by Brent Abell
George took a seat and began to run his finger through the dust. He motioned for Harry to sit and didn’t say a word until Harry sat in the plush and comfortable leather chair.
“You want to know how I survived that long, huh,” George began.
“Did you ever come up from down there?”
“At first, I mean during the first few days I did. Once more and more of those things began to appear in the streets and in the in the yard, I stayed below and told Sally to do the same. We had light from the windows, the camping gear, and all the rations I’d squirreled away in case of an emergency. I always had a year’s worth of supplies down there. Water, canned goods, and medicine were what I thought we would need if a hurricane hit and we were trapped for a long period of time. You’ve seen how slow the National Guard or whoever can be in getting to survivors if the roads are flooded,” George explained.
“I wish mom and dad had their shit together like you did; man I hated scavenging for stuff.”
“Each night, I stood next to the window we had covered up and listened. I lost track of how many days I heard the constant gunfire and held my gun ready to defend my wife and our supplies. Then one day, I didn’t hear the shots anymore. That was when I knew it had gone horribly wrong. Once the guns stopped, I would go out and look for a few hours a week. I never wanted to stay gone long. I never wanted Sally alone and unprotected,” George finished.
“I can’t imagine being down there for so long. I might have gone slightly mad.”
George watched Harry make an odd face when he said he might’ve gone mad. He thought venturing out into the world now made one mad. “We had the windows. Good thing was they were small and nobody noticed.”
“I’m surprised I’m the first person who busted up in here looking for food,” Harry quipped.
“Me, too. I never heard anybody.”
“Maybe they focused on the stores and restaurants first. I went to houses once the fighting slowed and managed to pick up quite a lot of good stuff.”
“I say we head to St. Augustine. If there was a camp there, maybe there is some chance the government will bring more troops in and start cleaning up this mess.”
Harry pondered the plan for a moment. “And find your son?”
“Yes, and find my son.”
George stood up from his chair and his fingers danced to an envelope on the corner. It had sat in the sunlight through the window long enough for it to begin yellowing. He started to pick it up, placed it back down, and tapped his fingers on it again.
“Something important?” Harry asked.
“Oh…no… I mean not really. It’s nothing. Let’s start getting the camping gear together. I have packs, flashlights, supplies, and guns. Some is in the basement and some is up here in the garage. I’ll take the basement if you want to go and start grabbing things out in the garage. Bring in everything you think we might need and we’ll sort it out in the dining room. It’s time to blow out of Polk City,” George said.
With a goal in mind, both men began to prepare for their journey.
***
Raul waited until he saw the two in the house separate and go to different places. He’d been tracking the young, stupid kid for a week and was waiting for a chance to jump him. He hoped the kid would eventually have something good, worth taking his life for, but so far the kid never had and hadn’t found dick; until now.
Raul was pissed at himself for missing the house. Slinking around the back and the sides, he had never noticed the windows at his feet. He wondered who the hell would have a basement in Florida, but then he saw pipes running into the large pond in the back. He figured a sump pump carried the water from around the house and dumped it into the pond.
Fucker has got some mad cash; he thought.
One day he did check it to see if any fish were still alive, but something had eaten them already. The only thing remaining were a few skeletons with the remnants of drying, decayed flesh clinging to them. It made his stomach churn, but he ate the last bits anyway, trying to curb the hunger gnawing deep in his belly.
If anything, the whole apocalypse had made him a very patient man and he decided to stay in his hiding spot and wait for them to leave. If they didn’t, he’d wait till nightfall and make his presence felt.
His stomach rumbled, but Raul sat quiet and still in the blazing Florida sun.
***
George began to slowly pack up the MREs and bottled waters. He knew they couldn’t take a lot, but they needed some to get on the road with. I-4 would be the best and most direct route to Orlando and then from there they could follow it up to I-95 to St. Augustine. He hoped there’d be enough places close to the interstate they could scavenge for supplies. If not, it could be a bad trip.
The basement’s silence scared him. He hadn’t bothered to turn the battery back-up on for the sump pump in a few weeks and he could smell the moisture creeping in. It didn’t matter anymore anyway; he was about to depart the home he’d built, shared with his loving wife, and where he had raised a wonderful son.
“Now, I’m gonna burn it down,” he whispered to the shadows.
It pained him to reach the decision he had, but he couldn’t take the time to bury Sally. He also didn’t relish the thought of his home being open to anyone, dead or alive, who might wander inside and invade the last memories and bits from lives long since forgotten.
George thought about the letter, still sealed and beckoning, on the desk. Time was at a premium and he pegged Harry for a person who was lucky to still be counted among the living. His hair was long, his beard dirty, and his clothes were like those kids who hung out in the mall all day. He didn’t believe the guy even had a job. If he was Trent’s age, he would’ve had a job and not lived in his parent’s house.
Maybe we raised our son better; he thought.
He knelt down beside Sally’s body and stroked her fine golden hair. His hair had streaks of white and hers had managed to remain untouched by the passage of time. Each strand was as golden as the day he had met her. He was a lucky man and she had never let him forget it; not that he wanted to, he loved her with everything he had to give plus some.
“I love you,” he told her corpse.
One by one, he unscrewed the caps to the fuel canisters he was leaving behind. He dumped three of the four into a large puddle in the middle of the basement. People always asked him why he had built a basement in Florida and he always replied with because they told him he couldn’t.
And now, it was going to join the ranks of the dead. George thought of his house as a living entity and a part of the family. He grew sad thinking he may be the only member left once he lit the match. Standing up, he grabbed the large bag he had packed supplies in and dumped a trail of fuel behind him and up the stairs. He turned and gave the dark shape on the floor one last forlorn look and exited the basement for the last time.
***
Harry set the camping equipment on the dining room table and stared at it. He’d never gone camping before and he wasn’t sure his father would’ve taken him even if he had wanted to go. His dad never wanted to do anything with him, much less anything outside. After speaking with George, he realized how lucky he was to still be counted among the living and breathing. In a world where living was a monumental struggle on a daily basis, regret was the only thing he had in spades.
He regretted not having a better relationship with his parents and he really regretted having to be the one to put them down. In hindsight, he was happy it was him over some nobody who came across them shuffling down the street.
He regretted not doing anything with his life. There were times, in moments of weakness, he had considered ending it. Three times, he had sat with a large kitchen knife and pondered shoving the blade into his eye all the way to the handle. He had done some reading, about the brain, in his father’s home library and felt totally confident he could pierce his brain and end his life. He had hoped it would end his afterlife on Earth as a mindless ghoul.
“Thinking,” Harry replied.
“Well, let’s get this sorted out. I think it’d be best to head out and get up the road a little before nightfall,” George said.
“Do you think any of the cars or trucks out there will still run?”
“I guess it depends on if the batteries are good and if the gas hasn’t evaporated. I know it’s in the lines and tank, but it does get hot as fuck down here,” George answered.
“I didn’t know you spoke fluently in a filthy language,” Harry chided him.
“You’ll find I’m full of surprises,” George retorted.
“You’re full of clichés.”
George didn’t say anything. He, instead, began diving out the supplies he had brought up with the ones Harry had gathered in the garage. Silently, he made two piles on the table and began to pack his in the large trail pack. Harry took the hint and loaded his stuff in silence also.
“Now, the guns,” George said with a smile and headed to the office.
***
The two figures moved from the dining room to the office and Raul watched them from behind the palm tree in the side yard. His partners, Joe and Bobby, were climbing the white privacy fence and Raul motioned for them to freeze. The men stopped and waited for Raul to motion the coast was clear. Once Raul raised and dropped his hand, the men finished scaling the fence and fell to the ground.
Raul gave a cut motion with his hand and they stopped again. Slowly, Raul held his hand out flat and brought it down. Joe and Bobby followed the motion and went to the ground. Both men were on their bellies and began to move to the tree Raul hid behind. Once they joined him behind the tree, they stood and tried to get a good look at the window the two figures were in.
“What we got, Raul?” Joe asked. He pulled off his filthy red trucker hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with it.
Bobby wrinkled his nose in disgust. He’d catch a whiff of the hat from time-to-time and it made him gag. Sometimes, he’d rather smell a zombie than the fucking hat on Joe’s oily head. Of course, he knew he didn’t smell any better. His pits reeked worse than a dead dog’s ass and he was ready to find a place to wash up. What he hated most was the way his balls felt, nasty and stuck to his inner thigh in the humid air. The jorts he was wearing when the dead starting turning had long been replaced by a long pair of Budweiser swim trunks that offered little in support for the twig and berries.
“What you making a face about, Bobby?” Joe asked.
Both men stopped and waited. Once Raul gave a low whistle, they knew the coast was clear for them to move to the house and try to find a place to silently enter. They hadn’t observed any activity in the area in weeks and the movement here perplexed Raul.
Inside the house, the two figures exited the room and moved back to the front of the house. Raul wondered if they were sweeping the house or if it belonged to one of them. He found it puzzling how he could’ve missed them this late in the game. Did the dumb-ass twins miss these guys or not report in on them?
Is there anyone left I can trust to do any fucking thing? Raul thought and gave the signal.
“Let’s go,” Bobby whispered and began to belly-crawl to the side of the house. Joe followed close behind and tried to stay back far enough to keep his face from getting kicked in by Bobby’s feet.
Raul watched to the two reach the house and get to their feet, staying low enough to keep beneath the windows. They crept around to the back door and he watched them jiggle the door knob. Joe reached in his pocket and pulled out his pick set. Raul had hoped the door would already be unlocked, but if it was still locked maybe it had supplies they could use. Killing and cooking gator was dangerous and he hated dealing with cleaning it to grill it. For once, he wished they’d come across a stash of canned food. During those days when his stomach growled mercilessly, he’d even take a case of old MREs.
Bobby and Joe cleared the door and disappeared from sight. Raul pulled the butcher knife from his boot and made his way around front and prepared to crash in the house if the other two needed back-up.
***
“Okay, we have the gear and the guns. I wish I’d had more ammo stock piled, but I didn’t think I’d find myself in a situation where I couldn’t run to Jay’s Guns and buy another box,” George said as he hefted the pack onto his back. He grunted and, at first, he felt unbalanced from the weight.
“You gonna be good,” Harry asked as he put on his pack.
George rolled his shoulder around and winced. “I’ll be fine. I didn’t get this far to have a heavy pack put me down.”
“You know I’ve never fired a gun before, right.”
“Would you rather take the softball bat?” George asked.
“Tell you what, I’ll…” Harry fell silent as George raised his finger to his mouth in a hushing motion.
George pointed to the back of the house and then to his ear. Harry nodded and gently sat the gun on the table and picked up the ball bat he had leant in the corner. His grip tightened hard enough on the handle his knuckles turned white. It contrasted greatly next to the bat’s sleek black paint job.
Near the back of the house, a floor board creaked and George held the pistol toward the door. Another footstep sounded out and he backed up against the wall. Harry dropped down to the ground and George held his breath. Outside the French doors to the dining room, he heard two different people breathing outside where he stood.
“Where’d they go,” a voice whispered.
George whipped around the small wine rack between him and the French doors and shoved the gun’s barrel into one of the intruder’s faces.
“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my fucking house?” George spat.
“Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus,” the man with the gun in his face whimpered.
The second man smiled and the knife he held flashed in the light. “Drop the cannon, amigo.”
“I don’t think so. If you don’t drop it, I’ll put a big fucking hole in his head,” George replied.
Harry stood up and held the bat high in the air. He took a few steps and the bat hit the crystals dangling down from the chandelier. “Sorry.”
George turned for a split second and the man with the knife took advantage of Harry’s distraction. He thrust forward with the knife and barely missed George as the man’s partner fell to the side in his way. A loud thud thundered from the door and it exploded inward. The knob splintered and pieces of wood fell all over the floor.
“Freeze, assholes,” the new man in the mix screamed. He waved a knife around and jabbed it at George.
George raised his hands in the air. “Okay, let’s be reasonable here.”
“Bitch, the fact we ain’t killed your ass yet makes us really fucking reasonable,” the man with the filthy hat said.
“Joe, shut the fuck up,” the guy who kicked in the door admonished.
George took quick stock of the men. The one older Hispanic man who had kicked in the door was the leader and the other two were his minions. The guy with the dirty red hat appeared to be the idiot of the group and the second minion was probably the reasonable one. George knew he had to talk to him first.
“Hey, you with the knife, what’s your name?” George inquired.
“Bobby,” he answered.
The leader spoke up at once, “Shut the fuck up you dumb ass! Why you’d tell him your name?”
The leader is a hothead and the other two don’t like him; George noted.
“What are you boys doing in my house?” George asked.
The leader marched over to George and stuck the tip of his blade in George’s throat. He pressed hard enough to draw a drop or two of blood, but not enough to really open him up. “We’re here to fucking steal your shit.”
“There’s nothing left. Why do you think my son and I were about to head out of here, to take a fuc
king nature hike?” George hissed.
“Don’t fuck with me or I’ll have my guys gut your boy like a fucking fish,” Raul threatened.
“And what do I call you? We haven’t been properly introduced,” George prodded.
“My fucking name is Raul.”
Joe waved Harry over and snatched the bat from his hands. “You don’t need that anymore my man.”
Harry grimaced and locked his hands behind his head. He didn’t know what George had in mind, but calling him his son had thrown him for a loop. In the short amount of time they’d known each other, Harry took George calling him that as a larger sign of affection than his father had ever given him. Here was a man he’d known for not even an hour sticking his neck out to protect him. He hoped George knew what he was doing. The last thing Harry wanted on his conscious, before he died, was the guilt trip George dying for him would cause.
I don’t need that shit; Harry thought.
“Well, Raul, what do you say we turn around and go back to where we came from and nothing bad has to happen to anybody,” George said.
Raul pushed the tip of the knife a little further into George’s throat and the few drops of blood became a slow trickle. “If you don’t want me to go all the way in, shut the fuck up and give us all your shit.”
“Yeah, give us all your shit,” Joe echoed.
Raul shot an angry glance at Joe and George took advantage of the opportunity. His hand shot up and he struck Raul in the windpipe with the palm of his hand. Raul doubled over in agony. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t even take a breath from the punch. He dropped to his knees and George kicked him in the face. Two teeth fell from Raul’s mouth and blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. The kick had stunned him and he fell to the floor.