LZR-1143: Evolution

by Bryan James

  I took a shot.

  “I think she’s alive,” I said, looking briefly over at her to gauge her response.

  She just kept walking.

  The sun was hot on my face as I waited for a response. I could hear her sniffle quietly, repressing tears.

  A single bird sang from an oddly shaped tree standing alone on the side of the deserted highway. A small, cockeyed sign was nailed to the tree. As we walked by, I made out the words “Corn” and “For Sale;” printed quickly on a piece of old wood, the poor-quality marker had already faded after possibly only weeks in the sun. Or it could have been years old, and aged fitfully before the end of the world.

  “I think she is too,” she said simply. She lifted her head and looked at me, her eyes rimmed in red. I met the stare and slowed my pace.

  Her voice was determined and strong. The voice of a mother.

  “I need to be sure. But I want to know that even if she isn’t, that I’ve done what I could to protect anyone else’s little girl or boy from meeting the same fate. It’s not fair, but I think it’s our duty. We’re the ones with this knowledge. We’re the ones that can help.”

  She faded off as she finished. “Whether we’re the best choice or not.”

  Then she looked at me. “Or whether we want the responsibility or not.”

  I understood, and I agreed. “Kate, I’m sorry about what I said in Dover. It was ... I don’t feel that way. I know we have to make something of what we know and of what we’re carrying right now. It’s just that, sometimes I feel so powerless. This is a big, ugly world we’re facing and it’s nothing like my movies, or like King’s Park. We don’t have a lot going for us, and it’s a long road ahead. But I’m going to do my best, or die trying. I promise you that.”

  She looked up and smiled at me, reaching her hand out. I met her hand and squeezed it, a gesture of confidence that I still didn’t feel.

  “We have something going for us. We have each other. And that’s more than a lot of people have right now.”

  I couldn’t argue any more than I could remove my hand from hers. We walked that way, two real, live people holding hands, for the next few miles. It was as close to normal that I had felt in months.

  It was nearing dark when we started seeing more signs of population. No people, but road signs, outlying houses, and farm buildings in the far distance, hundreds of yards from the main road. We determined to stay on course, reserving the right to give Bridgeland itself a wide berth if necessary, but we wanted to give it a try, just to see if a vehicle was available or food and water easily at hand.

  The sun was falling directly in front of us, making visibility poor as we squinted into the red light. We passed an intersection with a small, rural gravel road that was distinguishable as being close to populated areas by its school bus stop and the advertisement for a local realtor varnished on the side. A slightly balding, gap-toothed man stared eerily at the road, his sign reading simply “Vern the realtor. Call for quotes.”

  “You gotta love small towns,” I said, chuckling at Vern’s visage as we trudged past.

  “Not so small, according to the map,” said Kate, again looking at our most valuable possession. “According to this, the road takes a jog to the North around this bend, and we should be close to town.”

  Trees lined the road, and thinned out as we approached a bend. Electric poles were barely visible through the branches, but as we got closer, I thought I was seeing things. From a moderate distance, it appeared as if bodies were suspended from the long wooden poles.

  As we approached, I saw that I was not imagining things.

  “What the fuck?” marveled Kate, even as I exhaled sharply, squinting in disbelief.

  On each of the round posts, stretching as far as we could see, a naked body hung from the wood. Each one had a four by four nailed across its shoulders and into the electric pole. Feet were crushed and bloody underneath a thick metal band, which was screwed into the bone of the shins with large wood screws.

  A solid metal post, looking like the kind of shiv that you see used to drive into the ground and chain dogs to in the backyard, was driven through the chest of each zombie. The arms were wound with barbed wire and broken bones, exposed to the sun, were visible on each creature.

  The bodies, awakened by the sound of our footfalls, writhed in a surreal dance as we approached each one. I suppressed the urge to vomit as we both walked faster, eager to pass this horror show.

  “Why would people do that?” I asked, avoiding looking at a particularly gruesome display—a young child, who had managed to work her way to the end of her stake and bounced up and down, widening the ragged, gaping hole in her torso with each movement.

  “It’s a dominance gesture. It’s born of fear, and a desire to display control,” she answered quickly, and clinically.

  I stumbled briefly. “But it’s not normal, right?”

  She shook her head quickly, glancing at me and then back to the road, seeking to avoid looking at the sights as we passed.

  “No. It’s totally fucked up. These people are sick in the damn head. But that’s why they did it.”

  She paused, then added. “And small penises. They probably have small penises too.”

  I laughed, joining her chuckle, then fell silent again.

  The two-lane roadway was dark with shadows against the late afternoon sunlight, and I scanned the horizon as best I could against the harsh glare of the setting sun. Before taking a slant to the right in nearly five hundred yards, the road passed several homes set closer to the highway, including a small consignment shop on the left hand side, which appeared from behind a large field of corn that stretched for miles into the distance.

  Behind the shop, a two-story house rose, faded white slats below a bright green metal roof. The rear of a late-model pickup truck was visible from the road, stashed behind the large form of a detached garage in the back yard. I grabbed Kate’s arm gently, and simply pointed at the house.

  She looked ahead, gauging the sunlight and the distance, then nodded her agreement. We angled away from the shop, perpendicular to the road and out of direct view—and line of fire—of anyone who happened to be in the home. We stepped carefully, eager to avoid the telltale sound of snapping twigs, or rustling brush. The rural road was dreadfully quiet, and I could hear my own stomach growling. I didn’t want that sound to be the reason I got a bullet in my head. Fast healing be damned, I was pretty sure a high caliber slug in the noggin wouldn’t be a healing event.

  A wide gravel driveway ran from the main road into a small parking lot, then past the store to the house behind. The cheap metal siding of the retail shop was still bright, looking as if it had been cleaned or replaced before the outbreak. The windows were dark, and the door had a neatly arranged “Closed” sign hanging from the window pane. Mannequins modeling what I could only assume to be dreadfully outdated consigned clothing peered into the far distance, as if pondering their escape.

  We moved along the gravel drive, careful to avoid the crunching of stone against stone. The house had a large front porch in front of an impressively fortified front door. Wind chimes lay in a metal heap below the lantern next to the screen door, while the windows revealed heavy wooden beams crossing from corner to corner. It appeared to be a hastily but well-constructed barrier, with no evidence of forced entry.

  I gestured to Kate to follow as I ducked below the windows and toward the truck on the opposite side of the porch. It was a gently used Ford pickup, and the windows were open. I got excited, thinking that for someone to leave the windows down might reveal a hasty departure—the same kind of departure that might cause someone to leave keys inside.

  As I reached my hand toward the handle of the driver’s side door, Kate grabbed my arm, eyes moving to the tree line behind the house. A large shed sat at the edge of a fallow field which extended from the back of the house to end flush against a line of thick trees. A door hung loosely from the hinges of the small shed, and swayed slo
wly in the slight breeze. I shot Kate a questioning look, wondering why the hell she was worried about a door. She cocked her head, again toward the shed, and raised her eyebrows.

  I followed her insistent gaze and noticed the hint of movement behind the door. A leg twitched, barely perceptibly, below the door, foot moving awkwardly against the ground, heel digging into the churned ground beneath the heavy boot. Nothing more was visible, but given the jerky nature of the movements, and the lack of other sounds, we shared a look indicating our belief that this was not a human being. At least, not anymore.

  A brief search of the cabin of the truck bore no fruit. Whoever drove this truck here wasn’t in enough of a hurry to leave the keys inside.

  I guess Delaware was more of a haven for criminals than the tourist posters cared to share. I chuckled briefly at the silly thought.

  Tourist posters for Delaware. That’d be the day.

  The side of the house had no windows, just a tall brick chimney that reached to the darkening sky. I leaned close to Kate and whispered softly.

  “Odds are, the keys are inside. I think we make a play for them. My guess is that whoever is in the shed over there used to live here, and we find the house abandoned.”

  She spared a glance to the shed and looked back, eyes worried but resigned. “I wouldn’t be positive, but I’d feel a lot better with a set of wheels right now. Especially since it’s getting darker. If we zero out on the keys, at least we have a place to stay for the night.”

  I nodded, looking toward the back of the house.

  “Let’s try the back door. If it’s locked, we can try one of the windows.”

  We walked quickly to the back door, which was located at the top of a simple set of four low concrete steps. The wooden screen door showed signs of rot, and moved easily—and, more importantly, quietly—against its hinges. The old brass door knob was set in a heavy wooden door, and I drew a deep breath before twisting it slowly to the left. I expected it to be locked.

  It wasn’t.

  Chapter 21

  The door swung inside slowly, and I kept my hand on the knob in case I had need to shut it quickly. I had become jumpy in the last few months. I can’t imagine why.

  The back door opened into a dark hallway leading past a door to the right and another door to the left, and in to the living room, where the last shreds of bright light from the setting sun filtered through the thin curtains in front of the hastily boarded up front windows.

  A rotten smell—a familiar smell—was thick in the air. I glanced back at Kate and frowned. She understood. As we entered the hallway, the smell increased and we tensed. I knew the smell of a rotting corpse, and this one had been dead for quite some time.

  We both reached for our pistols, quietly bringing them up in front of us as we moved forward into the house. The doorway to the right led into a small kitchen, and a quick glance into the small room revealed nothing; no cellar door or other way in or out. A clean wooden table sat in the middle of the floor, and a single fork lay on the counter. Clean dishes were in the dish drainer, long since having dried from their last bath.

  I stepped carefully across the hallway, putting my hand on the knob of the other door as Kate lined up her pistol, nodding when she was ready. I turned the knob carefully and slowly, pushing the door into the room on the other side.

  A blast of wretched air filtered out of the widening crack, and I tensed, expecting the solid resistance and familiar groan of the undead. When nothing slammed against the wooden slab I shot Kate a look and moved forward. The room was dark, having no exterior window to provide sunlight, but when the door opened fully, I laid eyes on the source of the smell.

  The room was a bathroom, with a simple toilet, a pedestal sink, and a white, old-style claw-foot tub. The curtain around the tub was half-drawn, revealing the rotting and putrid remains of several dead—undead, unless I missed my guess—bodies and body parts. Bones looking as if they had been sliced cleanly with a sharp blade mingled with solid pieces of flesh, decaying and rotting, filling the tub with effluent and blood. The sink was stained with the crimson fluid, streaks of it lining the bowl and dripping into the drain beneath.

  I gagged and shut my mouth, pulling the door shut quickly and cursing under my breath. I didn’t want to think about why those parts were there and who had put them there. The thought was too sickening to countenance.

  I looked up and saw Kate’s face, pale and grimacing. I shook my head and cocked it once toward the living room at the end of the hall. She nodded once and walked quickly toward the living room, stepping softly on the old wooden flooring to avoid making noise.

  The living room, however, was empty. Tattered furniture was moved against the windows and doors, and the end tables and coffee table had a healthy accumulation of dust on the bare surfaces. A discarded “Modern Bride” magazine sat on the floor between four weathered depressions on the area rug, evidence of the long tenure of the upturned coffee table, now resting on its side against the door. A stairway led up to our right, and a small sitting room was beyond that.

  Just as I was about to motion toward the stairs, a clear female voice rang out from the upper floor. I almost pissed myself, it was so shocking in the otherwise deserted and quiet home.

  “Are y’all ready for me?”

  I was confused.

  I looked at Kate and she made a face, which I swear to this day was a “Fucked if I know” expression.

  “Uh, ma’am?” I replied, responding to the soft, unworried southern accent in kind.

  “To see me in my dress? I’ve been waiting a long time.”

  I couldn’t respond. It was too absurd.

  Behind me, Kate moved, whispering in my ear as she came forward.

  “My turn,” she whispered. “You’ve exhausted your conversational talents.”

  I gladly backed up, staring at the top of the stairwell. Two feet appeared suddenly, clad in slightly scuffed white flats beneath the hem of what appeared to be a white dress.

  “Hi, we’re ready for you,” Kate said simply, lowering her gun and motioning to me to do the same.

  I did so, still confused and bewildered. As the feet at the top of the stairs moved forward, I jerked my head toward the windows.

  In the distance, I heard the unmistakeable sounds of gunfire erupt in a brief volley. Not close. Not yet.

  “Don’t mind them,” said the young woman’s voice. “They do that every night. The pack in the woods don’t seem to get much smaller anyhow, but that’s what they do. Now show some respect. And hum the song.”

  Her voice grew directive and harsh.

  “I’m the bride.”

  She started down the stairs and we both recognized the dress. She was wearing a long, slightly dirty and very wrinkled, white wedding dress. Her somewhat emaciated form stepped slowly down the old stairs, wood creaking unabashedly in the silent home.

  Outside, the crackle of gunfire, seeming to be closer now, highlighted the incredibly odd scenario.

  I also gave serious pause to her reference to the pack in the woods, anxious about the implication.

  Her sharply featured face was gaunt and filthy, her long, dark hair—once lustrous and meticulously groomed, I imagined—was matted and greasy. Underneath the dirt was a thick layer of makeup, lending the prominent cheek bones and thinning lips an air of absurd expressiveness. She leaned heavily on the railing as she descended. She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking hard at both of us, agate green eyes still alert, despite the telltale signs of malnutrition and neglect.

  “Well, neither of y’all hummed the song.” Her eyes drifted to the windows and the setting sun.

  “But we’ll have time to try again tonight.” She looked at me hard, her face dawning in recognition. “Hey, you look like that guy ...” I lifted a hand, smiling.

  “Yeah, that’s me—” I began, and she interrupted.

  “Wow! Bruce Willis! Come for my wedding! Did Pat invite you?” Her expression was vapid and cheery, b
eneath the veneer of aggressive narcissism.

  I stuttered, and Kate laughed, shooting a hand over her mouth as I frowned.

  Gunfire erupted again, this time very close, maybe within a half mile. They were coming closer, probably along the roadway. We needed to find those keys soon.

  I grabbed Kate’s shoulder while maintaining one eye on the woman. “We need to get moving, or find somewhere to hide. Five worthless dollars says that those shots are not from friendly folks.”

  She nodded, and turned to the woman, extending her hand. “What’s your name?”

  “Leigh,” she said, seemingly confused. “But of course you know that. You got the invitation, right?”

  Kate just played along, feeling the press for time. “Sure thing, honey. Say, does this house have a basement?”

  Leigh frowned, and petulantly stomped a foot against the old wooden floor. I could see that this was going to be interesting. I paced quickly to the window and peered through the musty drape toward the road. I shook my head slowly as I thought I saw the back of a large yellow school bus disappear to the East. I must have been mistaken, I thought, letting the drape fall back into place. More sounds of firearms, still closer, crackled in the distance. I circled to the opposite side of the sitting room, where a single narrow window looked out over the driveway and the adjoining woods. I glanced through briefly, expecting to see nothing.

  At least three creatures had appeared in the driveway, and were shambling slowly toward the road. Behind them, I could see more. Many more. They were crammed between the tightly cropped trees and behind the near foliage, but there was an entire ... pack ... as Leigh had called them. More than fifty that I could count, but undoubtedly more. I cursed silently and walked carefully across the floor.

  At the foot of the stairs, I balked as I heard Kate humming the wedding march softly and watched Leigh walk down the stairs like a queen on parade.

  “Company outside,” I said softly to Kate and her humming faltered slightly. “It is definitely time to leave Crazyville.”