by P. S. Power
They searched for more in silence.
If they existed they were good. Or too afraid to make a sound or move. Either way, it worked. They didn't see, hear or smell anyone else. The police did smell. These particular ones, not the entire classification, which had, at least back in the day, been a tidy group. It wasn't a feral scent or anything, but the kind of odor you got if you wore the same clothes too many days between washings in the summer heat. The sucky part was that this attack meant that they had to strip the bodies and bury them. That would wait for morning though. Right now they needed to dress the meat, the deer meat, and fix dinner. They were all too hungry to let a little killing stop them, weren't they? Jake knew he was at least.
Half of them did that, the deer work, led by Carl, and Tipper had the others drag the bodies to the barn. They counted sixteen in all. They got beheaded by Jake, using a machete, dark or not. You didn't want to take chances after all. What had they been thinking? To steal the deer? They had sixteen men with them, all armed. Wouldn't hunting be simpler? More effective too?
Well, obviously so. After all, they were dead now. Bringing three zombies in first to ambush them, that took some doing too. Blinking, Jake wondered if they had a truck with them. They had most the fuel after all. Well, they could check in the morning. He wanted to sleep and really didn't care anyway. They could take the fuel, but the vehicle would have to vanish, or else the other cops would know where this group had disappeared from, and really, all things considered, Jake kind of liked the little house. It would be a good place to live if it didn't get burned downed or ruined.
Tipper sat down on the floor next to him silently. At first he didn't realize who it was, being so dark, until she started whispering to him.
“Jake, I... I wasn't trying to lie to you, I just don't feel that way about you. I didn't mean to hurt you... You have to see that, right? That sometimes people just don't want people that way. It doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you...”
Jake nodded. Of course it did. That was kind of the point wasn't it? The real one she was making. He wasn't good enough for her, even though a whole lot of other people were? Pretty much everyone, wasn't it? Was there any other way to look at it?
“But you wouldn't let me explain, it's just that Holsom was so good looking, and you know there were no strings attached with it. I thought so at the time anyway. It wasn't about you though, I don't want you to think that.”
Jake got up, or started too, but her hand on his arm stopped him. He glared at it, the contact, but realized that she wouldn't be able to see his eyes anyway.
“Jake.” Her voice sounded imploring.
“You know,” Jake's voice stayed low, feeling embarrassed already and not wanting everyone in the place to hear him. They would anyway he knew, any sound was magnified now, by the quiet they lived in. He winced and went ahead. “You were doing better with me before you started throwing off insults in a fake apology. You don't feel that way about me, but Holsom's all right, because you didn't feel that way about him either? Oh, no, wait, you just mean to say that I'm not good enough for you? That it doesn't matter if you lie to me, because everyone else in the world is so nice and good looking? Amazing. Funny, I already picked up on that all by myself. I must be a genius or something. Well, you know what? Why don't you go off and join up with your buddy Derrick? I'm sure he'd appreciate having you, since he probably can't survive the winter alone. Then you could be happy with your little friend and joke about what a loser I am to pass the time.” OK, so he sounded bitter. Well, too bad. He hadn't started the conversation. But in about five seconds he'd finish it if she didn't let go of his arm.
He surged to his feet and moved. She did let go when he got most of the way up.
“That's... I didn't mean it that way.”
“Then why say it? Why go out of the way to push the issue? I get it, you don't think of me 'that way' meaning I'm not good enough for you. I get it. You weren't exactly subtle about rubbing that in were you? Why make a point of pushing it now?”
Maybe he could be on Carl's team instead and just go hunting? Or he could try cleaning on his own. He didn't need Tipper anymore. He never really had. Yeah, she'd saved his life, but they were at least even there. He'd saved her life first anyway. After that he got, “I'm a lesbian.” Right. Nothing he did counted. It didn't matter what he did, who he saved or how hard he worked. Derrick Holsom was better than he was, and so was everyone else in her mind. In the mind of women in general. It was the way things had always been and no changes he made would fix it.
He went outside and curled up next to the side of the house to the left of the door. Yeah, he couldn't sleep that way, but no one would sneak up behind him either. There were some low bushes that he used for cover, the night cool enough that he was glad for the long sleeves he wore. No one came out looking for him. But then they wouldn't. If someone armed walked off to get away from you, chasing them was a bad plan. Definitely better to let cooler heads prevail in the morning.
He didn't know if he'd have a cooler head then, but he'd at least be calm enough not to kill anyone over his hurt feelings. Probably.
The time passed slowly and he dozed more than once, waking with a start when he did. The fourth time he woke from a dream where Heather, looking just like she had earlier in the day, yesterday now, whispered to him that they were coming and that he needed to wake up and kill them all now, she sounded urgent. It made him feel like cold water had been dashed into his face.
Jake really didn't want dream Heather helping him just then. Really he didn't want to think of her at all, even if she was right. It was a bit much to ask of him, wasn't it?
Only being behind the bushes saved him from detection. The men walked in the moonlight, wearing black and had night vision goggles on. There were four of them, that he could see at least. More cops, at least from the bullet proof vests and regulation boots they wore. They needed to steal their boots before burying them. In the old world that would have been incriminating evidence and it might be again someday. For now it just meant durable foot wear. It was that or make a point of finding a shoe store in town.
He took out the weapon on his hip, since it was black and not too shiny, and fired up at the first one, hitting him in the head, then getting the second dead in the visor before he rolled out of the way, scrambling along the edge of the house.
The third actually tripped over one of the fallen, and Jake aimed for the head instantly, used to taking things on the ground like that. It surprised him a little, because the weapon just moved into place and fired smoothly, almost as if on its own. Two more ran around the corner then. So there were three left still. Well, he had enough rounds. Two for each? He'd lost count. They could see at night, but so could he, if not as well. They didn't have infra-red though, or if they did their system sucked. Jake was still alive after all. He hid behind bushes and circled around them until a shot lined up. They were firing wildly, not knowing where he was yet. Thankfully they shot at where he'd been, not his current location.
Jake got the next two as they spun in place trying to find him, but the flash marked his location too clearly, meaning the last man could open fire on him. Lying flat on the ground he just rolled to the left. No particular reason, it just felt right at the time. That might have been wrong, Jake considered, since something he rolled over started to bite or sting him. It hurt, the pain mainly on his stomach and right side, it moved under his arm and then bit his arm pit over and over again. He decided that as soon as he shot the guy in front of him that had just emptied his clip into the ground not ten feet away, he was going to freak out and start slapping himself there.
Stupid bugs.
The last shot rang out clearly, and he did slap at his arm pit, then reached under his shirt and grabbed at something that crunched under his fingers as he pulled it away. Ick. He hated bugs. They were everywhere, and did things like this at inconvenient times. Then again, it was always an inconvenient time to be stung or whatever. Ho
pefully bites, since a stinger would mean poison. Not that he was allergic to anything, but it would still swell and hurt for days. It was just another thing he didn't need to deal with.
Jake moved as quietly as he could behind a tree and crouched, reloading with a fresh magazine. Then he started crawling, hoping not to be attacked again. By anything. He didn't have much luck. At least three more things, all of them buzzing, stung him as he moved. Hornets or wasps maybe? They didn't feel good whatever they were. He also found another black clad man who was doing exactly what he was, and crawling through the brush. The big difference being that he yelped when he got stung.
It cost him his life.
After that Jake didn't find anyone else, so they either ran away or all of them were gone. He kind of hoped for dead. It would be a pain to dig a pit big enough for all of them now. Stupid cops. Always messing things up for everyone else. Jake sighed. It wasn't fair of him to think that. The world probably still had some good ones left. These were a pain in the rear though.
It was just supposed to be a relaxing hunting trip. Then, Tipper had made sure that wouldn't happen hadn't she? Honestly, what was her problem anyway? Maybe some of the other women could use the whole “Jake's a killer” thing as a reason not to like him, even though he'd kept a lot of them alive. Tip though, well, she was a killer too. For her to be playing games with him like that didn't make sense. She “didn't like him that way?” What the fuck?
It was the freaking end of the world. He had a pulse and had even helped keep her alive. What wasn't to like? He even had good hygiene. That practically made him a rock star in the current world, didn't it? And...
Honestly... personal low self-esteem aside...
Holsom wasn't that good looking. That whole situation just didn't make sense at all. Tipper should have been putting a bullet in the louse's brain, not taking him up the behind in a crowded room.
He stayed out until first light, then knocked on the door, four raps, then three, then four. Three came back, then four, then three more. So they were all them at least. Good. It was the agreed on field knocking pattern, so that no one would learn their secret knock for the house if they overheard. It got changed each week. Really, it wasn't that things were that dangerous, but a lot of people had time to make things like that up now. The door opened to find Carl and Dave standing there ready to fight, just in case Jake had been taken by the newcomers. He shook his head.
Like that would happen. They might have killed him, but taking him prisoner wasn't ever in the cards, was it? If they had somehow, they wouldn't have gotten the knock from him. The best they'd have gotten would be a fake one so that the people inside would know to just start shooting.
“Six or seven more I think. Night vision.”
Tipper looked at him, a strange thing that seemed out of place. Kind of worried, as if she gave half a damn about him? Jake didn't bother acknowledging it, staring through her as if she wasn't there. He let the others handle the bodies. He'd done his bit for the team and besides, his back hurt, and the sore spots under his arm were less than fun too.
Jake decided to start working on the wood stoves instead, one of them, the main one in the kitchen had to be put out first and four buckets of water dumped in to cool the fire enough to clean out the coals into a second bucket of water. It hissed and spit, even though he'd been certain everything would be out. He had to use most of their water for it, but could go back to the river if needed for more. The other stove just had to be loaded up, so he disconnected it and drug it out noisily. It left some scratches on the floor, which made him feel bad for a bit, since it looked to be nice hardwood. It felt like a stupid thing to worry about, since the owner of the place was probably long dead, but it wasn't his floor to mark up like that. Maybe, if he got a change he could refinish it or something?
This stove was smaller and lighter, which didn't mean light, not for one person. Hefting it up onto the wagon was possible at least. Barely. He'd need help with the bigger one, he decided, standing there, panting, a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his arms.
They had the meat too, already hanging and ready to go back with them. It took the others longer to finish, carrying strings of boots, belts and various other items. A few shirts, some jewelry that couldn't have fit any of the men at all, probably kept as loot. Gold? Silver? What were they going to do with that? Ask some girl to marry them? Probably right before they killed her and had sex with the corpse.
That wasn't kind, he realized, and probably not even true. They'd just rape the girl and leave her. Or kill her. That sounded more likely for the police in Westwood, if they could be called that anymore. They called themselves that, but it didn't make it true, did it? Real cops would eat these losers for lunch.
Or they could, if they were cannibals.
They got back to the house by two in the afternoon, and the meat got loaded directly into the smoke shed, a ten by ten fire powered structure that used cold smoke to... do something Jake didn't exactly understand to the meat. It wasn't enough and it still would need to be dried, a lot of it got cut into thin strips and laid out on old window screens for that.
Some of these went into the smoke house too, some into a screened box, to keep the bugs off, but allow air flow. A few larger parts were smoked whole, for dinner the next day. Jake worked on the project until it was done, then moved on to the next task, trying to keep busy. That was getting the wood stoves into place. The bigger one got set up in the front room, the smaller one up in the second bedroom. It had a fire place already.
Once those were in he went and scrubbed for a while, cold water rolling off of him in the little screened off wash area. Did old sheets on posts count as screens really? It worked well enough. The cool water felt nice, the day had been warm, made more so by his heavy clothes. He noticed the swelling all over his right arm and stomach, red and inflamed from the insects. He'd live. Nothing to be done about it anyway.
Except for curse the things that stung him. Of course, he was pretty sure most of them were already dead. So he'd have to curse their buggy little souls. While he was at it he threw in one for Holsom. It was petty of him, but it matched how he felt about things, didn't it?
Before going in, he looked at the greenhouse that was being constructed, a simple log frame that extended past the house to the west side, so it covered the underground dwelling completely. He'd never toured it, but it sounded dark. They needed to get candles for it. Or make them. Or maybe lamps or something like that? Otherwise everyone would have to crawl around in the dark. After a second he decided to let someone else deal with it. The mothers to-be were responsible for their babies and themselves, he wasn't. Screw them. Well, Holsom already had.
In more ways than one.
Jake wondered if Nate would actually throw any of them out? Maybe all of them? They already did less work than anyone else, and would be bringing danger down on them. Or would have been, except for the new quarters that he'd come up with to keep them alive. None of them would thank him for coming up with the idea though, that was certain.
They ate more too.
Not a good return on investment. Plus, he felt angry about it all. So that warranted these women and their children all dying, right? Horribly eaten to death by two legged land sharks, or raped to death by whoever found them?
Sure it did. If only he were a prick.
Or a psychopath.
He wasn't though. So that meant he'd have to help keep them all alive, feeling surly about it or not. Well crud. Hardly fair.
Burt saw him looking at the new construction and walked over, a large smile on his face. The man pointed happily at it.
“As large as we can get it with the amount of plastic we have right now. Not big enough to feed us all constantly, but at least we might be able to have fresh greens and a few other things longer into the year. We're going to finish it tomorrow. You can help if you're not too busy? Your idea after all.”
It wasn't. Actually it had been Burt's idea, or Mary's. Jak
e could help though, since they had enough wood. The day after that he wanted to take the wagon into town. He didn't bother saying why and no doubt seemed sullen when he mentioned it. Burt looked at him as if he wanted to steal it or something, gaze suspicious and curious. Finally he relented and fessed up to his plan.
“I want to get some bricks and metal shelves from the grocery store if they're still there. A few other things. Maybe find a girl that won't think I'm too hideous to be around or something? One of those new super-zombies maybe? The last one I met didn't seem that picky anymore. True, she tried to eat my throat out, but that's not too different than the women around here really, is it? Did you notice how they didn't rot?” Jake shifted the conversation on purpose, not wanting to key the man into how wonderful all the women there were. Burt was happy enough with Lois and probably didn't even consider that Jake's problems were more than a dating dry spell.
Was forever a “spell”?
More of a curse maybe...
“I did. I don't have a clue what that means though. Probably that they won't go down as quickly as the other kind on their own. For all we know those were around from the start and we just never saw them before.”
Jake shook his head.
“Maybe. Two of them were dressed like cleaners though, just like them. No one caught on to doing until nearly two months in. The girl...” Jake sighed. “I knew her in high school. I... We were friends. It didn't work out, same old thing, I just wasn't good enough for her in the end, I guess. Kind of like here.”
Only here he was older now, and more damaged. Harder. That meant he didn't give his heart as strongly or easily anymore. It kept him safe. Safer. The rejection still stung, but it didn't warp his mind half as much now. He hoped it didn't at least. Jake couldn't afford that. It was needed right where it was, beating away.
Still, just for a second he felt Rachel standing next to him. She seemed sad about something. It was his imagination though, not a ghost. Those didn't exist, or if they did, then she'd been dead for a lot longer than it seemed like, because he used to feel this same thing daily.