(Book 2)What Remains

by Barnes, Nathan

  Ian nodded, his eyes a touch glassy. “I couldn’t exactly put seat belts in so those will have to do. The door between the rear cabin and the driver’s section slides. Since it normally locks from the outside, I busted the mechanism. I put a chain lock on there so you can lock yourself in. It’s not that strong, though, so make sure you keep the main doors locked whenever you all are inside.”

  Out of the cabin he directed my attention to the roof. “The box is obvious. You have about twenty inches of wood for the walls. Careful piling your shit up too high; this thing is going to be cutting it close for any low clearance bridges already. I put another sectioned board towards the rear of the box for gas cans; there should be room for four or five. There are two beams sticking out the passenger side pretty high up for your bike; might even be room for two of them if you position it right. It won’t be easy to get it up and down but you can still take it with you… could come in handy.”

  I was thrilled. “That is a fantastic idea! Is it very strong? The bike isn’t that heavy but if a couple of those fuckers grab on I don’t want it ripped off.”

  He coughed wetly. “It’ll hold. Found a pair of L-brackets to make sure it was strong enough. Each one supports around 40 pounds. There wasn’t enough time for me to dig up rope so I hopefully you’ve got some at home.”

  “Para-cord. I bought a bunch when we were stocking up.”

  “Good. Take as much as you can to rope any gear down in the box. You never know if a breeze comes along or something. It would suck if one of the kids’ bags got lost. Also I don’t want any humans out there to be able to pluck anything off before you can get there to teach them some manners,” he said with a chuckle.

  “What are these boards on the side for?” I asked while I looked curiously at the two-foot sections that were screwed onto the sidewalls of the truck.

  “Steps, dumb ass.” McAllister laughed loudly. He painfully grimaced immediately after the outburst. “Unless you’re Spiderman or something then you will need a lift to reach anything in the damn box.”

  “You’re hilarious.” I rolled my eyes at him. “The fencing over the windows and windshield is a hell of a good idea! I’ll still be able to see through them while the infected will have a hard time getting through even if the glass breaks.”

  He leaned against the truck breathing heavily. “Thanks. Got the idea joking with the guys in central after a truck got trashed in the ghetto.”

  My excitement that came from seeing all of Ian’s work kept me from recognizing how quickly his condition had deteriorated. “Do you have any spray paint? It might be a good idea to cover up the reflective strips on the sides to keep from drawing attention more than we have to.”

  “In the shop.”

  “Want me to go grab it? Just tell me where. You take a break and let me do something for once.”

  “No.”

  I stopped. His short, uncharacteristic response threw me off. “Whatever you need me to do, man. I want to help.”

  “No.” He wheezed. “No. Brother. I think…” Every word was slurred like he was seconds from passing out drunk. “It’s ha… happening.”

  Chapter 14 – Best Creations

  1515 hours:

  Panic set in. The man didn’t deserve to die. I certainly didn’t want to kill him. For hours I knew that I was going to have to kill my new friend, yet I hadn’t allowed myself to think about what to do when the moment actually arrived. I looked around somewhat frantically, wondering how I would dispose of him or, for that matter, how I was going to bury him.

  He smacked the side of 522 to get my attention. “No. Don’t even think about that. You don’t have time. They need you to get back home.”

  “I’m not going to just stab you and leave you to rot!”

  “In the w…” he gasped for air, “warehouse. I want my last sight to be… to be of them.”

  Ian wobbled so much that it looked like he would fall over. I jumped to help before his legs gave way. We walked away from the mail truck masterpiece as a pair with his arm over my shoulder. Convulsions came in waves that nearly took us both to the ground. The heat that radiated off of his body was intense. I glanced over to see if he was still conscious; he was, but the veins on his face had begun the wretched darkening that came near the end.

  We hobbled into the warehouse. The candle that still burned in the office lit the way enough to locate the bed of spilled letters. McAllister collapsed to his knees in front of the two pictures taped to the wall. I sprinted through the room to retrieve the candle on the far side and set it a few feet behind us. When I returned I saw him smiling with his arm reached out to the pictures. Tears fell uncontrollably from my eyes.

  “If you ever ss…” he shook with more heaving breaths, “ssee themm... tell them what I did.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  His shaking stopped, and seemed almost calm. “Keys are in the truck. Lock the door after… don’t want to be a snack. I’m glad we met, brother.” Every word grew quieter than the one before it.

  My hand found the handle of the Kukri and began to slide it out of its scabbard.

  “No! You d… don’t have to use that,” he rasped then tipped his head towards the crowbar tucked on my other side. “Nice and clean. One hit.”

  I was grateful to keep the blade out of this one. Ian knew I dreaded using the life-saving tool to end a life. He looked forward again, his breaths shallower. The virus was so close to taking him. I tried to steady myself, both hands shaking terribly. Anxiety from the gravity of the task made the crowbar as heavy as a steel building girder. I wanted to cave under its weight instead of wielding it against my friend. If I did, however, it could have cost me everything. Its claw pointed out like a hook when I swung at the back of his head.

  A clap echoed off the warehouse walls, jolting from my arm to my spine like my arm had collided with a speeding train. McAllister lurched forward from the motion. The yellow teeth of the crowbar’s claw had completely vanished within his skull. I jerked the bar in a quick clockwise turn then yanked it out. Its exit slurped like a boot stuck in mud. Ian slumped to the wall beneath the pictures of his children.

  Bile bubbled in my throat and my body shook, tears streaming from my eyes. A darkened halo of glistening crimson on the letters pooled beneath McAllister’s head. I turned away then kicked the candle to snuff out the light illuminating my crimes. When I turned on the little flashlight in my pocket to find my way to the office I never once turned the beam towards the bed of letters.

  1550 hours:

  It got progressively colder as the afternoon passed. Virginia temperatures could be unpredictable that time of the year. One day it could be nearly sixty degrees then the next it could be a high of thirty. I felt a shift in the air that brought about a certain crisp bite to it.

  Light waned along with the falling temperature. I needed to get home before the hordes gained their nighttime advantage. Past experience showed me that the reapers started their feisty state the moment the daylight faded. By then I must be inside the fence and safely in the house. Our gear would have to be loaded into 522 in the morning before we departed.

  I poured one of my water bottles over the crowbar. Ian had a dirty rag near his tools that I used to rub off the remaining traces of the man I had just killed. It was hard to even look at the weapon afterwards. If I knew I’d never require its services again then it would have thrown it into the retaining pond near the fence. Instead, I tossed it into the empty space next to the driver’s seat that previously had a large letter tray. My bag was placed on top of it with the rifle propped against the dashboard. The Kukri remained at my side as always.

  Fumes from the spray paint felt like sand sprinkling on my eyes, which were already irritated from my tears. I found two full cans of black spray paint in the maintenance office. Sloppy black stripes quickly replaced the trademark blue and red reflective strips that were there before. 522 looked like a black and white striped monstrosity; McAllister would have lo
ved the final product.

  The bike fit nicely over the side beams. I was glad to have the option to take it with us. If there was time I planned to try to get Sarah or Maddox’s bike on there too.

  While I was lifting the jugs of gasoline into the rooftop cage I noticed the multitude of lights bordering the rear of the truck. Mail trucks were such a normal sight before the world went to hell that it was easy to overlook the aspects that set them apart from your average ride. Riding through a zombie wasteland with yellow flashing lights trailing seemed potentially hazardous. I grabbed the hammer from Ian’s toolbox then methodically smashed each brake light. After the lights were broken I gave them a quick spray of paint to ensure nothing reflective was left over. The only lights I wanted to work were those on the inside of the truck and the headlights.

  I took a moment to marvel at the ingenuity Ian had used to secure the windshield. He attached the fencing to a raised frame that allowed enough clearance for the windshield wipers to work, and then it sloped down past the wipers to another elevated frame bolted into the hood of the truck. It would certainly be a bitch of a task to change the wiper blades or get under the hood. However, if we were ever in a situation where I had the luxury to do those things then I’d gladly be up for the task.

  Then I saw something under the line of chain link near the wiper blades. I hoisted myself up on the bumper for a closer inspection. McAllister had written something there with a permanent marker: For Audrey and Grant - my best creations.

  1610 hours:

  No ghouls where visible near the loading ramp. Even with the clear road ahead, my heart drummed intensely while I cut the chain keeping the ramp area secure. It jingled as I rolled the gate to the side with enough clearance to drive the truck out of. I jogged back to the truck with dizzying anxiety knowing that the safety of this fenced area had been compromised. The keys turned in the ignition and 522 hummed to life. For a minute it loudly rattled while the modifications settled into place. I had a last minute idea to hopefully clear the path before driving out. 522 kept warming up as I grabbed the rifle then sprinted to the line of fence where I had retrieved the roll of chain link.

  There were more infected jammed up against the wall than there had been hours before, no doubt drawn by the noise Ian and I made while we prepared the truck. As a rule, I tried to avoid using any guns since bullets were more precious than gold in this godforsaken new way of things. Silence was also part of that new order, since firing a gun could end the pursuit of one monster while inviting doom from others. Moments before departing, I counted on sending such an invitation to that section of fence specifically.

  Fifteen rounds of .22 caliber rounds, full capacity for the unmodified long rifle, were loaded in the weapon. I planned to use every one of them on the over-populated wall. I paced along as an executioner firing point blank, one vengeful shot at a time, pecking away at the front line. Bullets bored into skulls, dropping the targeted creatures like cutting the strings on a marionette puppet. Half were held upright from the ones behind before finally dropping to cause the second line to lurch forward into the newly created void. Each fallen monster created a ripple in the rotting swell that bowed the fence inward.

  The chain link barrier jolted forwards nearly a foot from the pressure being piled against it. After I pulled the trigger for the eleventh time I headed for the truck as fast as my boots would carry me. When I rounded the corner a loud metal shriek echoed throughout the open space, followed by the horrible commotion of an infected torrent tumbling through the breach. Seconds later there were splashes of bodies being catapulted into the retention pond on the safe side of the fence. I knew that the whole wave would be upon me in less than a minute.

  When I slid the truck door open a rush of warm air fogged my clear safety glasses. I tossed the rifle on the seat blindly then ripped the glasses off. My hands shook terribly; it made the new foreign seat belt much harder than it should have been. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the side view mirror’s reflection of death rushing out past the corner of the building. The seat belt clicked into place barely a second before I stepped on the accelerator.

  As the advancing crowd emptied into the open lot they dispersed somewhat because of the lack of a singular target. I had made it into the truck before the first of them rounded the corner. 522 growled into motion with a quick chirp as the tires found traction. The brief skidding immediately refocused the zombies like bees swarming out of a hive. I’d never know how long they followed. By the time they reached the gate I had cleared the delivery drive and was well on my way home.

  I circled around to turn back onto Hull Street so I could backtrack home. Driving westbound in the eastbound lanes of Hull Street felt oddly rebellious, even under the circumstances. Passing the front of the post office was unavoidable, so I traveled in the eastbound lane to at least allow some buffer. I would have certainly passed the time when the undead gained their nocturnal advantage if I wasn’t home within thirty minutes.

  “Guys,” I said into the walkie-talkie, “it’s Daddy.”

  “Nathan! Thank God!” Sarah’s voice instantly replied. “Are you okay?”

  My eyes left the road to focus on the postal entrance on the right side. Dozens of infected bodies shambled through the fallen fence. Their herd mentality was so narrow that the sound and sight of a truck driving by was unnoticed beyond the cumulative symphony of their hungry pursuit. Then an impact sent a rattling shock through the truck. The resulting startle nearly sent me into a green sedan parked on the left side. I recovered in time but the teenage corpse I had sideswiped was sent through a car’s windshield like a missile.

  “Sweetie! Answer me… please be okay.”

  Between hitting the zombie and being awestruck from the sight of the post office I had forgotten to answer her.

  “Sorry, honey. I’m fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Her voice trembled. “I was so worried you wouldn’t make it back tonight… Maddox has been asking every fifteen minutes to wait for you at the fence.”

  I took the left turn off of Hull Street, the hill that led up to the back entrance to the neighborhood was ahead. The blue van on the tire jack was far enough up that I couldn’t make out the bloody mess that painted its past. Colors tinged the dirty clouds of the western horizon.

  “Keep the kids in the attic, it’s getting dark. I might need a hand over the fence so if possible I’d like you to wait there. I love you. See you in a few minutes.”

  If there were other obstacles that could have delayed my return, I didn’t notice. Both my body and mind felt so drained from the fucked up day in this newly fucked up life, that I wouldn’t have stopped 522 for a brick wall. I was perfectly content zoning out with the thought of the neighborhood being unchanged from earlier in the day with its gory smears and nightmarish displays.

  Minutes later I was creeping up the driveway of the neighbor’s house. I eased up on the gas for the steep drive hoping to limit the noise. Shade from the leafless trees made the area darker than the dimming sky above. Habit had me searching for the headlights knob; thankfully, I thought enough to fight the urge. I shifted to park and hopped out with the Kukri wielded.

  Somewhere fists hammered down on an obstacle so loudly that it echoed across the empty street. If the undead were louder in their disgusting vocalizations, I’m sure I would have heard a frustrated roar to go along with the pounding. I should have felt more upon hearing such a sound; it meant that someone living was hiding and that something no longer living had found him or her. Fading humanity aside, I only felt relief that it wasn’t me.

  After a very quick check around the front I focused on getting 522 into cover. The soiled welcome mat was still draped over the connecting point of the doors. Seeing the mat unchanged saved me the trouble of checking the backyard, and since it was time I didn’t have, I was grateful for that.

  The mail truck slipped through the double door with barely inches to spare. I pulled her parallel to the spot I came
over the fence. Knowing that my fat ass wasn’t going to get over the fence without a ladder, I parked the truck close enough to use it as a step. She was so close that the side view mirror scraped against the wood.

  “Nathan…” Sarah whispered over the walkie-talkie. “Please tell me that was you on the other side of the fence.”

  I smiled. “It’s me. I’ll be over in a second. Need to secure things for the night on this side.” The truck keys, one for the driver’s cab and one for the rear-loading door, were tucked securely inside my glove against my palm. Losing our only set of keys for our ticket to safety was too much to even consider, so I wanted to know their location at all times.

  “The ladder is ready. I’m here.” Her voice had a slight echo from our side of the fence as I exited the truck. Knowing my wife was so close again made my heart flutter. I had seen so much in the short time that we were apart that I might as well have been gone for days.

  By now only traces of sunset-scorched clouds remained in the sky. My eyes adjusted to the growing dark enough to reach the gate in order to return the slide lock into its secured position. I plopped a metal trash can in front of the connecting point of the fence doors knowing it would be noisy if it were to be knocked over. If someone was going to mess with 522 then I wanted to know about it.

  There was a distinct shuffling noise coming from Sarah’s anxious pacing on our side of the fence. I peered through the gap in the planks to see her silhouette waiting at the ladder. I draped my backpack over the cusp and she took it without question; we repeated the task with the rifle.

  “Hurry, Nathan. The sun is about gone. We need to be inside before those things know something is up back here.” Punctuating her point, the sound of wet fists slapping against the wreckage of our car in the front echoed in the darkness.