by Bryan James
But the blades were fun, too.
“No. Hell no, in fact. I just thought you were more of an Anniston type, not a Jolie. But I’ll take the mental image, no problem.”
I was taking it in now, in fact.
“How about you?” she asked innocently.
“Come on, you know this game doesn’t work for guys,” I yelled, absently kicking the rotten arm of a corpse away from the front wheel of the car I had been moving.
“Why not?” she asked, offended.
“Cause it just doesn’t,” I said. “Besides, I know most of the guys in Hollywood. It’s like asking me which dude in my office I’d make out with. Fat Filbert from accounting, or Pimply Pete from sales. No fun.”
Under her face cover, I knew she was making a face at me as I returned to the cabin of the truck.
“Nope, I don’t buy it. You have to pick someone. Come on, I played. You have to play too.”
“Oddly enough, I didn’t start this game,” I said, giving her a sideways look she probably missed, given that our eyes were entirely shielded from the sun.
Another sharp clap of thunder, much closer now, shot through the cabin of the truck as I sat down. She continued to hang from the mirror of the open door, eyes scanning the area for movement.
“Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta kill the time. Besides, I enjoy thinking about how it was… before. You think she’s still out there somewhere? In California?”
Oddly—and provocatively—her voice was hopeful.
“You know, when this is all over, I guaran-fucking-tee we will go find out, one way or another.”
She chuckled.
“What about her husband?”
I grunted.
“I played poker with him once,” I said, “He’s actually not a bad guy. A little pretty for my taste, but… Hey. None of that.”
She laughed from the belly, and I turned away.
The truck started on the first try, and I snorted in surprise.
The fuel in half of the cars on the roads now was starting to become old, and the lower the grade of gasoline, the faster it decayed. I remembered once playing a part in a low-budget apocalypse movie, where ten years had supposedly passed between the asteroid strike and the events of the movie. My character was wandering the abandoned highways—which looked nothing like the real ones, with the blood and the clothing and the scent of despair—trying to find cars with keys in the ignitions. No thought for the state of the battery that fired the ignition, or the state of the fuel that would have long lost the chemical composition necessary to run a modern combustion engine. He just found some keys, and the engine turned over. I remember, even then, thinking how unrealistic it was.
And here I was, months after the apocalypse, turning a key left conveniently in the ignition, and feeling the comforting roar of the massive diesel engine coming to life.
“Uh, Kate?” I asked, this time trying to hide my shame.
“Yeah, yeah. Move over.” She slid in next to me, and shut the door.
I couldn’t drive the big truck.
“You know, for a guy manly enough to think about sleeping with…”
“Just don’t say the name, okay? I know the guy. And you’re not right. I’m just saying that if we went looking for his wife, that…”
“Whatever, man. Whatever.”
She pulled the gearshift into first and patted my leg condescendingly.
The massive diesel engine roared with a satisfying heavy rumble, offsetting the equally heavy rumble from the storm clouds in the distance. The front bumper caught the rear of the small car in front of us and pushed it gently to the side. Between the two of us, we had managed to clear the obstructions in front of the large machine, and we needed only to move the large trailer across the tracks to provide the train enough space for passage.
In the distance, horizontal lightning streaking across the sky, lighting the clouds, and flashing in my sensitive eyes. Blinking, I turned away, watching as Kate maneuvered the large truck forward, navigating between smaller cars until the trailer was several yards clear of the tracks. Leaning out of the open driver’s window, I shouted once when we were clear, and the diesel rumble disappeared into the afternoon air that was nearly crackling with the electricity of the coming storm.
“Calling it?” I asked, jumping down.
“Roger that,” she threw back, slamming the door behind her, as if concerned that the rain would damage the interior. Several large drops had hit the pavement, and the gray was speckled in small, dark spots.
“Status?” crackled the small ear bud, and I jumped involuntarily in surprise.
Shaking my head, I touched the transmit button as I readjusted the shotgun slung around my shoulder.
“Yeah, we’re done, Major. Give us three minutes to get back in…” I was cut off by the clear and high-pitched tone of a child’s scream.
Kate’s head shot around, and she was staring into the distance as if sniffing the air.
Another scream tore through the air and she tilted her head slightly, locking her eyes on the source, and saying only, “There.”
Then, she was gone, sprinting forward.
“Major, stand by,” I said curtly and followed her.
The road was lined on either side by alternating strips of wheat and long grass, and in the weeks and months since the infection, it had grown long and wild. Kate bolted through the foliage as if it didn’t exist, hand flashing toward her belt, and a glint of steel announcing the appearance of the large blade.
Closer now, the thunder pealed again. Lighting followed shortly after, and I grimaced as the flash pierced the thick, heavy sunglasses.
One last scream shot into the afternoon, ending in a heavy grunt, and we saw a clearing ahead, where a short fence surrounded a small pump, gravel all around keeping the weeds and long grass from sprouting.
A small child lay on the ground, darting between an array of pipes and heavy steel tubes, trying to use the obstacles as a shield between her and a heavy, gray corpse, whose dirty clothes blew in the increasingly forceful wind. The bloated face and red eyes underneath a thick shock of red hair lacked an eye and an entire cheek on one side, and the creature—it had been a woman—moved clumsily between the array of spidery plumbing, hands darting down awkwardly as the child moved.
Kate growled deep in her throat, and the machete whirled in her hand, shearing the head from the body at the collarbone. As the corpse dropped to the ground, the body crunching into the gravel, she grabbed it by the rags of its shirt and stood it up again, plunging the blade into the torso, and tearing the blade upwards, splitting the rotten flesh down the middle.
The thick chest cracked in two between two large, floppy gray breasts, and clotted blood dropped from the cavity like spoiled curd, hitting the ground in thick globules.
“Kate,” I started, but she was done. She pushed the body away, sending it spinning obscenely into the thick grass.
Under the complex array of pipes, the small child—a little boy—scurried to one side, clearly frightened by the appearance of such fierce and masked individuals.
Thunder pealed even closer now, as my ear bud crackled again and large raindrops smacked against the dusty ground.
“McKnight, what’s going on?” asked Gaffney, voice slightly elevated but still calm.
“We found a kid out here, give us a minute.”
Kate was on her knees, motioning to the child, whose eyes were wild and darted between the two of us, worried and feral looking.
Kate’s voice was soft, and her mothering tone was clear. Underneath her heavy hood, I knew her eyes were worried and anxious.
“Come on, sweetie. It’s okay. We’re here to help.”
The child was shaking, now. Her voice seemed to bother him more.
He was going to bolt.
“Kate, he’s…”
A bolt of lightning suddenly lit the sky like a flash bulb, close enough that we could feel the static, and we both instinctively covered our ey
es.
The long grass shuffled, and we blinked the flash away, seeing the evidence of the child’s flight. Cursing, I hurdled the array of pipes and followed him, Kate close behind.
We crossed the tracks, watching his small form dart across a small field, then across another road. He must have been around nine or ten, and he was at the age where he was fast enough to be difficult, but not strong enough to be self-sufficient. But he was proving a tough catch.
He clamored over a small fence and along a narrow gully that stretched toward the closest town. I looked over my shoulder and realized Kate wasn’t there, but as I reached for my comms, I saw a black-clad form shoot in front of the small child, grasping him in a bear hug and picking him off the ground.
Catching up, I scanned the area. We were on the outskirts of the small town near the tracks, and a large silo stood between us and a narrow, concrete main street, jammed with abandoned cars.
“Major, we’re plus one, and on our way back,” I said, and the boy started to struggle against Kate’s grip, pushing against her arms with his limbs, flailing desperately.
“Copy that,” he said. “Be advised, the storm that is inbound is large and unfriendly. We’re battening the hatches.”
I watched as the child struggled even more, and I thought I understood. Kate grunted as an elbow caught her in the stomach.
“Do you understand me?” I said, crouching down, wisely staying out of range of the kicking legs and punching arms.
He stared, going still, as if contemplating whether he should answer. Behind Kate, I watched as a single zed slunk out from behind the silo, shuffling slowly toward us.
“Do you understand what’s happening?”
He stared, then nodded slowly.
“Are you alone out here?”
He turned, his dirty brown hair blowing in the strong wing, bright blue eyes misting. He shook his head.
The thunder rolled again, and the rain let loose.
“Where are they?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the torrent of rain that was slamming to the ground.
Hesitant, he raised an arm, pointing toward the town. Kate turned her head, seeing and dismissing the single creature as she followed his arm.
“Can we put you down? If we promise to help them, will you promise not to run?”
He didn’t move, and I stood.
“You saw what she did back there, right?”
The zed was close now, only twenty feet away. The child was just staring, still frozen. A demonstration was in order.
“We can protect you. We can help them. Your dad? Your mom?” He nodded, as if despite his better judgment.
I rose slowly from a squat, and walked to the shambling form, whose tattered clothing reeked of mold. It hissed, teeth flashing in the rain. My hand shot out, taking the thing by the throat and lifting it from the ground.
“We’re not afraid, son. We’re not afraid of these things. We can help.”
He watched, then opened his mouth and spoke, voice near tears.
“It’s not them—not the dead people. It’s real people.”
Then he began to cry.
TWENTY-THREE
Around us, the rain beat the ground into submission, dirt turning to mud, and wind forcing the rain sideways. It clattered against the glass of the shop window, as Kate finished drying the boy off with a hand towel she had found in the back. Note cards and books lay scattered on the floor of the small store, and rows of snow globes and ceramic figurines sat untouched by the tribulations of the end of days.
I guess people didn’t need knick-knacks and pieces of sentimental clutter when they were worried about flesh-eating zombies.
The small fridge by the door, however, was empty of the bottles of water and soda it had once offered.
“Where are they?” she asked again, holding the boy by his arms as I stared out the front window.
We had gotten in through the back door, which I had unceremoniously kicked in. Other than the two lone zeds, we hadn’t seen any other activity here. It made sense, since the herds we had seen must have gathered the wayward creatures together like iron filings to a magnet in this area to be able to have put together such massive numbers in Boise.
Their herding instincts were becoming stronger. Which meant they were becoming more dangerous.
“Are they close?” she said, watching his features. I glanced back and saw him nod.
“Where?” A single word, met with a single gesture.
He pointed again, in the direction he had pointed before. But now, with a final destination.
The bar across the street.
Gina’s Pub.
Of course.
I walked to the back and took a small metal chair from the office near the back door. I jammed it against the door, wedging it shut from the inside. Then, as an additional precaution, I pulled a display case from the back of the store that had been overturned into the back hallway, creating another obstruction. Walking to the front, I scanned the street.
“You’re sure?” I asked.
He just pointed again.
The rain had turned the glass into a watercolor of absurd light and shadows, and I could see the faded sign across the line of parked cars. A streetlight swayed on the cable to our right, where the intersection was a jumble of vehicles, and a paper cup shot across my field of vision, propelled by the wind.
“Okay then,” I said. My shotgun swung forward, and I grabbed the door.
Kate moved to follow.
“No,” I said, holding my hand out.
“Like hell,” she said heatedly, but then stopped, turning to the boy.
“You know we can’t leave him,” I said softly, watching him curl up behind the counter, staring at the cash register as if it were a television screen, eyes vacant.
“But how do you know what’s over there? You can’t go alone. It could be—”
“It could be an army of mutant turtles or a cloud of killer bees. Shit, it could be a lot of things. This world has a fuck-ton of stuff in it now that no one should have to see, or to live through. There is nothing certain any more, and very little is right. But one thing I know is certain and right, is that this kid needs someone to watch him. Besides,” I said, turning to the door and letting the sound of the rain and wind howl into the shop.
“I’m a fucking superhero.”
I didn’t wait for her answer. I knew it would be vulgar.
She had such a mouth on her.
The rain was so heavy and thick that I removed my sunglasses, blinking with the still too-bright light in my eyes, but able to see better without the smears of water on the lenses.
Seven large, black motorcycles of different models and makes were parked haphazardly in front of the wooden porch of the bar, with an old saloon style awning hanging over several dirty, opaque windows—the type that probably let very little light in, and very little visibility looking out. I moved between the cars and accumulated debris on the road at an angle, so as not to be seen from the windows in the event that someone was smart enough to post a watch.
I had a bad feeling about the type of folks that were inside this building, but it also meant that I had very little confidence in their planning abilities.
Tacking around to the edge of the building, I circled to the back door, pulling gently on the metal handle in the back alley, and watching as two zeds moved in tandem across the opposite end of the alleyway. A third followed closely behind. None of them saw my furtive movements in the pouring rain. The handle was locked, and I discarded the idea of shooting it open, knowing that it was the fastest way to get into a firefight that I might lose.
I had one major advantage, and that was in small places with no guns.
I’d have to take a different approach.
Circling around to the front, I hopped over the small fence that surrounded the porch, and cringed when my boots hit the wood with a loud thump. I stayed crouched for thirty seconds in the same position, waiting for the larg
e double doors to come slamming open with a burst of automatic weapons fire. Water dripped into the neck of my jacket, finding its way to my back, and trickling down my spine. Another flash of lightning lit the sky, and I clenched my eyes shut, listening for movement.
Nothing.
Inside, I could hear talking and laughing. Drinking was involved, and I heard the clinking of bottles or glasses. I also heard someone whimper, then moan.
The voices inside were a mixture. Some sounded coarse and uneducated. Others, more refined.
“And what’s it to you, Drake? You got somethin’ you want to say to me?” The loudest voice inside also sounded the meanest. And the drunkest.
“I’m just saying that this isn’t necessary. I think she’s dying, and you don’t need to keep this up. Just let her go. She’ll probably die outside anyway. What’s the point in keeping her tied up?”
A new peal of laughter greeted the second man—Drake’s—question.
“You growing balls, now, lawyer-man?” The loud voice carried on in an amused voice.
“I’m just trying to—”
“Because I’d like to remind you that you had a piece of that too. You didn’t seem all broken up about it yesterday.”
“Jesus, Rod, you had a gun to my head. That’s not exactly me making a choice—”
A chair scraped against the wooden floor loudly as someone moved quickly. Drake shouted briefly, and then the sounds of a scuffle. The man named Rod was angry, and he spoke as if he were closer to Drake. He was probably on top of the man.
“Are you unhappy with my leadership? Because if you are,” his voice dropped nearly to a whisper, and even my enhanced hearing had trouble picking it up. “I can arrange it so you don’t have to worry about it no more. Just say the word.”
Across the room, a new voice, a woman, chimed in.
“That’s not what he meant, right Drake?”
“Nobody asked you, honey,” another man’s voice almost purred, and the woman shouted once as a smaller altercation broke out, ending in a loud curse from the man and Rod’s voice booming over the ruckus.
“Stop! Now! I will deal with our lawyer friend and his girl—”
“I’m not his girl, I’m his secretary, and you can’t—”