“Jack?” someone says from behind me. Makes my skin want to jump from my bones. It’s Lilly. Her short hair is up in cowlicks, and her eyes are narrowed from sleep. “Everything okay?”
I put my finger over my lip.
Her eyes widen. She knows.
I point outside and then walk my index and middle finger across my other palm. She nods. We stand in silence for a long moment. No sounds outside but the whistle of the wind.
Abby comes down not long after Lilly has joined me. Abby, like me, has that sixth sense one only develops in the apocalypse.
She doesn’t speak. We talk with our eyes. She walks slowly into the living room, and peers out the window through ratty curtains.
We stand like this for the better part of five minutes, though the seconds tick on for an eternity.
Then: “Nothing,” Abby says in a normal voice. “You just need sleep, Jack. Your mind is playing tricks on you.”
“Maybe she’s right,” Lilly adds.
“Whoa! I never thought I’d see the day,” Abby replies with a smirk. Lilly just shakes her head.
“No, I swear I heard something. Footsteps. Sounded like a zombie shuffling around out there,” I say.
“Could’ve been,” Abby says, “but if they were out there, they’re gone now. Bastards aren’t careful; I think we would’ve heard them by now, if they were still out there.”
I’m skeptical. I’m exhausted. It feels like I’m going to pass out pretty soon, whether I want to or not.
“What if it’s not zombies?” Lilly says. She sounds scared, though she’s trying not to look it.
“Then we kill them,” Abby answers. “Pretty simple. But you saw the town… Ain’t no one here anymore.”
Lilly peers out a window over a rubber tray full of shoes—Nikes, slip-on flats, leather dress shoes—and looks out on the driveway.
“The truck,” she says. “We should move it.”
Abby rolls her eyes. “No.”
“What if someone notices it?” Lilly says.
“No one to notice it,” Abby says. She turns to me. “Jack, go on to bed. I’ll keep watch for a couple hours.”
I sigh and nod. Have to find myself a place to sleep, though. In reality, I can sleep just about anywhere because I have slept just about anywhere. Once you get used to constantly being cooped up in a vehicle, or sleeping on the hard forest floor, anything with a cushion is a luxurious, five-star hotel experience. Still, I have to avoid places with pictures, with mementos, or my mind will start going off on its depressing tangents, and sleep will never come to me.
“I’m serious about the truck. I think we should move it,” Lilly is saying.
“Well, if someone’s out there, it’ll just draw more attention…” I say.
Abby throws her the keys, and Lilly snags them out of the air. “Be my guest,” Abby says. “Park it next door or across the street, I don’t care.”
Lilly nods and opens the door slowly. It creaks like a haunted house’s hinges might creak.
I’m not sticking around.
I turn and step over the threshold of the living room. Maybe I’ll pull the cushions off the couch and go sleep in the laundry room. Probably nothing of note in there.
Then Lilly is gasping, and Abby is saying, “Shit,” and the street outside is lit up like the Fourth of July minus the various colors. It’s just bright, white light. Surgical. Sterile.
Abby drops to the floor. She has her sixth sense to thank for that. I would drop too, but Lilly is just standing in the open door frame, looking out into the light streaming in. Floodlights, I think. We have company. And not the undead kind.
I start running. Legs pumping to cross the distance. Because I know what happens next. I’ve seen it a million times, been a part of it a million more.
Whoever’s outside will be looking for first blood.
This is when the first shot goes off, the boom from some kind of rifle.
The shot is coming for Lilly—I know because she’s standing there, making herself an easy target.
And I’m moving on pure instinct, hoping it’s not too late.
12
It’s not.
But it’s close.
I throw myself into Lilly, tackling her in the side. We fly across the doorway, land amongst all the shoes as the bullet thumps into a nearby wall. A Nike jabs me in the kidney, but it beats sporting a bullet wound there.
“Come out!” a voice says. A man’s voice. High-pitched, as if he’s more scared than we are, which I guess is the truth, because I don’t think we’re scared. At least I’m not.
I’m calculating our escape route. It’s the only thing I can do. No sense in getting hung up on near-death experiences. You have so many of them in the apocalypse that they’re almost as common as going hungry for a few days—or breathing, even.
Abby says, “Out the back.”
I nod. That’s where my mind was going. Through the backyard, we can loop around and see exactly what we’re dealing with. Fight back.
We’ll have to, if we want to get the truck back.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We army-crawl through the house. No more gunshots are coming our way for the moment, but you can never be too careful.
Once we turn the corner from the hallway into the kitchen, I get up on my haunches.
“Shit never ends, does it?” Abby says.
“No, it never does,” I answer.
Lilly is breathing pretty hard. Comes with the territory of almost getting cut down by a bullet, I guess. I slide the door open, check my right and left with my gun aimed. See nothing. Wave the rest of them forward.
As I do so, more floodlights blink on. They’re so bright that I feel my retinas burning away. Instantly, I bring my hand up to cover my face.
“You are surrounded, my friends.” That same voice again. “There is no escaping. Put your weapons down and your hands up. It will make things a lot easier.”
My eyes begin adjusting to the brightness. I see the lights are coming from the surrounding houses, like they’ve been there a long time. That’s not all I see, though. I see scores of silhouettes. People standing in front of the lights so they’re backlit. All of them are holding weapons. Big rifles. Big guns.
Abby and I glance at each other. She’s shaking her head.
She throws her gun, and it clatters on the patio concrete.
I do the same.
Lilly isn’t holding a weapon, so she just puts her arms up.
“Good choice,” the man says. He sounds like he’s everywhere, like his voice is coming from a speaker system.
We’re beaten. For now.
13
I hate not putting up a fight, but what choice do I have? We’re surrounded. There must be fifty people out there, with weapons. They’re standing rock-still, too, like trained soldiers. Killers. Whoever this guy is on the speaker, he must have them trained as well as circus animals.
“Step forward,” the man says. “And go around the house to the front.”
I’m thinking there’s our chance.
“If you so much as step the wrong way, I will have my men shoot you,” the man says. “So don’t think about trying anything funny.”
It’s so bright out here that it might as well be the middle of the day.
Reluctantly, we go around the side of the house, through the fence, around the garage, and these people keep their eyes and guns trained on us the whole way.
“In the street, please,” the man says.
We go in the street.
Then I hear it, the sound from earlier. The scraping of soles on the rough concrete. The man whose soles are scraping is the same man who’s been speaking over the speakers. I only know this because he is holding a microphone, his voice amplified high above us.
He is old, much older than me. Maybe in his sixties. Maybe younger. You never really know for sure these days.
He is rail-thin. The hair on his head is thick and gray. He has a perfectly trimmed beard,
also gray. He wears suit pants and a belt with a gold buckle. His shirt is clean, brand-new, like he wore it off the rack and out of the store. Suit jacket with a checkered pattern. Though he’s skinny, his face isn’t gaunt, like is so common with other survivors. He may not be eating a lot, but he’s getting proper nutrition.
Makes me hate him all the more.
“Hello,” he says in the same voice as the one over the speakers, only this time it is a lot quieter. “My name is Bruce. You have stumbled into my town.”
“I didn’t see your name on the sign,” Abby practically growls.
“I didn’t think it proper to defile the sign, my lady.”
“I’m not your lady,” Abby says. “Not even close.”
“My apologies,” the man says and gives us a bow.
“You’ll apologize for that, but you won’t apologize for nearly blowing my head off?” Lilly now says.
“Oh, my dear! I didn’t— That was an—” His face is getting red and his lips are slick with slobber. “That was one of my overzealous followers. I do apologize. Believe me.”
Lilly snarls, shakes her head like she can’t believe we’re in this shit again. But it seems like we’re always in this shit. That’s just how life is nowadays.
I look out to this man’s overzealous followers. They don’t look too overzealous to me. In fact, they’ve barely moved since we’ve come out here in the street. It’s like they’re not even breathing. Just standing there with their heavy assault weapons aimed at us, dying for a reason to move, to pull the trigger and blow our heads off.
I’m not nervous. Not scared. Been there, done that, right?
I turn to the old man. “Well, Bruce, what do you want from us? We don’t have much in supplies, though it looks like you’re not doing too bad in that department.”
Bruce smiles. He has rotten teeth in his mouth. They’re jagged and chipped, like he might’ve been a street fighter in his past life. It’s not a pleasant smile—doesn’t do too well in the way of trust. Neither does surrounding us with a bunch of men and women with rifles and forcing us out of the house we were squatting in.
I actually count myself lucky. Most people would kill us before questioning us.
“I just want to break bread with my guests,” Bruce answers, that sly smile still on his face. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Yes,” Abby says. “It is.”
“Why, dear—?”
“I’m not your dear.” Abby grimaces. Flexes her hand into a fist. She doesn’t have her hook on, but I can tell she wishes she did so she could slit Bruce’s throat right where he stands. Wouldn’t be a smart decision, but Abby isn’t one to think things through when she’s angry.
Back in the day, Norm and I had to hold her back many times. Since Norm isn’t around, it’s up to me to calm her down.
I put my hand on her shoulder, my peripheral vision scanning around for the slightest movement of the followers. There’s none. They’re as well-trained as an army. That scares me more than anything else.
Abby shrugs off my hand. “We got places to be,” she says. “Don’t really have time to break bread. And seeing as how you shot at us and you’re currently blinding us with floodlights, you’re not coming off as a gracious host.”
Bruce puts one hand behind his back and turns with his other hand up in a wave. Soon after, the floodlights click off with a hum, and now I can’t see where the followers are or where the weapons are pointed. That’s worse.
“There, is that better?” he asks. “I have no ulterior motives here, my friends.”
“We’re not your—” Abby begins.
“Friends, yes. You’re not my friends, but I would like to change that,” Bruce says.
“Seems like you have enough friends as it is,” I say. “Don’t need anymore.”
Bruce puts his skinny arms out. The suit jacket’s sleeves hang baggily. “One can never have too many friends! Especially in trying times such as these.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say. “Can’t trust anyone. So you understand why we’re skeptical about breaking bread with you, right?”
“Oh, yes, yes! And you understand why I have decided to greet you the way I have. It is only safe. As for the shot that had been fired in your direction, I can’t be blamed for that. Believe me, the one who fired that round will pay dearly. I promise. Now, please, you all look like you could use a good meal.”
Abby, Lilly, and I share glances. Understanding on all of our faces. We know that no matter what, we have no choice. This man won’t take no for an answer.
Though he has an army, followers or whatever, I can practically smell the desperation on him. He’s as lonely as we all are.
“Fine,” I say. “We’ll break bread with you, but then we’re on our way, understand?”
Bruce nods vigorously. Bobbing his head like he has a spring loose in his neck. “Of course, of course.”
He walks up to Lilly and sticks his arm out for her to take it. She doesn’t. “Shall we go?”
14
Bruce leads us into the back of a large clothing store. His followers have stayed behind, and the lights have clicked off, leaving the neighborhood in darkness, but I don’t think they are far.
“Here we are,” Bruce says. “Please, have a seat.”
None of us sit down.
Bruce waves a hand. “Fine, fine, I’ll sit down first.” He does so, moving slowly like a man his age is supposed to move. He takes a seat on the left and pulls out the chair next to him.
Sighing, Abby says, “Let’s just get this over with.” She crosses the room and sits down next to Bruce, who looks like he’s just won the lottery.
Lilly and me go around to the other side, sit down.
The food on the table is pretty sparse, as it usually is in the apocalypse. Fresh carrots and tomatoes in a basket. Some old bread that looks as hard as brick, and canned beans—unopened, so we’d know of their freshness. It’s really not much, but it is much more than we’ve had in a long time. My stomach grumbles just looking at it.
“Please,” Bruce says, grinning, “help yourself. There’s plenty more.”
So I take the old guy up on his offer and plunge my hand into the vegetable basket. Take a plump tomato in my hand and bite straight into it. The juices flood my mouth. My tastebuds scream with joy. How long has it been since I’ve had a fresh vegetable? I don’t know, but I’m glad I’m having one now. It’s even better than sleeping.
“So, tell me about yourselves,” Bruce says. He watches us eat. We must look like savages to him in his suit coat and prim and properness. Abby is dipping a chunk of bread into hard butter, completely avoiding the knife at the side of her plate.
Lilly starts talking with her mouth full of beans. “I’m Lilly,” she says.
“Jack,” I say.
“Abby.”
“Great to meet all of you,” Bruce says. “Truly. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an outsider, let alone three.”
“Just passing through,” I say. “Then we’re on our way.”
“But you’ve come through my town. What are the odds?” Bruce says. He looks at me with his hard eyes. “Tell me, Jack, do you believe in fate?”
I chew my food and swallow, but I don’t answer. I look at him.
“You strike me as a man who believes in fate,” he says when it’s clear I intend to stay silent. “You all strike me as people who believe in fate.”
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask.
Bruce slides his chair back. “Of course! I’m here for a reason, and you’re here for a reason. We’re all here for a reason!”
Abby ignores all of this. She’s stuffing her face.
Lilly is enraptured. “I believe that, yeah,” she says around another mouthful of beans.
I decide to change the conversation. If fate is a real thing, I’m not sure I believe in it. Maybe once upon a time I did, but not so much anymore. Why would fate take my family away from me? Why would fate end th
e world? Why would fate turn the bulk of the population into zombies?
Maybe it wasn’t fate. Maybe it was God. But why would God do this to us, to the very people He created in His image?
I don’t know. It’s all a rabbit hole I’m not prepared to get lost in. Some questions, the biggest ones, should be left unanswered.
“What do you do here?” I ask him.
“Oh, not much. A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Bruce answers. Always smiling. Reminds me of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.
We finish eating.
I stand and say, “Thank you, but I think we’ll be on our way now.”
Abby and Lilly get up with me. Push their chairs in.
“Aw, are you so sure?” Bruce asks. He gets up, too. His posture is bad, he’s hunched over, looking more and more like an old man. “Why don’t you stay the night? There are only a few more hours left before sunrise. It would be to your benefit, I think.”
Abby frowns. “Do I have to remind you that that’s exactly what we were doing before you blinded us with your floodlights, and held us hostage, coming at us with a hundred armed soldiers?”
“But that was to your benefit as well,” Bruce says. The smile fades. “I was only looking out for your best interest. This is my town, friends, and it is up to me to treat guests well. I would hate to have travelers go out of their way to avoid my little place because of bad reviews.”
What is this guy on? I wonder. This isn’t a time where people give good or bad reviews about megalomaniacs and their inherited towns.
It’s not worth the argument, though. We need to get out of here while we can. I’m getting a bad feeling about this. It worsens every minute.
This guy is off his rocker.
“Now, please sit back down, friends,” Bruce says. “When the sun comes up, then I think it will be okay for you to leave.”
“Do we have a choice?” Lilly asks. She doesn’t look as enraptured as before. She looks a little defiant. Her hands are clenched into fists, and there’s a blossom of color on her face.
“You always have a choice, dear,” Bruce says. “Well…usually.”
Dead Judgment Page 6