by Dirk Patton
Remembering the magazine selection from the back porch I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what I expected to find next. Down a short hall that led to three bedrooms I found her. She had been young and pretty, probably the daughter of the dead man. She was on the bed in the second bedroom I cleared, lying on her back with dead, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. She was mostly nude, but a scrap of clothing still circled her waist and torn underwear hung from one ankle. Her wrists were tied to the headboard. She had obviously been beaten, among other abuses, and since I couldn’t see any knife or bullet wounds I suspected she had been hit too hard, one too many times.
I stood there staring at the girl for a few minutes, getting my breathing under control. Finally I stepped forward and jerked a sheet off the top of a dresser, sending knick knacks flying, and covered her with it. As I was doing this I touched her arm and was surprised the body wasn’t cold. Not nearly as warm as the living, but she hadn’t been dead for more than an hour or two. As I gently pulled the sheet over her face I heard the sound of a vehicle turning off the highway onto the property.
Moving quickly to the third bedroom located on the front of the house, I looked out the window and saw a mud splattered Toyota pickup coming towards me. I could make out two figures in the cab, but no details about them. Leaving the bedroom, I went to the front room and stood back from the screen door and watched the truck approach. It was several years old and dented and rusting under all the mud, brakes squealing as it came to a stop in front of the house. The doors popped open but my attention was drawn to the shiny dual rear wheel Dodge truck that turned onto the dirt road.
Willing to bet the Dodge belonged to the dead man since it looked like it would go with the horse trailer I’d found behind the barn, I stood still and watched, hidden from their view by the screen door and dark interior of the house. The two men that got out of the Toyota were about what I expected. Young, dirty and stupid looking. Not unlike the ones that had taken Rachel when we were still in Georgia. They moved to the back of their ride and stood waiting for the other truck.
It pulled up a moment later and an older version of the first two stepped down from the cab. Father and sons? The older man was alone in the Dodge and he waved the other two over to his truck where he opened the rear door and lifted out bags of groceries which he handed to them. When each of them had their arms full he reached back in for two cases of beer, used his hip to close the door and they all started towards the front porch.
“It’s my turn with the bitch,” one of the younger ones was saying with a grin when I stepped out onto the porch with my rifle raised. All three froze when they saw me.
“Good morning,” I said, then shot the older one in the knee.
5
He fell to the ground screaming and cursing me and the two younger ones dropped the bags in their arms and started scrambling to get behind the Toyota. I fired again and one of them spun to the ground with a shattered hip. Turning quickly I shot the third one in the lower back as he dove behind the pickup. He flopped to the ground and started trying to drag himself away with his arms. His legs weren’t working any longer.
Stepping down off the porch with rifle at the ready I roughly searched each of them, removing a pistol and a knife from each and the keys for the Dodge from the older one and the Toyota keys from one of the younger ones. I walked over and piled the weapons into the cab of the Dodge and locked it with the remote on the key chain. They cursed me. Spat at me. Screamed at me. I ignored them and said nothing. Didn’t react to them at all as I worked, piling the three of them into the back of the Toyota, none too gently. By now the younger ones were frightened and pleading with me, asking what I was doing and why I was doing it.
With them loaded up, I got into the cab of the truck and started the engine, then drove around to the barn and stopped next to the ambulance. Getting out, I ignored their renewed curses, checked on Dog and Rachel then disappeared into the barn for a moment after making sure the straw I’d stuck into the door jamb was undisturbed. When I’d cleared the barn earlier I’d noticed a cabinet that held several lengths of chain and padlocks. These are used to secure equipment at horse shows and events so it didn’t grow legs and wander off on its own. Tossing the chains and locks into the Toyota I climbed back in and headed across the pasture behind the barn.
The pasture was large, maybe half a mile across, and at the edge of it the forest that had been cut back was thick with large oak, elm and walnut trees. Parking at the edge of the forest I stepped out of the cab, walked around to the tailgate and drug out the one farthest back, letting him fall to the ground. It was the one I’d paralyzed with the shot to his back and his head cracked against the tailgate as I drug him out of the truck by an ankle. He was crying now, tears rolling down his face and snot bubbling out of his nose.
“C’mon mister. What the hell? I didn’t do nothing to you! Please! I need a doctor!” I ignored his pleas, dragging him to the closest tree where I sat him up and chained him to it around his waist. Pulling the chain tight I snapped the lock into place and walked back to the truck.
Five minutes later all three were secured to the same tree, the chains tight enough around their waists that even if they had the use of their legs they still wouldn’t be able to get free. They had stopped cursing me. No more screaming. Only tears from the two younger ones and a look of stubborn resignation on the older one’s face. I stood in front of them for a few moments, looking at them, then turned to go.
“What did they mean to you?” The older one called.
I stopped and turned, wanting to raise my rifle and empty a magazine into each of them. Wanting to draw my Kukri and see how many body parts I could remove before they died. But I didn’t. I wanted them to know terror like they had inflicted before they died. When the infected arrived, they would know terror.
“They didn’t mean anything to me,” I answered, climbed in the Toyota and headed back to the barn.
6
I woke up eight hours later by the dash clock in the ambulance. For a moment I was disoriented, didn’t know where I was or what had wakened me, then I heard it again. Everything clicked into place and I scrambled off the gurney in the back of the ambulance and looked down at Rachel who was awake and calling my name.
“Hi,” I said, smiling down at her.
“What happened to me? Am I alright?” She was still strapped to the backboard and couldn’t move. The look on her face was one of true fear.
“It’s a really long story, so first things first. Can you feel your legs? Your feet? Wiggle your toes?” She looked at me and a whole new wave of fear washed across her features.
“I think I’m wiggling them,” she said, trying to raise her head to look at her feet, but the strap across her forehead kept her secure.
“Hold on.” I crab walked my way to the foot of the backboard and gently unlaced, then removed Rachel’s boots, wincing with every movement of my hands. The anesthetic had worn off and they hurt like a son of a bitch. “OK. Wiggle again.”
I let out a big sigh of relief when all of her toes started waving in the air, and the smile on my face was all she needed to let her know everything was working as it was supposed to. Quickly I pulled the straps lose and a moment later Rachel was free and sitting up. She started to say something then clamped her mouth shut and scrambled out the back door and dashed to the far side of the barn, disappearing into an empty horse stall.
Grinning, I stepped out and looked around for Dog. He was stretched out on a pile of straw in a stall with one of the horses. They had both been asleep, waking when Rachel made her bathroom dash, and now Dog lay there looking at me with half closed eyes, his tail lazily wagging just enough to rustle the straw. Out of old habit I reached to my breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes that wasn’t there, muttered a curse and sat down on the back bumper of the ambulance. A couple of minutes later Rachel came back and sat down next to me. She looked at the damaged back end of the vehicle then turned to me with an
expectant look on her face.
I filled her in on all that had happened since she had been knocked unconscious by the exploding fuel tanks. It took a while and I made sure I didn’t leave anything out until I got to our arrival at the barn. I told her about the bodies in the house, but didn’t go into details about the three men I’d shot and chained up in the forest. Some things I do, and they damn well need doing, but that doesn’t mean I’m proud of them.
We talked for a few more minutes then decided to walk down to the house to see if the water was still on. Rachel dug clean clothes out of our packs while I checked the clock in the ambulance and noted we were still ok on time, but didn’t have long before we needed to start moving again in case the herd was heading our direction. Walking around the Dodge truck that I’d pulled into the barn after hiding the Toyota behind the horse trailer so no vehicles were visible to passerby, I raised my rifle when we reached the doors. Dog stood up, shook the straw out of his fur and joined us. Unlocking the doors I pushed one of them open a few inches and looked out at a sunny afternoon. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I slowly kept pushing the door open sweeping through my expanding view with the rifle. No infected waiting to pounce and no survivors waiting to ambush. Stepping fully out of the barn, I told Dog to stay with Rachel while I made a full circle of the building to make sure we were alone.
It was a beautiful afternoon. The temperature was probably somewhere close to 80, the sun was shining brightly, birds were singing in the trees and a gentle breeze mitigated what could have been oppressive humidity. The breeze was out of the north and I glanced in that direction and noted heavy storm clouds on the horizon. Somewhere north it was raining like hell. I knew there were a lot of streams and rivers in the area that flooded spectacularly from time to time, but had no idea if rain that far away would drain into this part of the state. Something to keep my eye on.
Reconnaissance complete, I rejoined them and we walked to the house. Again leaving Dog with Rachel, I went to each end of the house to check our perimeter, staying behind bushes to move to the edge of the wall to scope out the front. Still all clear. At the back we moved through the screened porch and into the kitchen. Rachel checked the sink and smiled when water flowed out of the tap. Keeping the rifle up and ready I led the way to the bedrooms, bypassing the one with the dead girl. The master bedroom was obviously the man’s room, but it was neat and orderly and the bathroom was just as clean. I did a quick clear of the room and left Rachel to get cleaned up.
Back in the front room I sat down in a leather wing chair that had a good view out the front windows and screen door. I had only been sitting for a minute when I got back up and went to the unoccupied bedroom to retrieve a sheet that I used to cover the man’s body in the front room. I wasn’t spooked or bothered by the body, it was just one of those funny little quirks of mine. Leaving a body lying out in the open was disrespectful. Covering it up was acknowledging that this was a person that didn’t deserve what had happened to him. Strange? Maybe, but that’s how I think.
Rachel took a long time in the bathroom. Getting bored I left Dog in the front room to keep an eye out and wandered into the kitchen to find some food. The pantry was well stocked as was the refrigerator. The power was still on so nothing had spoiled. Taking my time I put together a large meal for us, finishing off one of the half gallon cartons of milk while I prepared the food. I was still working when Rachel walked in, wet hair hanging down her back and soaking her T-shirt, dirty clothes balled up in her arms. She poked around, opening doors until she found a laundry area.
“Give me your dirty clothes and go shower. I’ll finish making the food,” she said, stuffing her clothes into a washer.
“We really don’t have time for that,” I said, pausing to look at her over my shoulder.
“We have time if you’ll get your ass in gear,” she said. “By the time you shower and we eat, our clothes will be clean and if we have to go we can take them with us still wet. After a couple of days of tromping through the woods and fighting we need to get clean. You smell like a slaughterhouse and look worse. You happy with all that blood on you?”
I looked down at myself and saw what she meant. My shirt was as stiff as a board with dried blood, both my own and infected, and for the first time I noticed the smell. Giving in to the inevitable I took my weapons off and piled them on the table, stripped naked and headed to the shower with pistol in hand.
7
Getting clean always feels good. Getting clean with wounds in both hands and your ear nearly ripped off your head adds a new dimension to it, but I still felt better. Twenty minutes later I was freshly showered, dressed and sitting at the kitchen table with Rachel. The clothes had washed quickly and were tumbling in the dryer as we ate. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I started eating and couldn’t remember the last food I’d had. As I thought about it I realized it was the breakfast I’d eaten at Arnold Air Force Base several days ago. Don’t know why it mattered, it was just one of those things my mind had to work out before I could move on to anything else.
“So where from here?” Rachel asked as she pushed an empty plate towards the middle of the table.
“North for a little, then turn west.” I answered around a mouthful of food. “I still think avoiding Nashville is a very good idea.”
Rachel nodded then leaned across the table and stole some of the food off my plate.
“How are your hands?”
“They’re hurting pretty bad. I need you to inject them again.” Rachel reached across the table and I put my right hand in hers. She examined the palm first, then turned it over to check the back. Releasing it she examined my left the same way.
“All things considered they don’t look too bad. No external sign of infection, but you’re not out of the woods yet.” She stood up and circled the table, coming up behind me and bending to check my ear. “That medic actually did a good job of sewing your ear. He wasn’t kidding about it being almost ripped off. There’s only about half an inch of skin that is intact. I can see some redness so we need to get some antibiotic ointment on it and you need another shot.”
Great. Another shot in the ass. I started to make some smart ass comment about Rachel just wanting me to drop my pants but remembered the last shot she’d given me and decided I’d be better off just nodding my head and keeping my mouth shut.
I finished eating while Rachel folded our freshly laundered clothes, made sure Dog got his share, then we headed for the barn. In the back of the ambulance Rachel attended to my injuries. New bandages and another sore spot on my ass later, I told her to gather all the medical supplies we might need and went to check out the Dodge. The ambulance had gotten us out of Murfreesboro and clear of the carpet bombing, but it had taken enough damage that I was ready to trade vehicles.
The Dodge was one of the huge, dual rear wheel trucks you see retirees using in the summer to drag their giant fifth wheel RV trailers all over the country. It had four doors and a back seat big enough for three grown men to sit across without being crowded. In the bed was the hitch for the fifth wheel horse trailer parked behind the barn. The best part was the 100 gallon auxiliary fuel tank that when I checked was full of diesel. I was pleased, but not surprised. If you’re pulling a heavy trailer long distances you go through a lot of fuel and it’s a pain in the ass to stop and fill up along the interstate where the prices are higher. A lot of guys add these tanks so they can fill them before a trip with cheaper fuel and also so they don’t have to worry about stopping for anything other than a restroom or food.
We spent almost half an hour getting the truck loaded up and organized. When we were done I stood there looking at the horses. I had toyed with the idea of hooking up the trailer and loading them up. There were saddles as well as pack gear in the barn and the animals could come in handy if we found ourselves on foot again. Then the image of being tackled off the back of a horse by an infected female went through my head and I decided maybe they weren’t such a good id
ea.
Opening the double doors I walked around to each stall and led the horses out of the barn. There was plenty of food for them in the pasture and streams abounded in the area so they’d be able to find water. Might not be as comfortable as they were accustomed to, but then I wasn’t as comfortable as I had gotten accustomed to either. We did what we had to do to survive.
Standing in the doorway with Rachel and Dog, we watched the horses wander out into the pasture and start grazing in the late afternoon sun. I raised my eyes and tensed when I spotted the shambling figures of two infected males making their way across the back side of the pasture. Knowing where they were heading, I told Rachel it was time to go and we piled into the truck. Dog seemed happy to resume his former position, sitting on the back floor and resting his chin on the console between the two front seats. Scratching his ears I started the truck and backed out of the barn.
Driving around the house I turned north when we reached the highway. The Dodge was almost new with only 15,000 miles on it. Like most new vehicles it had navigation built into a display in the dash. This is good for finding out where you are or guiding you to a specific location, but not so hot for planning out a route that will keep you out of populated areas. Fortunately the owner of the truck was also a little old school and went in for road atlases. I had planned our route to skirt the majority of Lebanon and now Rachel sat with the atlas open on her lap, guiding me through the turns needed to follow my plan.
We drove on small streets through everything from industrial areas to neat little neighborhoods to what looked like Lebanon’s version of a ghetto. Nothing moved. No survivors or infected, and the houses looked abandoned. Creepy was a good word, and our communication was limited to quiet instructions on which way to turn.