Beyond the Barriers

by Timothy W. Long

  It was pitiful. The woman’s dress hung in tatters around her body. Her legs looked like fat sausages, complete with a thin layer of casing to hold everything in. Her skin was nearly translucent, and the stuff under it looked putrid and rotten. As she crawled, it jiggled like congealed fat. She reached for me with a clawed hand that grasped in slow motion.

  Her hair was coated in grime and blood. Her eyes were dull, white, and one was rotted in the socket. The other swiveled as she tracked me moving around her. Her chin was covered in blood, and chunks of meat hung out of her mouth.

  Even as she reached for me, her mouth closed down over a hunk of her companion’s neck. I grimaced and took in the rest of her body. I don’t know how she died; if it was the bite or if she was killed and came back.

  “You gonna kill that thing or ask it to dance?” one of the men yelled.

  Kill it. How do you kill something that is already dead? I crouched down on the balls of my feet and touched her arm. I didn’t want anything to do with her, and I really didn’t want any physical contact, but curiosity got the better of me. She was cold to the touch, and there was no blood flow under her skin. No pulse. Breaking my grip, I took a step back, lifted the gun, and blew her brains all over the road.

  The walk back to the barricade took longer than it should have.

  * * *

  After delivering the ammo, I decided to hoof it to my house. It was less than a mile, and I had the daylight to my advantage. I walked around the perimeter until I got my bearings and determined which way I had to go. Though I had driven these streets many times, they had changed now. The houses were still there, lined up in perfect rows, but they were also overgrown, as shrubs and trees grew any which way they wanted to without man to interfere with them. There were no cars in the street, with the exception of the ones that made up the perimeter. The rest had been driven away.

  Most homes had their doors and garages wide open. I imagined the group here must have gone over every inch looking for supplies. There were things tossed aside in yards—empty boxes, cans, and bottles. Now-useless electronics lay everywhere. I could see the panic as everyone ran from the approaching horror, then the opposite as those who stayed started looting. I saw a high-end laptop tossed aside.

  The air was much cleaner now. Maybe it was the lack of exhaust or the affect of all the flourishing plant life. It was going to be a warm day; that much was obvious from the already thickly mounting humidity.

  Scott caught up with me and walked by my side. I glanced at him. He had an almost gleeful look on his face. I found it infectious and grinned back, which felt good.

  “Where you goin’, man?”

  “My house is less than a mile from here. I’m going over there for a minute. I need to pick up some things.”

  “You know it’s probably looted, right?”

  “I have a stash. I’m pretty sure no one has found it.”

  “Well, I can’t let you go and do a dumb thing like that by yourself. So I’m goin’ with you.”

  Not for the first time, I wondered if he was mentally unbalanced. Then I laughed out loud. We were all unbalanced.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing, man. I’m just glad for the company.”

  “Well, all right. Let’s go on a quest and shit. I get to be Frodo.”

  “You are definitely a Sam. I think I should be Frodo.”

  “But I have more common sense.” He grinned. “Like I would never go out into this crazy world alone. You gotta have someone at your back at all times.”

  “Good point.” We headed for the line of trucks.

  * * *

  Most of the morning was noisy. Birds flitted here and there and chirped at everything. There were massive flights of crows and other birds that had to be scavengers of some sort. I bet the seagull population near the water had exploded in growth.

  There were blue jays with their angry chant, screaming at each other and probably at us as we interrupted their conversations. I looked up as a hawk called out from where he circled far above. The world had gone to the birds, literally.

  Scott was a good companion. He kept his focus everywhere as we walked through the wreckage of the neighborhood. There was a pair of scorched houses that were just burned-out husks. One was a large two-story with a gated entryway. It reminded me of the house from last night.

  I wondered how many times the same story had repeated itself over the course of the last few months. How many houses were torn apart, families dragged out and killed. How many survivors were there? I hoped Portland wasn’t a disappointment. I didn’t think I could live like this forever, unless I found a safe community like this one to live in. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Then again, how long would it be before the groups started fighting each other for control? How long until the food ran out? It wasn’t like we could grow anything. A field would be a terrible place to work—a wide-open target—like farming in the middle of a giant bulls-eye.

  A flash of movement in the street ahead caught my attention, and I had the gun to my shoulder in a heartbeat. After I sighted along the barrel, I wasn’t sure what I had seen.

  Scott reacted the same way. He had a shotgun—big Remington with a pump. He worked it like a pro, head moving with the gun as he walked forward.

  It was an old car behind which someone was crouching. I moved to one side of the street, and Scott moved to the other. Houses were closer together here, and smaller—town homes that had very little room and even less space between lots. With all the shadows they cast, it would be hard to see anything coming out of them until it was too late.

  Scott scooted forward. He had the close-range weapon, so that afforded me the opportunity to cover him with the M-16. A shape moved at speed away from the car, running like it was on fire. It looked like a kid, but it was in the gap between two houses before I could even wonder if the apparition had been real.

  “Damn creepers,” Scott muttered when he joined me.

  “Hey man. I was one of those until a few days ago.”

  “Really? You do look kind of creepy.”

  “Maybe they don’t know they can just walk right up to you and say ‘Hi, I want in.’ You live on the run long enough, and it becomes hard to trust anyone.”

  We walked along in silence. I looked over at Scott to find his eyebrows drawn down, as if in deep thought.

  “Yeah, you’re right, but we can’t exactly put out a welcome sign. We only have so many supplies.”

  “I know, but how long can that continue? What are you going to do when you run out, and you’re ranging out from the hub for hours at a time just to find some canned food? I’m surprised you all have lasted this long. I’m serious. If you want a fighting chance, you need to take some trucks over to Walmart and clean that place out before someone else does. Or move in. The place is like a fortress with a electrified fence.”

  “We might talk about that later. Right now we got this quest to complete. What is so important that you have to get to your house for?”

  Our voices echoed up and down the street, and I had to wonder if many creepers were in the surrounding houses, watching us—if they had guns trained on us. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. Four months away from humanity, and I was already scared to go looking for it.

  “Just some stuff I should have brought with me—that’s all. Mainly a picture of my ex-wife.”

  “Hope that shit is better than a memory. We stick around out here too long and we are gonna be a memory.”

  We were on Callow Street and had to cut over a block when we ran across an old accident. It looked like a semi had run into a UPS truck and both vehicles had been shredded. Chunks of rusted metal were everywhere. I didn’t want to climb over the wreck, so I led him instead to an old pasture that ran catty-corner to the street. We took to it and passed more than one cow corpse. Someone had shot the things and left them to rot in the sun. They did not smell pretty at all. Not tha
t the pasture would ever have won an award for its stench of old cow shit prior the apocalypse.

  We traipsed over land that was being reclaimed by tall grass. There was some skittering, as small animals dashed here and there in the undergrowth. Probably mice or rats, or the occasional snake. Those little critters must have been having a field day now that they were free to repopulate without rodent killer and giant lawnmowers tearing up their world.

  The housing complex in which I’d lived was just ahead. The old fence that bordered one of the farmer’s lots was still there, and I thought I could see my house, but it was so close to the overgrown weeds and blackberry bushes that it was hard to be sure from this angle.

  The fence was an old chain link job that some cheapskate had built about fifteen years ago. It was sagging and rusted in spots, and I remembered where the greenbelt grew close to the field. Here I could slide in between the shrubs and the metal barrier.

  I went first, and couldn’t help but snag my shirt on the fence, which set it tinkling. Scott reached out to touch it to muffle the sound. He followed, and just like that, we stood in my neighbor’s back yard. I drifted to the window that looked into his kitchen. It wasn’t that long ago that I left him here, his dead wife banging at the window. The house was dark, but I saw a pair of rotted legs sticking out of the hallway that led to the living room. I slid along the side of the house and lowered the gun as I got a view of the street. Here, I felt very exposed, even though I was less than a mile from my new friends.

  The street was clear, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My house looked much like the others we had passed. The door was open, and my possessions were scattered in the front yard. Pots and pans lay in a heap near a burned spot. It looked like someone had used the yard as a camp and cooked something there.

  I looked past it, at Lisa and Devon’s house. It was a ruin. Burned to the ground.

  Scott and I had never worked together, but I used signals nonetheless. I pointed at the house and made a cup with my hand like it was binoculars. He nodded, and I hoped he understood that I meant for him to keep an eye out.

  Slipping around the corner, I kept my gun high and went to the front porch.

  The first thing I noticed was that the shrubs were a mess. The rhododendrons, of which Allison had been so proud, were nearly dead. They hung in clumps of miserable brown that looked woven into the weeds that were taking over the rest of the bushes. The grass, like all the lawns in the lots, was now measured in feet instead of inches. I felt like I was walking through a field and not a yard. If I laid down in the stuff, I would be all but invisible to any casual observer. This gave me some tactical options, if this little jaunt went to shit.

  I stepped up the concrete steps and onto my porch for the first time in nearly half a year. My furniture was gone, and it wasn’t hard to guess that the burned marks in the tall grass were all that remained of those possessions. I crouched down by the door, which wasn’t open but was ajar. The window facing out had the blinds drawn, so I had no idea what I was walking into. I slung the assault rifle over my shoulder and drew my handgun, double checking the load for what seemed like the tenth time that day.

  The living room was murky when I pushed the door open. Shadows cut through the blinds at the rear of the house. Dust hung in clumps from the corners, and each had a small population of spiders with webs spun and ready for prey. The carpet, once light gray and pristine, was covered in dirt and things one might find in a trashcan. Wrappers, empty cigarette packs—I think one nasty pile was human feces. It was hard to be sure; it might have been an animal, but no matter what it was, I knew that someone or something had used my living room as a bathroom. I had to maneuver over several similar piles until I reached the kitchen.

  I kept my weapon raised the entire time as I searched for anything living in my house. Standing at the kitchen entryway, I stared at the mess for a full minute before my mind could comprehend what I was seeing. Everything Allison and I had collected was either on the floor or smashed on the counters—dishes, glasses, cups, and coffee mugs. Pots and pans were strewn about as though at a garage sale. There were cigarette butts on the floor, and wrappers from food all over the place. The refrigerator was open, but it was bare of anything except a pile of green gunk in one vegetable drawer that looked like some mad scientific experiment.

  I had to step over the remains of an expensive set of china. Beautiful plates I asked Allison to take when she moved out, but she refused to. Said it wasn’t hers anymore. I think shame drove her to leave so many of the things she loved behind, and now they were everywhere. Not that they would have fared much better with her. Last I checked, she didn’t have access to a bunker.

  The family room was just as bad as the rest of the house. My LCD TV lay on the floor with several holes through the back. It appeared someone had used it for target practice. I wished I could meet the people who trashed my house.

  I lowered the weapon and turned in a full circle to take in the mess. I wanted to break something, wanted to smash my fist into anything that would shatter.

  I heard a noise then, just a thump, but it was loud enough to set me on edge. Something or someone was still in the house. I walked to the bathroom next to the living room, past what had at one time been a nice couch. Now it was a ripped-up hunk of Italian leather that needed to be burned. It probably had rats living in it.

  The door was slightly open, so I pushed it the rest of the way with the barrel of the gun and kept my focus everywhere at once.

  Nothing. Just an empty room. I heard scratching at the front of the house, and slid around the corner of the kitchen to see what it was. When Scott slipped in with his big Remington extended, I nodded at him. I motioned with one hand to tell him to slow down, then put a finger to my lip and pointed upstairs. He nodded back that he understood and took point. I stared at the closet where access to the house lay. Looking at the closed door, I decided to check there first. No sense in leaving an opening unexplored before going upstairs.

  Putting my hand on the wood, I almost jumped out of my skin when something hit the door hard enough to shake it. As I stepped back, I raised the handgun. I was pretty sure that every hair on my body was standing at attention and ready for inspection.

  I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, but it did no good. My hand was shaking from the scare. Taking another breath made it stop. Scott stared at me with big, round eyes, like he had seen a ghost. I reached for the door again, and he shook his head.

  Closing my hand on the knob, I jerked it open, and stepped back just in time to avoid being bowled over by a shambling horror.

  It was hard to tell how long the creature had been in the closet. Its body was covered in rotted skin, and its eyes were nothing but dried-out white orbs. It stumbled forward, and I drilled it through the head with one shot then another before it could acknowledge the blast of lead. The second bullet went through the bridge of its nose and exploded out the back of its head. Blood and congealed chunks that looked like Jell-O splattered over the wall in a pattern that would make a four-year-old finger painter proud.

  The body slumped back and fell into the closet. I still had to get in there and open the access to the space under the house. I didn’t want to have to crawl over a floor slick with blood. Grabbing the man by his ankles, I pulled him back and away from the tiny room.

  Scott looked like he wanted to throw up. Maybe he wasn’t used to the up-close stuff. I offered him a mad grin and set the man’s feet on the floor. He was just as rotted as the woman I had killed in the street. His eyes were off center where the bullet had punched through his forehead, and he was covered in dirt and blood. He had green streaks all over his clothes, like he had crawled through the grass to get there.

  I wanted to sweep the rest of the house before I went in. No sense having one of those things come downstairs while my ass was hanging in the air. I wished I had brought a flashlight. When I opened the door to the garage, it was hard to see anything in the murkiness. No movement, b
ut it looked to be just as wrecked as the rest of the house.

  I went upstairs on the balls of my feet. The doors were wide open except for one—the bathroom. It was odd to creep through my own house. It felt empty and alone, and I felt failure pressing down on me. The failure of a race that had given up the fight and decided to huddle together in tiny enclaves.

  I had to pause and take a deep breath to steady the pounding of my heart. Was that all we were? Rats scurrying around, trying to carve out a better barrier to hide behind?

  I poked the gun in each of the two bedrooms and the bathroom, but they were clear. Dressers held nothing but dust. My old clothes were gone. No underwear or socks. I had been wearing the same pair for so long that they were getting holes in them.

  We went back downstairs, and I got on my hands and knees and tugged the small doorway open. It was just a big square of wood with insulation attached to the sides so it would form a seal. There was no way to determine for sure if anyone had been in here, but it did not appear to have been touched. I hung my head over the side and tried to get used to the darkness to see if anything or anyone was in the space.

  I waited for a full minute, but there was nothing alive there. I crawled in, slithered through the dirt to the place I had left my stash of goodies, and grabbed the bag. I hauled it back out with me and dragged it and myself up. As I moved back, my feet hit the legs of the corpse, and I just about let out a scream.

  “Well, what is so important that you had to drag us here for it?”

  Smiling, I opened the bag. I took the laptop out and set it aside, as well as the portable hard drive. Taking the picture out, I slid it from the frame and set it on the dirty carpet. Allison would have gone insane if she saw how badly damaged the floor was. No amount of professional cleaning would restore it to its original condition.

  There were cans in the bottom that clacked together, and when I pulled them out and set them down, Scott just about started drooling. He stared at them and at me.