Fear of the Dead

by Mortimer Jackson

  Vanessa wasted no time to stop and think. She dragged the older woman by her slim, bony wrist, guiding their path through the store with her flashlight. Grace did her best to follow, to obey Vanessa’s every direction. But Vanessa was moving much too fast. She was running. Sprinting. She was moving faster than Grace’s aching heart could allow.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Side door.” Vanessa’s first words for the night. Grace struggled to keep pace until they reached the door. That was when she paused, scanned the area outside with her ears.

  From behind them, they heard the sound of glass shattering, along with bones smacking the floor. The moans turned into screams. Vanessa’s entire body pulsated. She panicked, and pushed the lever on the steel door. Immediately on the left-hand corner was a demon who roared at the sudden intrusion. Beyond the demon, Grace saw a clear path out to the street. Vanessa did too. She dashed forward until the demon lunged. By instinct, Vanessa’s hand slipped from Grace’s wrist, completely letting go. Vanessa strafed to the side as the demon threw its arms towards her. It missed, but barely. With her eyes locked forward, Vanessa ran to the abandoned street, shriveling into a palm-sized image within a matter of seconds.

  Grace didn’t know what to do. It was too dark to see without the flashlight directed her way. She couldn’t catch the demon, nor could she move fast enough to avoid his reach. A pair of long, cold hands grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled with undeniable might.

  There was no time to react. Before she could scream for help, a pair of wet teeth had already sunken into her neck.

  Grace cried. The influx of pain rattled her nerves. She tried to push the demon away, but the demon only pulled with far greater veracity. The wet spot on her neck thickened, trailing down her to the rest of her body. She felt weak. Too weak to continue on. Too weak to stay awake much longer.

  In the midst of darkness, Grace saw the white radiance from Vanessa’s flashlight. It was the only thing that was remotely visible. The light was cast on the floor, highlighting the knee of Vanessa’s jeans, along with her shoes. She stood for a moment, and watched. Her feet moved two inches forward, then stopped. The tip of her toes turned the other way, and Vanessa ran away. The light shook behind her, growing dimmer every second until it was gone. Forever.

  Linus Baxter

  Chapter Nine

  Day Six

  Friday

  April 25, 2003

  7:56 AM

  My name is Linus Baxter. I am 34 years old. Two hours ago I left Palmer County, where I was living for three weeks with three other survivors. Their names are Grace Minien, Atton Stone, and Eli Desmond. We recently came into contact with another survivor. Her name is Vanessa Lowen. I am recording this tape for one reason only. In the event of my death, I need whoever is listening to this to know that there are four, maybe two survivors located inside a Costco warehouse store at 1232 Prior Lane. If I am unable to get help and return, then whoever’s listening to this, please, make sure that they get what they need.

  As of this recording, I am leaving for San Francisco to find a suitable means for communication. I have a radio transceiver with me, so if I can find no military or government personnel in the city, then my aim is to broadcast on the radios of anyone that might be in the area.

  If nothing else, I hope to find refugees.

  8:02 AM

  Linus cut the tape. The message was short and simple; straight to the point. That way if anything happened to him and someone found the tape, they’d know soon enough that there were people out there in the valley. People who would need help. Or maybe even people who could help them. Costco still had plenty of food and water. Even after all this time. If anybody needed a safe place to stay, they would have done well to seek shelter there.

  As for Vanessa and Grace, they’d be fine. The store was safe. It had been safe for the three weeks he’d lived there with the rest of the group. And Linus didn’t anticipate that to change.

  But then again, how would he know for sure?

  He chided himself again for leaving the way he did. He should have told Grace and Vanessa before he took the truck. At the very least he should have left them a note.

  But how much would that have changed?

  Linus knew that if he was ever going to find Kerry, he wasn’t going to do it trapped inside a store. And he knew that if he'd insisted on leaving, then Grace would have wanted to come with. If push came to shove, she'd want go for no other reason than to keep everybody together. And that would have made travelling difficult. If Linus had to watch over two more backs whilst dodging the infected, there was no telling how much he would have been slowed down. Plus, the larger the group the stronger the scent. The infected would have had an easier time tracking and finding them all. It was a risk he couldn't accept.

  Maybe that made him an asshole. Leaving so he could save his own skin. Maybe. But at the end of it all, survival was all that mattered. Life, was all about survival. People doing what they could to make it out alive.

  Linus pulled the steering wheel around as hard and as fast as he could, fighting against the unresponsive controls to maintain his sense of balance. The truck wasn’t exactly wieldy, but it didn’t surprise him either. It was an old beat up piece of shit. Unpleasant, but not unfamiliar.

  Two years ago he and Kerry rented a U-Haul truck when they moved into their new apartment. The truck that he extensively drove for forty miles had been every bit as shitty and worn down as the one he was operating now. The driver’s door didn’t close right. The steering was off. The upholstery had been scratched. And there were spots of rust pocked on the side door. The only thing that made this a marginally better driving experience was the fact that his tires hadn’t popped. Not yet anyhow.

  Much to Linus’ personal satisfaction, the road going to San Francisco had little hiccups. El Camino had seen better days, but it wasn't near as bad as it could have been given the circumstances. There were parked cars scattered across certain sections of the road. But fortunately for Linus, there was space enough yet for a delivery truck to move with relative ease.

  Given his speed, and how much ground he had to cover, Linus anticipated that he’d arrive in San Francisco in about half an hour. His plan once he reached the city; find a broadcasting station, and use the antenna to grant him a wider range of communication. If he could do that, he’d be able to reach anyone around the bay. The government would hear him. They’d know someone was alive, and they’d send the National Guard over to his location. They would start a second evacuation, and this time it would work.

  8:09 AM

  Note to self; never buy Goodyear.

  8:11 AM

  The left front tire broke down. Linus tried driving regardless, but if steering had been a challenge before, then now it was damn near impossible.

  Linus got off the truck. He was still on El Camino, which was a patch of road laid out across a forest on his left, and a series of cliffs and hillsides on his right. It was still early in the morning. To his surprise, the time on his cell phone hadn't reached nine yet.

  There wasn't much that he used his phone for nowadays. Without reception, there was no way of calling anyone. All he could use it for was playing games, and reading the time. In the remote possibility that his phone might actually work again someday, Linus kept it with him at all times. If nothing else, it helped him pass the time when days were slow.

  For one, Tetris never got old.

  Linus hated having to step outside his truck. For all he knew, there were infected hiding in the woods ahead. All he would have to do was step out into their line of sight, and all they’d have to do was lunge straight towards him. Linus didn't like it. But then again he had no choice.

  The spare tire was in the cargo end of the truck. Linus motioned cautiously, leaving the front door open as he hurried towards the back. He unfurled the knob and raised the door. He tried to be quiet in all this, but here there was no avoiding noise. Even though he pushed the lid as slowly
and as gently as he could, the sound of folding metal would have been more than enough to catch a nearby animal, let alone an infected human being.

  He waited in silence, listening closely to the air. There were no growls. No faint traces of footsteps or movement. It was safe.

  Did that mean there were no infected in the area?

  Linus didn't want to comfort himself too much with thoughts that there weren't. There was no need to make himself feel at ease, to allow himself to stay any longer than was necessary. Best to change his tire and leave as soon as possible.

  Linus took the back-up tire out of the case, groaning as he lifted it down. He wheeled it up to the front of the truck and inserted the spare.

  The sun descended into a cloudy grey afternoon. All appearances indicated it was about to rain. Fortunately it didn't, and he was able to change the wheels without the slightest hint of interference. He changed the tire with relative ease. Once it was all said and done with, he picked up his pace, and drove the remainder of his way back to San Francisco.

  9:15 AM

  Embarcadero was gone. And so was Mission Street. Powell. And Castro. What had once been the lifeblood of the bay was now nothing more than a ghost town. There was nothing left but abandoned buildings, stray garbage, and the smell of old, rotten blood.

  If nothing else, he was at least thankful for the fact that Kerry wasn’t around to see the infection hit. She was all the way up in France where it was safe. Where Linus hoped it was safe.

  Even with the city's remarkable decay, Linus was still able to recognize every square inch of its littered streets. It was no surprise, considering that he’d grown up in the city. He knew every block from Van Ness to Bayview. San Francisco was his home, although one he admittedly never looking up to with much reverie. He had always planned on leaving the place for good, present circumstances or no. In fact, at one point he and Kerry had talked about moving out of the country altogether. Kerry wanted to travel, and Linus wanted a simple change in venue.

  It agonized him now that he never made the move when he had the chance. As an accomplished four star connoisseur, Linus Baxter had never been short of options. He had dreams of opening his own restaurant. He'd even been in talks with a few investors when he first proposed the idea to some of his colleagues. They wanted an Italian restaurant in a mid-to-upper class suburban neighborhood up in Canada. Linus' specialty was in expensive Italian cuisine; a match made in heaven. Linus had never been to Canada, but from what his friends had told him about it, it seemed like a nice enough place to be. Especially to raise a child.

  A satellite tower fixed atop a building caught Linus’ attention. If he could recall correctly, it belonged to the old KTLU radio station up on 31st. It drew his attention and reeled his thoughts. Linus contemplated, and shortly after came an abstract intimation of what he could do.

  Linus could use the radio station to send a message throughout the entire Bay Area. With that kind of reach, with that kind of broadcasting strength, there was no denying the signal would go through. People would hear it. All he had to do was get the station to function.

  But how in the hell would he do that?

  He parked the truck outside by the side of the road. His place was off, and out of force of habit he tried realigning his position when the sheer stupidity of what he was doing finally came to him. Linus palmed his face.

  He left the truck crooked as it was, and searched the street for any sign of infected. So far as he could tell, it was safe. Nothing around him had any desire to leap at his face. He figured from what was around him (or at least more accurately what wasn’t around) that the place was safe enough.

  The KTLU logo situated atop the building confirmed Linus’ belief that he was in the right place. The front door was locked, but the double doors each had a window on either side. Linus found a potted plant down the front steps. He heaved hard, and at the sound of smashing glass, the lock fell within reach.

  A Hall of Fame guitar hung directly overhead the front desk as the mantel piece of the station, and a spectacle to any guests making their way inside.

  Closer inspection revealed that the guitar belonged to and was signed by none other than Alice Cooper himself. It was encased in glass, and had a photograph of Alice on stage playing with the very same guitar. Although the one on the picture didn’t have his signature.

  Linus remembered listening to KTLU once upon a time. Casually. Back when they played classic hard rock instead of modern alternatives. Before KTLU 99.3 became a station exclusively dedicated to a suburban rock culture he couldn’t bring himself to respect. He tuned out of the station from that point on, but he had friends that still kept their ears tuned. And an old friend of his told him that he’d met Erin Keller, one of the station’s most prominent hosts, in a benefit event that he was catering. He said she sounded better than she looked. Linus didn’t know enough to judge. All he could vaguely remember about her from all the billboards was that she was a blonde.

  But then again, what California girl wasn’t?

  The station was dark, but it was late enough in the afternoon that finding his way wasn’t an issue. Framed posters of radio personalities and their staff lined the studio walls, their portraits smiling wide at Linus as he passed through each corner. Linus tried not to think too long and hard about what might have happened to them since the infection. Their eerie presence alone was enough to shake his veins.

  There were six recording booths in the station, each with equipment more expensive and complex than Linus had ever seen. As a man whose only experience with broadcasting equipment came from when he used to be a boy scout, Linus had no idea what it was he was looking at. The console had more buttons and slides than Linus could visually count. He may have been a little more tech-savvy than the average chef, but operating a ham radio was one thing. The switchboard contraption standing before him was altogether something else. To say nothing of the machine’s table sized length, it was definitely not going to run on the portable power generator he’d been using to operate his ten pound ham radio.

  “Fuck.”

  12:28 PM

  I arrived at the KTLU radio station about, say three hours ago. I haven’t been able to figure out what to do, so I’ve been sitting on my ass inside this cheap cafeteria of theirs. You’d think a place like this would have better vending machines. Other than cheap candy bars, there isn’t much left that’s edible in here but some oatmeal on the shelf. I packed some food with me, but I’ve got no mind to double back and get them.

  No. Candy bars will have to do for now. I have to get started on the radio. I’ve never seen half this stuff before let alone operated one. Jesus Christ I’ve got a hell of a learning curve ahead of me.

  12:43 PM

  Before the infection, I remembered there was construction work going on at Mission Street. It was on the same day. Same hour, same time. Guys in hard hats were going in and out of the sewers. They were doing something. I don’t know what. Anyway, the point is that they had a power generator running at the time. Thing was the size of an engine. Maybe it’s there right now. If I can get to it, and if I can bring it back, I might able to power up the console.

  I’m leaving my tape recorder here, in case I don’t come back. San Fran was crawling with infected the last time I left. I don’t see any right now, but that could just mean that they’re hiding.

  Christ have they gotten good at hiding.

  Anyway, I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Wish me luck.

  12:58 PM

  Linus drove his truck to the nearby construction site. The billboards and posters, which were usually replaced each week on a normal day, now hadn't changed in the long four months since he’d been away. George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Matt Damon were still on the sides of buses promoting Ocean’s Eleven, which came out on December last year. Another movie, The Lord of The Rings, with Elijah Woods’ face half-cast in shadow, holding a golden ring in the palm of his hand. Other than that, most of San Francisco advertised (
as it always had) the same department stores that were located not two blocks away from any given street.

  A French chocolate shop nearby made him think of cherry cordials; Kerry’s favorites. He tried to imagine what he would have said to her if they ever met again. It was hard not knowing where she was, and yet seeing her in everything around him. Department stores, outdoor trinket shops, and antiques dealerships. No matter which way he looked, there was always something to remind him of her.

  The San Francisco roads were small, and Linus had to compensate for the unreliable steering on his truck by keeping his speed excessively low. Nevertheless, he arrived at Powell much sooner than he'd expected. And much to his satisfaction, all was as it was on the day he left.

  The power generator was still there. He could see it on the sidewalk lying next to the orange cones surrounding the open sewer cap.

  Cautious as always, Linus looked at every which direction he could before closing in. He parked vertically on the sidewalk so that the cargo end was as close to the generator as it could be without touching the curb. He stepped out, left the door wide open, and slowly opened the trunk. Again, the pull rope went up faster than was preferable. Only time would tell if anyone heard it.

  The generator had hind wheels, which saved him the effort of having to carry the whole damn thing on his arms. After pulling the ramp out from under the truck, Linus wheeled the machine inside.

  The plan went without a hitch. The only problem now was the fact that the power button on the machine was on, which meant that it had been left on for over four months straight. Not surprisingly it was out of fuel. Fortunately, the truck he was driving wasn’t.