by Paul Z. Ford
Shit! Ash felt a flash of panic. His eyes watered and he struggled to keep his breathing silent, shuddering and shaking with every shallow, noiseless breath. Then a flash of memory hit him. He locked two weapons with ammunition in the safe! Both his semi-automatic pistol and the dead customer’s revolver. The safe would still unlock, the digital keypad was battery operated, but it would make five loud beeps as he punched in the code. His mind raced with possibility. Should he open it now? Should he wait and see if they would find him or not? If they found him, it would be too late. He heard the heavy stomps of their footsteps approaching, closer, now only a few feet away from the office door. He could hear their breathing.
Finally, he heard the plodding of one of the stranger’s feet as it broached the entryway to the office. Ash struggled to still his adrenaline-fueled shaking as he tried to assess the intruder’s actions. He quickly took two steps toward the desk and bumped into the chair, exhaling a curse while catching the surface of the desk with his palms. Ash knew he would find the flashlight mounted under the desk momentarily, click it on, and discover the cowering owner of the shop. It was now or never.
Ash moved swiftly, leaning up onto his knees as quietly as possible and reaching around the corner of the large safe. He pictured feeling for the numbers in the dark, swinging the heavy door out, and grabbing at the top shelf with the goal of obtaining either handgun. He heard the two men, both in the cramped room now, shuffling and moving noisily, as he drifted his fingers over the keypad.
Beep!
More slowly than he intended, he searched for the second button as the two men spun in the darkness. Ash could feel the air moving with their confused movements.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Beep! Click!
The safe clicked and Ash quickly grabbed the handle, turning it and pulling the steel door open simultaneously. He ignored the panicked cries of the two men as they tried to figure out the source of the noise. Ash felt blindly around inside the safe, knocking down plastic change trays and making obvious noise, before he got a hand on the grip of a pistol. It was the dead man’s revolver. No safety, just a pull of the trigger and he’d defend himself once again in his store. He pulled out the loaded weapon and plopped back into his sitting position next to the safe, pointing the barrel into the darkness toward the shouting prowlers.
As he locked the hammer back with his thumb and started to put pressure on the trigger a white light blinked into existence from the far side of the room. He instinctively flinched away from the offending beam. His eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness, and his hands shook as his targets were illuminated clearly by the bright beam of the emergency flashlight.
Chapter 20
Interlude
“Mr. Llewelyn?” The messenger knocked lightly on the door to Llewelyn Wither’s office in the factory. Llewelyn, lost in thought, ignored the soft noise. Flames of the past danced in his memories. He remembered his neighborhood, the home he left behind to lead these people, and his boys when they were little and listened to every word their dad said. The knock sounded again and Llewelyn seemed to snap back to reality. He quickly tossed the pink stuffed elephant he had been holding into an open desk drawer and closed it.
He was wholly conscious that this factory wasn’t a home to anyone, but it kept them isolated and safe, and that was all that mattered now.
Gazing out the convenient window view to the factory floor, Llewelyn watched his Neighbors. Their discomfort in the sparse industrial facility gave them strength as they worked to fulfill their mission. He often watched as his people supported and helped each other.
His office had a small desk with a swiveling chair upon which he now sat as the messenger knocked again, more loudly this time. They had stripped all the computer equipment, paperwork, and operating manuals out of the small space, everything useless to the new purpose. The purpose of keeping his Neighbors alive.
Doing so was paramount. Llewelyn burned with the passion to protect the others who were like him. The December terrorist attack in New York was just another in a series of incidents that Llewelyn vilified as inevitable. Inevitable because of the way this country had destroyed her borders, destroyed the ethic of trust and togetherness that made America great. Know your neighbors, help them, pray with them, love them.
Llewelyn raised his two boys in a world where people killed each other for no reason. Getting shot over a pair of shoes or a couple bucks, unbelievable and unforgivable. But, the well of America was poisoned by those who wished to protect the killers and criminals, terrorists, and devils. Activists who strove to take away a man’s means of defense, and politicians who supported them for immoral gains. Those who wished to break down the values that made America strong. Llewelyn watched as thousands died because others couldn’t admit that there was a greater evil out there, one that needs to be wiped off the face of the planet.
In the split second these thoughts raced through his mind he turned toward the door, spinning the chair and adjusting his posture. The young man hesitantly pushed the opening wide and slipped into the room. Llewelyn looked at him, waiting for his report. He spun his hand to tell the young man to get on with it.
“Um… sir? I think everyone is back from the rally?” The visitor was one of the three men that had captured that Syrian in the parking lot earlier. Incredibly, Llewelyn thought, he had boldly walked into their secure area. In the place where he was outfitting and speaking to his Neighbors, and this intruder had taken their rightfully earned supplies.
“Where’s Griffin?” Llewelyn asked in a gruff voice.
“He’s downstairs.” He waited for the next inevitable question. The reason he’d been instructed by Llewelyn to report back to him. Llewelyn didn’t ask out loud. He repeated his impatient hand waggling instead.
“Well, c’mon then. Out with it.”
“Well, sir. We can’t find, we can’t find a lot of people. The Porters, Melissa Judge, Mr. Jameson and his daughter, Abe and Flora, and lots more. We found some… walking.”
Llewelyn pursed his lips. This was the worst loss since they moved into the factory. Before, they were weak and separate. Not really Neighbors, not strong like they were now. Back then, when the dead first came through, they lost people because they weren’t ready. They were strong now, able to avoid problems, able to take care of their Neighbors. This facility kept them safe and strong. Llewelyn stewed in anger as he pictured each of his dead Neighbors, senseless victims in this war that wasn’t started by the dead. His face and eyes burned with fury as he spat his reply into the small room. “It was that Muslim. He’s the reason this happened! He must have set the dead up to come at us. He distracted us by stealing from us!” He pounded his fist on the desk. The messenger flinched. Llewelyn’s thoughts flashed with revenge.
“Sir, there’s more.” He waited for a moment and got the hand waggle again. “Griffin isn’t doing well. We, uh, we don’t think he’s gonna make it.” The man almost whispered the difficult report. Llewlyn’s elder son, David, went missing several weeks ago at the beginning of the outbreak. He had just resigned himself to the fact that he may never see his boy again. Now, this business with the Syrian and the chaos after saw his younger son bitten by one of those things. Those rotting dead things that were created by the Muslims to eat away at the crumbling American way of life.
Griffin lost the first two fingers on his left hand while trying to wrestle away a fat shambling corpse. It used its mindless bulk to push Griffin over as he was trying to reload in the Wal-Mart parking lot. He held his hands up defensively, pushing the ghoul’s biting teeth away, when it caught his arm in its sharp grip. It bit down and crunched into blood and bone, taking the fingers. Llewelyn heard his son’s screams in his mind as the words of the messenger repeated again and again, digging and gripping into his sanity.
“What’s Doctor Lawsen say?” Llewelyn’s voice was a low growl toward the young messenger. He knew Doc Lawsen was only a veterinarian, but he was the only one of them with a
ny medical knowledge. The messenger shifted uncomfortably before answering.
“We found him. Walking. We burned him when we burned down the building.” He paused, wary to push this man further. Something about this world changed Mr. Wither, he thought. The burden of leadership drives him to make cruel decisions. For all of us.
“And sir, Griffin is asking for you.”
Llewelyn rose silently, picturing his son’s labored breathing as he deteriorated toward his inevitable death. Death of his mind and soul as he rose up again as an unholy monster. He had to finish it before it came to that. He wanted to see his son and end this tragic event. No, not tragedy. This was no accident. This was a deliberate act. An attack. The face of that cowering Syrian thief came to the front of his thoughts as he ran through his decisions from that morning. He pictured his son and heard his own words, kill him. Too much time between his capture and execution, wasted time to try and teach a lesson to his Neighbors, gather more allies, protect his people from them. If he acted faster, more decisively, things would have been different. They would have seen the ugly and cowardly ambush coming. They would have killed him instead of letting him escape.
He followed the nervous messenger onto the catwalk and walked toward the factory floor. The sound of the generators rattled as he descended toward the cots and mattresses of his Neighbors. His people watched him from the shadows, waiting for his guidance on where to direct their anger. How to exact their revenge.
One thought dominated all others. If his son needed a bullet in his brain tonight, Llewelyn knew he had to be the one to do it.
Chapter 21
Abyss
Ash ravenously tore into the last bite of his rehydrated meal. The growling in his belly had begun to subside, and he was starting to feel more human by the minute. He had no idea what time it was. His cell phone was back in his apartment and he didn’t carry a watch. It was night, he guessed around midnight, and he would need some rest soon. He took a swig of water from his nearby bottle, and leaned back, pushing against the office chair. He stood and grabbed his flashlight, stretching his sore muscles and traveling through the hallway into the main showroom of the gun store.
His brother-in-law was leaning over the glass counter, finishing his own hasty meal. Ash smiled and nodded as the two caught each other’s eyes. It was a stroke of luck that Kahn turned on the light at the moment he did. Ash looked at the other man, Sole Kimble was how he introduced himself, and nodded solemnly at him as well. Each knew that the other was a second away from killing them.
Ash felt like a new person now that he was fed and they had removed the decomposing body. Kimble asked no questions as the three men worked with their shirts over their mouths to carry the heavy bundle outside. They dropped him unceremoniously at the edge of the parking lot and scrambled back inside. The air inside the storage room was stagnant and still stunk, but it wasn’t enough to make them gag and they were able to retrieve the rations and sleeping gear they needed.
They had filled each other in on their journeys to this point, Kahn talking rapidly about his encounter at Wal-Mart and Kimble’s role in rescuing him. Ash felt the urgency when hearing about his sister and nephew, home alone and hungry. They both shared that the inhuman bodies were dead, and could be killed only by wrecking the brain, revelations they had come to in separate ways but now accepted as fact in this new and violent world. Kahn looked to the silent Kimble at this point, as if to confirm what the large man had shown him. Ash told him about losing the Corolla, and his narrow escape from the horde of the dead. They both discussed how to get back to Kahn’s house, and how to resupply their family members and keep them out of harm’s way. Kahn once again omitted the break-in to Kimble’s house and Ash omitted the encounter with the dead kid at the window. He thought of his sister and nephew, and worried that part of the story would darken Kahn’s thoughts about his family.
“There is one thing I’m wondering,” Ash asked, pointing his light at Kahn’s new friend. “How was it that you were there? At the Wal-Mart. Just happened to be there and able to grab him out of harm’s way when the shit hit the fan.” He held his light steady, shining on Kimble’s chest. Kahn cocked his head to the side and waited for a response as well. It was something he hadn’t thought to ask.
Kimble’s stoic look didn’t change. Kahn wondered if he was nervous, trying to think of a lie, or the truth. He looked over at his brother-in-law and saw a similar stoic face. “Hey now, he saved my ass, that’s all that matters.” He held his hands up defensively between the other two.
“Nah, it’s all right. I was there because I was there.” The two Assyrians looked confused at his answer. “That’s where I went when I left. I talked to this group on my radio. They seemed legit. They had food and supplies, stuff I didn’t have enough of. I thought I’d be stronger in a group.” He shrugged. “I told you to get out of there. I told you it wasn’t safe.” He pointed at Kahn.
“You told me the people who weren’t dead were the dangerous ones,” said Kahn. “What did you mean by that?” Kimble sighed heavily.
“These guys. They call themselves ‘Neighbors,’ man. They really don’t like people, you know, like you guys. Syrians or whatever.” Ash looked angry at this comment but Kahn waved away his alarm.
“Assyrian. That’s what that guy called me. He was talking about Muslims and it just… I…” Kahn couldn’t go on. Talking about it brought back the vision of a gun in his face. The words, kill him, that came so easily. This wasn’t his world anymore.
“So, what you mean is these racist assholes are dangerous to us because they think we’re Muslims? And what? They think we did this? They think we had something to do with this infection?” Ash interrupted angrily.
“Well, I don’t know if they think you guys did it. To them, it doesn’t matter if you actually did it yourself. You’re part of the kind who did. You’re just a symbol for everything they’ve lost. Even before all this. You think this kind of hate grows overnight?” Kimble scoffed and folded his arms. “Nah man, this is fear grown out of control in these people. Their fear has been growing for a long time, y’know. And they’re led by that old man, Llewelyn. He’s the one preaching to them about cleansing the world of the terrorism of Islam and shit.” He waited a moment as Kahn and Ash looked critically at him.
“And you joined them?” Ash said, exasperated at the situation. Kimble looked down.
“Yeah I did. I’m not proud of myself. I have a couple cousins who are Muslim. I don’t think like these guys do. I was just trying to take care of myself.” He looked guiltily at the two men. “I thought it was just a lot of talk.” Ash crossed his arms, not convinced this man was really an ally.
“What would they have done with my car?” Kahn changed the subject. “That guy, his son I think, or one of them, took my keys. If they survived I guess. I had food and other supplies in that car. I… we need it.” He pictured his wife and son withering away on the floor of their kitchen, starving and wondering what happened to him, why he didn’t come back. Why he didn’t bring food. In his vision, they weren’t worried. They were angry. Angry and dying. Then, they were dead and rose up with a different kind of hunger. He rubbed his eyes to extinguish the image.
“They survived. The Neighbors are tough, not all of them but those guys around Llewelyn think like soldiers of his own personal army. They made it I’m sure. I don’t think they would have taken the car if it was just food in there. They have plenty right now so they would have burned it along with the rest of the shopping center.” Kimble shrugged.
Kahn looked sheepishly at his brother-in law before continuing.
“What if I had… more valuable stuff in there?” Ash cocked his head in curious surprise. “What if I had guns in there? Lots of guns. And ammunition. Would they have taken it then?” Kahn tried to avoid the judgmental eyes of his brother-in-law. He didn’t know how to predict what Ash might say about him losing the guns. He was supposed to put them in the house weeks ago, when this all s
tarted. Kahn hadn’t wanted to panic his wife, so he left them hidden in the vehicle.
“Well,” Kimble scratched his chin in thought. “They would want the guns. I imagine they would have taken the car if they saw your stuff in there. I think they would have taken it to the factory.”
“Why not just go back to the Wal-Mart? You said it was full of food and stuff.” Ash gestured toward Kahn. “We have plenty of guns here we can take. No loss.”
“No, no good. They would have burned it already.” Kimble shook his head.
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned burning. Why are they lighting fires?” Ash said.
“That’s just what they do. They… burn things. I think they see it as a way to protect the Neighbors, or, to keep outsiders from getting anything that belongs to them. Or just a symbol. Llewelyn says fire cleanses.” Kimble’s eyes drifted in thought.
“Okay so if we can’t go back, what’s the factory? Where is it?” Kahn asked. A plot for risky resupply was already forming in his head.
“It’s this big ol’ bread factory they took over and turned into a compound. It’s got these big concrete walls and a big fence around the whole thing. Surrounded by open fields and a flat road so they can see all around. Everyone lives inside. Llewelyn runs the place. They go out and find these places, like the Wal-Mart, and then they spread the word and get people to come by and listen to his bullshit. In exchange, they get free shit.” Kimble shrugged again. “It works pretty well for them. They get a lot of new Neighbors.”
“People are scared,” Ash said. “That means we need to avoid them, not confront them. We need to get to Aisha and Daniel. Hal.” He glared at Kahn, knowing the foolish thought that must be forming in the man’s head.