by Gunther, Cy
Taking a deep breath Corey grabbed the doorknob, twisted, and pushed into the room.
The room stank of old death, a pair of male zombies swinging slowly to face him. One was missing fingers on the hands reaching for him, while the other was missing most of his stomach and thighs. But they were moving towards him, and Corey sidestepped Mr. Fingers and brought the machete down into the skull of Mr. Stomach.
The bone cracked, split, and its eyes rolled back in its head as Mr. Stomach collapsed toward an old steel desk.
Corey pulled the machete free and slipped under Mr. Fingerless’ closing arms. He fought the urge for a center strike, and brought the weapon down hard into Mr. Fingerless’ temple, taking the whole top of the zombie’s head off.
As the skull cap clattered off of the desk, Mr. Fingerless collapsed on top of Mr. Stomach.
Stepping out of the room, Corey paused on the landing, flashed Brian the two signal, closed his fist, and made his way down the stairs. He stopped at the first floor door, listened, and heard nothing.
He looked back at Brian, who nodded.
Corey took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened the door.
The front office was empty save for dust, footprints, and the beginning of the blood trail. The windows were dusty, revealing Mason Street beyond. The street was short, a narrow cross section bracketed by the foundry on one side, and the American Legion on the other. Across from the front office was The Sisters of Mercy Thrift Shop, sandwiched between a pair of empty store fronts. Children’s clothes, books, and toys were neatly displayed in the windows, and the store’s door was open slightly.
The two brothers stepped away from the door.
“So,” Corey said in a low voice. “Straight across and in?”
Brian nodded. “That sounds good. We just need to make sure that this door doesn’t lock on us, and that it stays closed.”
“Yeah. Do a quick check of each end of the street after?” Corey asked.
“Yeah, okay. You ready?”
“I was born ready.”
“Fuck you,” Brian laughed, punching Corey in the arm. “Machetes?”
“Yeah, machetes,” Corey sighed. The twins readied their machetes, and Brian checked the door, making sure that it didn’t lock automatically.
It didn’t, and Corey thanked God for small favors.
Brian opened the door wide, and Corey stepped out into the street, the smell of old iron from the foundry hitting him. Movement caught his eye and he shifted to look at the Legion post, where a trio of the undead stood in the foyer, locked in pounding on the glass of the doors as they saw Corey.
“We’re going to have to make this quick,” Corey said, gesturing towards the post with his machete. Brian glanced over, nodded, and headed for the thrift shop. Corey followed him, and in a moment they were inside the dim interior of the shop, the place stinking of death. Ignoring the smell he shucked his rucksack and split off to the left as Brian went to the right.
Corey started grabbing toys – trucks, cars, soldiers, dolls, anything that looked interesting – he moved quickly, the ruck filling. A sound to his right caused him to turn his head just as a little old nun, obviously dead, came at him with her arms raised, the lower half of her chin missing.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he groaned, and swung his machete, crushing the nun’s skull.
A second, older nun came out from a section of women’s jackets, half of her scalp gone as she started moaning, arms rising up.
Corey prepared to swing when Brian slipped up behind her and split her skull.
She collapsed on top of the shorter nun, and Brian shook his head. “This is ridiculous,” Brian said. “I just killed a fucking zombie nun.”
Terrence
“How are we for ammunition?” Terrence asked.
Ernst poured him a cup of coffee. “Not great. Well, I have a lot, but in all actuality, it is a finite supply. We really need to conserve until we can either salvage some more, or learn to make our own.”
“I’m going to side with salvage and conserve,” Terrence chuckled. “You know, Ernst, I’ve been through a lot of things, but I really never thought, especially after Korea, that I could really be surprised.” He shook his head as Ernst handed him the coffee. “This, though,” he sighed, “this has surprised the hell out of me.”
“I understand completely,” Ernst said. “Granted, I was preparing for the end of the world, but I was pretty confident that it was going to be the normal, run of the mill apocalypse, and not the rising of the dead.”
Silence fell over the two of them as they drank their coffee, one of the dogs padding by on quiet feet. “You know,” Terrence said, “we should save the bullets for regular people, and anyone who gets infected. I know that that young sergeant says that people change within a few minutes, but that’s a hell of a long time when you know what you’re going to become.”
Ernst nodded. “I’m thinking that most regular people aren’t going to be afraid of machetes or spears, if we get some made up.”
Terrence grinned. “Probably not, son. Now, that Ham radio on the counter, it works?”
Ernst glanced at the radio, nodding. “It does. Do you know how to use one?”
“Ended up being a radio man in Korea, humping it up and down those valleys,” Terrence said, shaking his head. “Developed a love hate relationship with them, so, yes, I know how to use one of them.”
Ernst drank his coffee and looked at the radio. “Well,” he said after a moment, “you should probably be in charge of the thing, then.”
“It’s yours though.”
Ernst shook his head. “Ours.”
The younger man looked into his coffee for a long minute before looking up at Terrence. “I built this place for a lot of people. Not that I knew a lot of people, but I wanted a lot of people to be able to be safe. I’m not a commie or anything, but there are very, very few things here that I will actually say are mine and mine alone. When that time comes though, I will speak up.”
Terrence set his coffee down, looked at Ernst and asked softly, “What happened to you, son?”
Ernst gave a sad smile. “Death, of course, and long before this.”
“You loved her a lot?”
“Too much, it would seem,” Ernst answered. He stared into his coffee. “But things move on, don’t they.”
Terrence knew that it wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyway. “So,” he said, “this place is ours?”
“Anyone who wants to live together,” Ernst said, smiling as he looked up from his coffee. “If they don’t want to live together, then fuck’em.”
Terrence let out a laugh. “You’d a made a good Marine, son.”
“I will take that as the compliment which it is meant to be, Master Gunner, and I thank you,” Ernst said. “So, you’ll be in charge of the radio?”
“Aye aye.”
“Where do you want it set up?”
“Well,” Terrence said, shifting his position to ease the stiffness in his hips, “I saw a radio antenna on the roof of this building, so if I can get someone to help me wire in, we’ll pick up a better broadcast, even be able to spread out our feelers if you want.”
“If I want?” Ernst grinned.
“If we want,” Terrence laughed.
“I will see if we can’t scrape up a meeting about that later,” Ernst said, finishing his coffee. “Set up an area however you want, though, okay? I need to go find Lee. She said that she was going to be working on noise makers and possibly longer spears later on today.”
“Okay, son,” Terrence said, finishing his own. “Give me a refill, will you?”
Ernst nodded. He took Terrence’s mug and poured fresh coffee in.
“Thank you,” Terrence said. He gestured at the Ham radio with his free hand, saying, “I’ll set this up a in a little while, but I need to wrap my head around it a little more.”
Ernst nodded as Michael appeared, walking comfortably towards Terrence,
smiling at both of the men. “I’ll check back soon,” Ernst said, patting Michael on the head as he passed by him.
“Hello Michael,” Terrence said. “Are you ready to practice your English?”
The little boy nodded.
“Good,” Terrence smiled. “Pretty soon you’ll be speaking with everyone here.”
Lee
Lee hit the button on the smoke detector, and a high pitched squeal sounded, pulsing, causing her to wince before she switched it off.
“Damn,” Ernst said suddenly from behind her, “that sounds like it’s going to be effective.”
Lee chuckled and dropped it down beside the .50 cal on the table. She had three others completed. “So,” she said, “tell me again while you needed to stock a thousand smoke detectors?”
“Long term planning,” Ernst grinned, folding his arms over his chest. “And it was actually cheaper to buy them by the thousand.”
“How many do you have?”
“Enough,” Ernst said. “Let’s just leave it at enough.”
“Okay.”
“How do they work?”
“Pretty simply, actually,” Lee said. “You just hit the button, drop it, and run like hell. The dead’ll home in on it. We can use them to get away, or lure the dead into a place where we can finish them off.”
“How long will they last?”
“That’s something I don’t know yet. I’m assuming a couple of hours, depending on the batteries, but that’s definitely something that we’ll have to test.”
“Okay,” Ernst nodded, “that looks pretty damned fantastic. Any luck on the spears?”
“Yeah, I was digging through some of the metal you have stored – and can I say again what a crazy fucker you are?”
“Of course,” Ernst laughed. “That’s what I am, and that’s what happens when you get bored with your money.”
“Wouldn’t know,” Lee smiled. “I’ve never had that much money to be bored with. Anyway, I found aluminum. You have seven foot rolled poles, one inch diameter, and I used one of those,” she gestured to the pole on the table, “cut a head for it from a bar, and put a slight edge on it. I’ve got it bolted in, so they should last a while, but we’re definitely going to need to practice with the damned things before we take them into the streets.”
Ernst nodded, picking up the prototype spear off of the table. “We should put some sort of tape on these for a better grip.”
“Yeah,” Lee agreed. “That’s why I want to practice first, try to fine tune them, you know?”
“I know.” Ernst looked at the items on the table. “Do you think that you could figure out a way to manufacture bullets and gunpowder? You know, just in case?”
“Well,” she said, scratching the back of her head, “I can start doing some research. You probably have something on it in that library of yours. Then it would be trying to figure out where we can get the materials, and whether or not it would be easier to use the old brass from spent rounds, or simply build new weapons that have rifled barrels, but are black-powder. You know, muzzle loaders?”
“That sounds great to me,” Ernst said. He cleared his throat and asked, “Hey, do you want to go and grab a bite to eat before the twins get back from their patrol?”
“Take a spin downtown and grab a bite?” she smiled.
Ernst laughed. “I think downtown might take a bite out us if we do that.”
“That sounds good to me,” Lee grinned. “Just let me wash up and we’ll raid that magic pantry of yours. I’m still just shocked at the number of things that they can freeze dry and vacuum seal. MREs are great and everything, but they do get kind of old, even if they’re pumping you full of calories.”
“Well,” Ernst said, “we’ll skip the MREs right now, and try to find something nice and tasty. Maybe a beef stroganoff?”
“That,” she said, “actually sounds pretty fantastic.” She walked over to the sink, lathered up, and washed off her hands. Drying them she said, “Do you have other clothes than BDUs?”
Ernst hesitated for a moment before saying, “I do. Do you want them now?”
“Yeah,” she said, “I’ve been wearing these for days now and I’m starting to smell myself, so I know that it’s bad.”
Ernst gave her a small smile, nodding. “Okay, come on with me. After I get you the clothes I’ll go and dig out some food and bring it up stairs.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Lee said, and followed Ernst as he started towards the stairs.
Ernst
Ernst led the way through the aisles of supplies, turning left behind a stack of MREs, and reaching a small door.
“Holy shit,” Lee said, “I didn’t think there were any other rooms.”
“This is the only other one,” Ernst said. He opened it and flicked the light. The room was, he knew, far different than the stark austerity of the rest of his property. The small room had an old Victorian carpet, and the walls were actually wallpapered. Family photos hung in frames, some as old as the history of photography itself, others were pictures of Helen. Her hope-chest stood off to the left. To the right was a smaller alcove, icons hanging above a small kneeler, incense burners unlit upon a shelf.
“Wow,” Lee said after a moment. “This room is you.”
Ernst gave her a small smile, nodding.
“Who’s the woman?” she asked, gesturing towards a photo of Helen in her wedding dress.
“That’s my wife,” he said. “Her name was Helen.”
Lee blinked. “Where is she?”
“Edgewood Cemetery,” Ernst answered. He walked to the hope-chest and opened it. The sweet smell of cedar slipped into the room, competing with the powerful scent of incense.
“How long ago?”
“Twenty years this past May,” Ernst said. He stepped away from hope-chest. “You’re about the same size as she was, maybe a little smaller. I never had the heart to empty the chest, so there are jeans and shirts, summer stuff that she hadn’t had time to pull out. A few sweaters that never made it to winter.”
Ernst sighed, shaking his head. “Sorry, I usually don’t talk about her. No one else even knows that I was married.”
“You miss her still.”
“Of course,” Ernst said, “every day. But life moved on. I have, for the most part, but you’re right, this room is me. My family,” he motioned towards the pictures, “my wife. My faith.”
Lee nodded. “And you’re okay with me wearing her stuff?”
“Yes,” he smiled. “You’re the first woman who’s been in my room…hell, the first woman I’ve talked to, really, since Helen died.”
“Can I ask how?”
“Lung cancer,” Ernst answered, looking at the picture of Helen in her wedding dress. “Her parents smoked, and she died from it. Her father killed himself. Her mother joined a convent. Helen’s death pretty much did for all of us.”
Lee shook her head.
“Anyway,” Ernst said, “I’ll go start looking through the food while you pick out some clothes, then you can shower and we’ll get that gear cleaned up for you. We’ll have to start making a list of things to salvage. We’ll need regular civilian clothes and stuff.”
“Especially for the kids,” Lee agreed, stepping over to the chest. “Okay, get out of yourself, Ernst,” she grinned, “and let me figure out what to wear out there.”
“Got it,” Ernst said, and walked out into the store room, closing the door behind him.
Strange, Ernst thought as he paused, glancing back at the door. So strange to have someone in there, let alone a woman.
He shook his head and stepped away from the door. Und das ist alles fur heute, he thought in German, and smiled at himself. He walked towards the vacuum sealed foods, which he had – not surprisingly – alphabetized after the successful sale of his third A.A. Archer book. Strange way to celebrate, but it beat getting drunk like he used to.
He wandered down the aisle, looking at the names, finally finding the ‘B’ section and
scanning the shelves until he found the cases of beef stroganoff. He had just finished opening a box and digging out a pair of meals when he heard the door to the room open. He turned and his breath caught for a moment – just like one of his female protagonists in an Archer book – when he caught sight of Lee.
She had pulled her BDU pants back on, but the bottoms weren’t bloused, and her boots were untied. Her BDU top was draped over a shoulder, and she carried several pairs of jeans and a few shirts. She wore a black compression sports bra, and her muscle-tone was amazing, each highly defined. She also had half-sleeves of classic Japanese tattoos, coy fish and storm clouds, tsunami waves and demons. Her dog tags swayed slightly as she walked towards him, and Ernst had to literally shake his head to get his thoughts together.
She frowned as she approached, asking, “What is it?”
“You ,” he chuckled, “you look fantastic. I don’t think that I’ve ever seen anyone that can pull off the look that you have going right now.”
She laughed. “And what look is that?”
“Total bad ass, inked up zombie-killer chick.”
“I like it,” she grinned, winking at him. “Did you get the food?”
He held up the packages. “Yup. Mission accomplished. Do you want to eat first, or shower first?”
“Shower. I’m not that hungry yet.”
“Sounds good,” Ernst said, leading the way out. “Let’s go see if the twins have made it back from their little excursion, too.”
“You do that,” she said, “I’m going to shower. If they need help because they’re in some cluster fuck, I’m going to be clean for it.”
Brian
“What the fuck!” Brian shouted, driving his machete into another ancient nun’s head.
“What?” Corey grunted, taking a dead priest’s head off at the neck with one solid blow.
“Did every fucking priest and nun in the city come and fucking hide here?”
The aisles of the thrift shop were filled with the bodies of the undead, and more were spilling over them, trying to get at the twins. Brian fought the urge to start using his A4, and he knew his twin felt the same way, using the A4, though, that would only pull every fucking zombie in the New England area towards them.