Revenence: Dead of Winter: A Zombie Novel

by Betts, M. E.

  "Shit," she muttered, turning back.

  "Shari!" Daphne hissed from outside, launching a sharpened stick at the closest of a small herd of undead, a mere two storefronts down.

  Inside the store, Shari grabbed the first child-sized pair of leather gloves she came across. Once again, they were too big, but she was all out of time to be picky.

  She dashed back to the window, scraping the back of her thigh on a shard of glass in her haste. Although the leather of her pant leg remained intact, she knew that there was at least a moderate wound beneath the clothing.

  Daphne was already speeding away on the ATV when Shari reached her horse. She hoisted her weight up and sat at the rear. Hugo, now at the front, slapped the reins and took off after Daphne. Shari swung her leg over the horse's hindquarters, grabbing onto Hugo and inching forward while Finn sat sandwiched between them, his arms clinging tightly to Hugo's torso.

  They stopped after traveling a few miles northward down Route 1, taking advantage of the visibility offered by a soyfield, roughly a quarter section in size.

  "Let me see your knife," Shari said to Daphne.

  "Why?" Daphne asked, handing over her titanium blade.

  "Because," Shari said, "these pants are way too long for little dude." She reached up, lifting Finn from under the armpits and lowering him to the ground. She held the waistband up to his waist, measuring how much she would have to cut off. She sliced off nearly half of the length, using the gut hook at the end of Daphne's blade. She removed Finn's construction boots and traded his jeans for the badly tailored leather pants, cinching them with the belt as tightly as she could. She replaced his boots, making sure that the pants came down past his ankles. She had left the length slightly long to make sure they covered his entire leg.

  "There," she told him, taking the gloves out from her jacket pocket, "let's get these on you and you'll be all set."

  She slid the gloves, with some difficulty, onto his tiny hands. She squeezed the fingertips, realizing that the tips of the gloves came out more than an inch past his fingertips.

  "That won't do," she said, reaching into a saddlebag for a sharp pair of cuticle scissors. She cut the tips off of all ten fingers, then slid the gloves once more onto Finn's hands. "That's better. Just long enough."

  Finn gave his fingers a wiggle. "Thanks, Shari," he said.

  "No problem, little guy," Shari said. "We've gotta keep you safe, right?" She lifted him, setting him on the saddle behind Hugo.

  "You want your spot back?" Hugo asked.

  "Nah," Shari said as she mounted and situated herself behind Finn. "You drive for now. Get some practice."

  They continued down Route 1, able to keep to the highway most of the way. Their journey was generally uneventful except for a stop to siphon some gas for the ATV. They passed through Rossville, Hoopeston, and approached the small town of Milford around midday.

  A uniformed zombie, old enough to have been turned since day one, appeared from a property just south of Sugar Creek, which formed the southern boundary of the town. It shuffled in a pitifully ineffective attempt to ambush the living riding down the road. Daphne threw a sharpened stick into the weathered, weakened skull, never turning her head from the road in front of her.

  They stopped north of town, where the countryside was open enough to see the windfarms of Sheldon, ten miles to the northeast. The six of them had only snacked since leaving the farm outside of Danville early that morning.

  Shari helped Finn take off his gloves and helmet, then rummaged through her bag to see what she had to offer him for lunch. Finn, perusing his options carefully, chose a single-serving, microwaveable cup of franks 'n' beans, a box of orange juice, and a packet of fruit snacks. Shari searched a pocket of her backpack until she located a wrapped plastic spork.

  "I never thought I'd be eating this much shelf food," she said as she unwrapped the spork. "And be damn grateful for it, at that."

  "There are some wild blackberries down the way," the Professor said, pointing.

  Shari narrowed her eyes, peering at the long, tangled canes growing around and into the perimeter of the nearest soyfield. "I'll be damned," she said. "I've seen those all over the place, ever since we left Champaign."

  "They grow like weeds around here," the Professor said, "all through the region, particulary from Champaign to Kankakee Counties." He sighed as he continued. "When I was a young man, still attending the University as a student, me and my group of friends used to roam the countryside all night in the summer, subsisting mostly on blackberries, cheap wine and mary jane."

  "I can't believe you smoked weed," Phoebe said as she nibbled a chocolate bar.

  The Professor scoffed. "Really, Phoebe? I started college in the late sixties and majored in astronomy with a minor in environmental sciences."

  "Yep," Shari said with a grin, "hippie. Case closed."

  "My point, exactly," the Professor said. "Anyway, by '69, I got drafted into the Air Force, and I was forced to trade those high-flying good times for an F111-Aardvark. By the time I came back," he concluded, "the sixties were over."

  "Harsh come-down," Phoebe remarked.

  "Yeah," Shari agreed. "Wait a minute--you said Aardvark. Is that a plane?"

  "Sure is," the Professor said. "Long-range bomber. I've flown that, plus a handful of other aircraft here and there."

  "Dude," Hugo said, his eyes large, "that's awesome."

  "Hmm," Shari said. "Interesting."

  "I can guess what you're thinking," the Professor said, "and to be honest, the thought has occurred to me, as well. The reality, though, is that we don't have a plane, on top of the fact it would need fuel and I'd have to be able to figure out how to fly it."

  "Maybe we'll come across one," Shari said. "A lot of farmers have cropdusters, right?"

  "They do," the Professor said, "but there's no way we're jamming this many people in one of those, let alone all of our stuff. We would need some kind of Cessna."

  "Let's make it a point to check outbuildings," Shari said. "At least on the more palatial farm estates. Somebody's bound to have a plane big enough."

  "While we're on the subject," Daphne said, "what exactly do you plan on doing with your horse?"

  "I don't know," Shari confessed. "I've thought about it, and I know a time will come where I have to either figure something out or set her free, but at this point, I really don't know what to say."

  They finished their lunch and prepared to continue their travel. Hugo, having finished eating, fiddled with a portable ham radio while he waited for the others. Finn had wandered over to the blackberry canes, where he was busily foraging.

  "Good idea, kiddo," Shari said as she joined him. She ate a few fresh from the canes, then filled the bag from the cookies she had just consumed. She tucked the bag into an outer pocket on Finn's backpack.

  "There you go," she said, taking his hand and leading him toward Eva. "We have some to snack on later."

  They headed further north on Route 1 until they were roughly halfway between Milford and nearby Watseka. At that point, they took a county road into Indiana, traveling east until they reached U.S. 52, where they took a left. Shortly after turning onto 52, they came across a sign informing them that the Kentland Municipal Airport was about 10 miles to their north.

  "I know where we're stopping," Shari called to the others.

  "Maybe our luck will change," Phoebe called back, "seeing as our searches so far have yielded jack shit."

  To the left of the road, a field sat overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, apparently never planted before the apocalypse had come in the spring. On the far side of the field, Shari saw a small herd of undead wandering south, their sizes rangingfrom between around three and six feet tall. She refocused her attention on the road, glad to have an excuse to avoid overthinking the sight.

  They reached the airport slightly less than an hour later. They could tell as they approached that the level of undead activity was slightly elevated in the area, thou
gh not overwhelmingly so. Shari felt suddenly and intensely relieved that the entire group, especially the toddler, was now protected head to toe, minimizing the risk of anyone being turned.

  Upon closer inspection, it became clear that most, if not all, of the undead in the area seemed to be quite weathered and impaired. Shari did a quick head count, noting that there were roughly two dozen visible, milling around a large outbuilding near the runway. She supposed there were likely to be more on the far side of the building.

  "I think the two of us can handle this," Shari told Daphne, "melee-style."

  "I've got at least a dozen sticks left," Daphne said, launching one into the nearest zombie, who had been making a futile attempt to approach the group. As the pointed stick entered the ruined face, it took much of the dry, leathery facial tissue with it, burrowing deep into the commpromised cranial cavity. Daphne reached into her pouch for more sticks. "So that means I can take out at least a dozen of them from here."

  Shari dismounted, aiming her bow and nocking an arrow. She set her sight on a slightly less decomposed zombie, letting the arrow fly as she exhaled. She watched it crumple, setting her sight on the next one. It was less than two minutes before she and Daphne had eliminated the vast majority of undead that were visible, leaving only two standing.

  Shari strode toward the far side of the buiding to see how many were left, swinging her bow onto her back to instead wield her drywall hammer. She swung the hatchet-bladed end into the open mouth of a reeking female zombie who boldly gnashed her teeth as she approached. The blade sunk into the back of the throat, through the medula oblongata, and exited the back of the head at the base of the skull. Shari grunted, wrenching the blade free from the woman's mouth, and continued toward the next one. Daphne, however, beat her to it, sneaking up from behind it as it focused on Shari. Daphne ran her titanium knife blade over the back of the zombie's neck, severing its spinal cord thoroughly with the gut hook at the tip.

  They crept around to see behind the far side of the building. Shari raised her bow, counting eight undead to clear. She killed the first one, gaining the attention of the others. Daphne ducked away into the shadows, ready to use her blade and her stealth, while Shari worked with her bow.

  Daphne jammed her blade upward into the back of an undead female's skull, her fist obscured by the long, filthy hair hanging in greasy strands down to the woman's waist. She pulled the knife free, moving on to the next one.

  The pair expediently completed their task, having cleared all of the undead roaming the grounds.

  "You've got something on you," Shari told Daphne, pointing to the leg of her dirtbike suit.

  Daphne looked down, noting the strands of long, stringy hair stuck to her leg. Her gaze followed the strands to their roots, where they were still attached to a chunk of scalp from the undead woman she had just rekilled.

  "Yuck," Daphne said, flicking the gore to the ground with the tip of her knife.

  The two of them started back to inform the group that the immediate area was clear when they heard the squeak of a door swinging open from the outbuilding.

  "Jesus," Shari said, reaching for her bow, "here we go again." She froze when she saw who had opened the door. It was an elderly man of perhaps seventy-five, not undead, holding up his hands to signify his lack of aggression.

  "Don't shoot," he said. "I promise you, I ain't one of them. I've never been bit. I pose no threat to you folks."

  Shari withdrew her hand from her bow, approaching the outbuilding cautiously . "You alone in there?" she asked.

  "Yes, ma'am," the man said. "My name's Elmer, Elmer Neumann. I've been stuck in that building for two days with no working plumbing and only a 20-ounce bottle of water. My wife's probably having a conniption fit right about now, thinking I'm dead." He let out a chuckle. "Thought I was as good as dead. Was starting to get loopy from the dehydration."

  "Follow us," Shari told him. "We have some water we can spare."

  "I thank you, miss," Elmer said as they started toward the rest of the group. "Miss, uh--what was your name?"

  "I'm Shari, and this is Daphne. You live around here, Elmer?"

  "About a half-mile north," he said. "Just up the road, right before you hit U.S. 24. I was here looking for my nephew when I got surrounded by those ghouls. You folks headed north?"

  "Actually," Shari said, "we were hoping to find a plane." They reached the group and Shari handed Elmer a bottle of water.

  "Thank you, ma'am," Elmer said, tilting the bottle back and guzzling more than half of its contents. "So you folks are looking for a plane, huh? Where you headed?"

  "Chicago," Shari said. "We heard on the radio that they have a pretty big group of people up there, holed up in McCormick Place."

  "Ah, McCormick Place," Elmer said. "That's right on the lake, I believe?"

  "Yeah, I think so," Shari said. "I remember going to some kind of art convention with my mom, and I recall the place being pretty big. They could easily have thousands of people living in there. That's why we wanted to check it out. Daphne and me, we came all the way from Kentucky, and...well, there really aren't a lot of people left."

  Elmer nodded. "That's what the missus and me have been suspecting," he said, "although this is the first time either of us have left the house since it all started. We got no power, but the well water and septic are still in order. We've gotten used to using candles at night and doing the wash by hand. We eat mostly canned food and vegetables from the garden. Like I mentioned, only reason I left is because the missus is worried to death about her nephew, who was last seen in his cropduster." He paused, looking out over the flat, deserted landscape. "Personally, though, I'm not holding out much hope for him."

  "Is it just you and your wife?" Phoebe asked.

  "Us and our son," Elmer said. "Four and a half months ago, we had a college-educated son just shy of forty, moved back in with us seemingly to stay. At the time, we couldn't help but wonder where he--or we--went wrong. Now, though," he concluded, his voice cracking, "we realize it was a blessing in disguise, 'cause we still have our boy."

  "That's a lot to be grateful for," Shari agreed.

  "This little guy belong to any of you?" Elmer asked, patting Finn's helmeted head.

  Shari shook her head, her expression solemn.

  Elmer nodded. "The young have a heavy weight on their shoulders, don't they?" he muttered. "God bless your heart, young man."

  "We're hoping the convention center will be good for him," Shari said. "None of us are parents, so we were hoping that there would be someone there with a little more experience with kids."

  "There might even be other kids to play with," Finn informed Elmer.

  "I'll keep my fingers crossed for you," Elmer said. "Seeing little ones like this...." He paused as his eyes clouded over with tears. "It's something I didn't think I'd ever see again."

  "I know what you mean," Shari said. "I've come a long way, and I've only seen a few kids."

  "Now speaking of planes," Elmer said, "which one of you is the pilot?"

  "That would be me," the Professor said.

  "What kind of plane is it you're hoping to find?" Elmer asked.

  The Professor shrugged. "Whatever we can get started, with enough fuel to get us across those hundred miles or so. We're not planning on getting that lucky, just hoping. When we saw the sign for the airport, we figured it would be worth a look."

  "Well," Elmer said, "as luck would have it, I happen to know where there's a Cessna pontoon."

  "That would be perfect," the Professor said. "Is it here at the airport?"

  Elmer nodded, pointing. "He left it right there on the runway," he said. "My neighbor, that is. The second day into this infernal shitstorm, I heard a plane flying overhead. I go to look out my window, and I see it's my neighbor in his plane, heading south and coming in for a landing. It was probably...oh, about five minutes later when I saw him come racing down 52 in his truck, and he turns into his driveway and comes to a screeching halt,
almost hit his own house. Even from my living room, I could see he was pretty bloodied. A few minutes later, we heard his wife screaming. There were two gunshots, and that's the last we ever heard from that house."

  "That's too bad," Hugo said.

  "Yeah," Elmer said, leaning in toward Hugo to whisper the next sentence. "But incidentally, they were shitheads. And they were greedy--so greedy, I can guarantee you that they're the type of folks to take issue with someone using their things, whether they're dead or not. You folks, though--" He nodded toward Finn. "You've got precious cargo, and places to be."

  "The problem being," Shari said, "that we don't have a key to start the plane."

  "We'll have to trace his steps," Daphne said. "If the plane's still sitting on the runway, and we can presume that he's dead in his house, then the keys should be here, in his truck, or in his house."

  "No guarantee we'll find them," Phoebe said, "but fuck it, it couldn't hurt to look. I'm in no hurry to try and wade through the suburbs on foot."

  They agreed to split up and search the plane, runway, parking lot and walkways in between. After a thorough search, they came up empty-handed.

  "Since we're going that way," Elmer said, starting up his pickup left waiting, "I'd love if you all could stop in for a visit, maybe some dinner. I know the missus would be beside herself to have some company, especially the little one."

  "I'm sure we can spare at least a little bit of time," Shari said.

  "Ours is the last house on the left before you hit 24," Elmer said as he threw the truck into gear. "And you can't miss my neighbor's great, towering McMansion, just before my house."

  "Ha," Shari said, "I'll be sure to keep an eye out for that. We'll see you when we get there."

  The group set off down 52, reaching Elmer's house within minutes. He waved from the front porch as they arrived.

  "I'll see what Carla's fixing for supper," he said as the group approached the house. Shari saw the front curtains ruffle, and a moment later, the front door flew open.

  "Elmer!" a short, plump blonde woman shrieked, wrapping her husband in a frantic hug. "Paul, get out here! Your dad's home!"