouth. My breaths were deep. I fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

  …

  I missed her terribly.

  …

  …

  I wanted to whip the van around and go back for her, take her from that little girl. What good would that have done? She didn’t want to leave her. I can’t blame her—Alaya would probably play with her, would probably love her the way any child would love their stuffed animal.

  What had I done to show that I loved Humphrey?

  …

  Nothing.

  …

  I had abandoned her once. She had been scared in some of the places we went, by some of the things we saw, probably even by me. I had changed. I was no longer the crumbling man who found her in an abandoned house. I’m not really sure what I was, but I wasn’t the same.

  And I was alone again.

  I followed 321 and then hit Number 1 just as the map showed. Eventually, I was back on Old Batesburg Road. Not too far down the road would be the turn for the armory. From there, I would proceed to 378.

  But first…

  Fat Boy’s truck appeared down the road. By then, it was raining, and I had finished off the bottle of Jack Daniels I had pulled from that truck. I pulled up beside the vehicle and got out. Scrawny lay dead in the middle of the road. The woman’s grave was on the opposite side, the dirt like puddled mud now.

  Not too far away, maybe a hundred yards or so from where I left him, was Fat Boy. He had managed to somewhat crawl away, mostly on his belly. His intestines trailed behind him.

  “Hey there, Fat Boy,” I said. “Remember me?”

  He stopped, craned his neck toward me, and let out a growl.

  “How you feeling in there? I reckon it sucks, doesn’t it?”

  Another groan, and then he turned back to his crawling away. He remembered me. He remembered what I did to him.

  “It’s the end of the line, Fat Boy. Say hey to Scrawny when you get where you’re going.”

  I pulled out my knife and shoved it into the base of his neck and drove it upward. He collapsed. I didn’t bury him or Scrawny.

  I got back in the van and followed the road past the armory and further on down until I reached 378.

  A left would have taken me to Newberry and Prosperity and Clinton. But straight took me to Lake Murray. I kept thinking about that boat and drifting my days away. I could do some fishing, catch my own food, clean it, and cook it. Surely, the lake would be teeming with fish by then. I doubted anyone had been fishing there for a while.

  I crossed over 378 and followed the road until it forked to the left. I stayed straight and passed a church on the right. The windows had been broken out. I thought of Pastor White and his congregation. I wondered if anyone went there seeking refuge but instead found an overzealous, end-of-the-world, come-follow-me-to-your-death type. Or if they found salvation on their knees with hands and voices lifted high. I hoped, if there had been any seeking shelter from the dead, they found what they wanted and made their peace. I hoped they survived. Though more and more, it seemed like very few lived, and those that did had lost their minds.

  I turned left on a street that seemed to lead further toward the lake. I passed a dirt road on the right, stopped and backed up, then turned onto it. I could see the water from the entrance, maybe a hundred yards away. Probably less.

  The dirt road circled around in a U until it came out on the road I had been on to start with. There were a handful of houses, a couple of trailers, and several boats that sat near piers. Circling back, I stopped at the first place to the right. It was a trailer and kind of ramshackled at that. A brick house sat in what looked like the trailer’s yard. Behind
them both was a fence where it looked like animals had been kept. Off to the left was another trailer. This one looked sturdier, but it was lower to the ground. I pulled onto the easement to the right and to the side of the first trailer. There was a tractor beneath a wooden canopy and another smaller building beside it. I found out later it was a tool shed.

  It wasn’t the perfect place, and there was plenty of work that needed to be done to make it safe. The stairs leading to the back door were high off the ground, and the ones in the front could easily be removed, making it harder for the dead to get inside. I would have to board up a set of glass patio doors, but for the time being, it would do for shelter.

  “Come on,” I said, reaching for Humphrey. Again, I had forgotten she was gone. My hand hung in the air for several seconds before pulling it away.

  Before heading to the trailer, I downed the last of a bottle of water. Some of it spilled down the side of my mouth. The whiskey had been gone for about an hour, and the water would have to do. I can’t really say if I was a little drunk. If not, I missed a good chance to be. My ears hummed, and the world felt a little off kilter.

  I peered in through the patio doors. The place was dark, but the sun shone through enough to see a dining room table, a couch, coffee table, and a door off to the right with what looked like the entrance to a kitchen to the left. I saw no bodies of any kind. The patio door, like so many others after people abandoned their homes, was unlocked. It slid open with ease.

  The place was cooler than I expected. And clean. No one had ransacked it searching for supplies. I went around the dinner table and stood in the living room. A useless big screen television sat across from me along with a recliner, a rocker, and a piano. A small hallway led to the back door. Across the hall was another room. There were pictures of children and adults, a family portrait full of smiling people.

  The door to the right led to a bedroom and a bathroom. I left that room, crossed the living room, and stepped into what amounted to a small hall that really wasn’t a hall at all but more like a two-foot-wide divider between the two rooms. There was a table in the room in front of me and several full bookcases, a computer desk, and another piano. They must have liked pianos. Across the room and to the left was another bathroom and bedroom.

  The bathroom was white tiled with a forest green toilet and bathtub. The sink was the same green, but there were no toiletries on the counter that surrounded it. Instead, there was a five-gallon jug, like one that belonged at a water cooler. The water in the jug was clear, probably cleaner than any water from a faucet but not as clean as the water from Healing Springs. A hose ran from a fitted cap to another jug, this one more like a pot with a lid. The pot sat on a homemade oil burner. On the floor next to the counter were items I didn’t expect to see in a bathroom. Cornmeal, sugar, malt, and yeast, all of them opened at one time but now held shut with clothespins.

  A homemade still. I couldn’t help but smile. If I hadn’t been already well lit, I probably would have tried the shine. But, at that time, I didn’t.

  The house was empty. No living. No dead.

  I left the bathroom and walked back out into what I could only think of as a den. On the wall was a picture of a woman in her wedding gown. Her hair and eyes were brown, and she had a great smile, a genuine smile. Her face was radiant. She was a pretty woman.

  “You made someone very happy, didn’t you?”

  Thankfully, the picture didn’t answer.

  Evening would be coming soon, and the sun would lay itself to sleep. I had work to do, but I was tired. So tired. My head was heavy and swimming. My body told me to lie down and rest before I passed out. The world was out of focus. It had been a long time since I drank anything besides beer. The whiskey had gotten to me.

  Standing in that room, staring at the picture of the beautiful woman on the wall, I imagined life in that house. Did she live there? What was her name? Did she have kids?

  The sounds of children, a boy and a girl, came from behind me. I spun on my heel, pistol drawn, surprised by their voices. Giggles filled the room, and footsteps ran away from me.

  I crossed the room in four long strides, searched the next room, then the kitchen and the back bedroom.

  Nothing.

  But I heard it.

  What's wrong, Walker?

  “Did you hear that?”

  Hear what?

  “The children. They were laughing. They ran off. I heard them. I heard their footsteps.”

  There are no children. There is only you.

  I turned, searched the room. Humphrey’s voice was so loud, so real, so much older than I had recalled. But there was no Humphrey.

  The laughter came again. I circled the kitchen and went to the front door. I found no one.

  “Who’s there?”

  Footsteps followed, the heavy thumps of kids who still hadn’t learned to run soft.

  No running through the house.

  I turned, gun out in front of me, finger on the trigger. The voice had a melody to it, a sing-song tone. It was beautiful. But there was no one there. My head spun, and I wavered a little on my feet.

  The back bedroom was still empty except for a dresser and two beds—probably where the children slept. There were no toys, no clothes in the dresser and only a handful in the closet—none of them belonging to children. There was no one in the closet or in the bathroom. I pulled the shower curtain back to see a green tub and several full jugs, much like the one on the counter.

  Laughter again, this time more than the happy giggles of children. There were adults, both young and old, and they were in the living room. And I ran back in there and…

  Nothing.

  The laughter filled my ears. Bits and pieces of conversations filtered in. I turned, my pistol out at arm’s length, looking for ghosts that weren’t there. A whisper on my neck and I whirled, pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in the piano, but there wasn’t a person lying dead on the floor.

  I shoved the gun into my waistband, slid the pack from my shoulders.

  I remember doing that.

  Then everything went hazy and gray around the edges. White dots filled my vision, and it was tough to breathe.

  Then I was falling…falling…

  Twelve Weeks and…Almost Four Days After It All Started…

  The world is a dark place. Has been since the beginning of time. The darkness in our hearts goes right along with the darkness of the things that lurk in shadows.

  I heard her calling me long before I woke to the darkness of that house. It was faint at first.

  Walker. Walker, wake up.

  As I lay unconscious, the voice speaking to me, I could see Jeanette kneeling beside me. Her hand was stroking my hair, my cheek. There was a tapping coming from somewhere in the house.

  Walker, please get up.

  Her eyes sparkled even in the blackness that surrounded us. She continued to stroke my face as she begged me to stand, but her lips never moved.

  The tapping was like rain on glass or maybe small hailstones.

  Walker, if you don’t get up, you’re going to die here.

  Jeanette’s features washed away, and she was gone. The tapping continued, but it was less like rain and more like thumping. I tried to wake up. I could feel myself on the edge of consciousness but too paralyzed to wake fully. My body felt heavy, my eyes glued shut.

  Wake up, Walker!

  And her voice grew more and more frantic.

  The world swam back, and my eyes snapped open. I lay on my stomach, one side of my face smooshed into the plush carpeting.

  Walker, hurry!

  It was Humphrey, and she was on the verge of panicking. And then I was as well. My heart hammered, and I was disoriented for a few seconds before realizing where I was.

  Pushing myself to my knees, I shook my head. I was fully awake, but for some reason, the thumping was still there.

  Walker!

  I looked toward the kitchen, to where the dining room table was and the sli
ding glass door just beyond it. One of the dead stood on the other side, her hand steadily beating on the glass. I wasn’t sure, but it sounded like she had something in her hand and was trying to break the glass out.

  I stood on legs of lead, my head like a ten-pound weight on my shoulders. I went to the patio door. I didn’t remember locking it, but I must have. Or maybe it had been the ghost of the giggling children or the pretty, brown-haired bride. The dead struck the glass harder when I stopped. She smashed her face against the door, sludge spilling from her mouth like drool.

  The gun came from my waistband, and I took aim. She stopped beating on the glass as if she recognized what a gun was and what it could do to her. She took a step back like she was afraid of me. Another step and another, her hands down at her sides. The woman toppled off the edge of the patio deck.

  I slid the gun back in my pants and looked around the kitchen. A knife with a thick blade sat in a cutting block. I took it and went outside.

  The rain had stopped. The moon was high and bright, casting a blue light on the world. It wasn’t quite full, and it seemed a lot closer than it should be, but it provided enough light for me to see the woman on the ground by the patio, her legs buckled in odd directions, one arm broken and lying beside her. Something like blood oozed around her head, soaking into the ground. Her eyes stared up, looking at the sky in sightless wonder.

  The moon’s light shimmered off of something near the woman. The ring glimmered on her hand, and I knew that was where the glassy, thumping sound had come from—her wedding band. For several minutes, I looked at her, hoping it wasn’t the brown-haired beauty in the picture. I knelt beside her, turned her head to look at her face. It wasn’t the picture woman but someone else. I let out a long sigh before walking back inside and closing the door behind me.

  I flicked on a flashlight and glanced around, hoping to see Humphrey in the backpack I carried when we left the van, hoping leaving her with Alaya at Healing Springs was just a dream.

  It wasn’t. Humphrey really was gone.

  I made my way to the first bedroom on the right. Closing the door behind me, I locked it. The pack went on the floor.