“We should take that boat,” said Alvin pointing at the yacht.
“Are you kidding? That would attract way too much attention. Besides, judging from the smoke, the engine’s shot.”
“No, I mean the dinghy.”
Noah eyed an inflatable raft hanging off the upper deck of the ship. It was outfitted with a small electric motor, which was probably quiet.
“Is it worth the risk though? That’s what you have to learn to ask yourself.”
“This is taking too long. If we don't go faster, we risk not making it into town until dark, and I don't think we want that.”
Noah covered his mouth with his fist and thought for a moment. “Alright. Let’s go for it.”
They paddled toward the boat launch. The skiff beached on the cement incline with a scraping sound that sent a chill up Noah’s spine. Off to a great start, he thought.
Alvin climbed over the bow followed by Noah. They crept up the ramp and onto the promenade. Despite the marina being deserted, Noah felt uneasy. There were several derelict motorhomes and cars, as well as a gas station with a little café—plenty of nooks for something to pop out of.
As they made their way to the yacht, Noah noticed a Winnebago parked on a hill, gently teetering from side to side. He decided not to mention it. If one of those things were still inside, it must be trapped, or it would have gotten out a long time ago.
The yacht looked to be derelict, although they couldn't really see through the cabin’s tinted windows. Noah hopped onto the side deck and took a few steps toward the stern. He turned back when he realized Alvin had yet to come aboard. Noah gestured for him to follow, but Alvin didn't move. He stood frozen with his arms across his chest.
“What’s the problem?” Noah whispered.
Alvin trembled. After a moment, he stuck his foot out as if he were about to come aboard, but his boot stopped over the gap between the boat and the retaining wall. He looked at Noah.
“I—I can’t,” he whispered shaking his head. “I can’t get on.” He backed away breathing heavily.
Noah had seen that same look of paralyzed stupor before, on his father, and then he remembered the story Alvin had told him the day they met. His first encounter with the dead happened on a yacht like this one.
Noah thought he could get Alvin aboard with a little coaxing, but why waste the time and risk the sound of a conversation. “It’s alright,” he said, trying to tamp his frustration. He had long since grown tired of coddling behavior that put him at risk. “Get back in the rowboat and swing around her stern. I’ll meet you there.”
Alvin nodded in agreement. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't worry about it. Just go.”
Alvin headed back to the skiff.
Noah climbed onto the upper deck. As he made his way around the cockpit, he held his shirt collar over the bridge of his nose, trying not to breathe in the black fumes rising from the deck lounge stairwell below.
The dinghy was suspended by davits over the stern of the ship. Noah looked around for some kind of release lever but couldn’t locate one. He stared at the dinghy, about to give up, when he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Noah howled and wheeled around, reflexively flailing his arms at the source of his pain. A burnt corpse fell back against the ship's helm. Noah gasped. The thing was so badly charred that it was difficult to tell whether it had been a man or a woman. Noah's blood dribbled down its chin, the red liquid contrasting sharply against its blackened flesh.
The thing got up and limped closer. Noah cupped his shoulder. As he stepped backward, his heel stubbed the lip of the deck, and Noah fell over the railing into the dinghy.
Seconds later the corpse was on him, snapping at his face and neck. Charred skin flaked onto Noah’s face as he fought against it. As he turned his head from side to side to avoid its snapping jaws, he spotted a crank on the backside of the ship. Noah kicked it hard, sending the handle spinning like a pinwheel in a strong wind. The dinghy plummeted into the water below, striking the surface at an angle. The momentum of the fall flung the corpse out of the boat and into the canal.
Noah lay propped against the rubber gunwale, stunned by the impact. From the corner of his eye, he could see Alvin paddling toward him.
“You alright?” he asked as he neared. “What happened?”
Noah propped himself up on his elbows. “There was a zo—.”
But before he could finish his sentence, Alvin cocked an oar over his shoulder like a baseball player about to swing for the fences. Surprised and confused, the only thing Noah could do was duck and cover his head.
Alvin swung the oar over Noah's body, cracking the skull of the burnt creature as it tried to pull itself into the raft. Its moan turned to gargles as it sank back into the murky water.
Noah scrambled to the other side of the boat. “That’s what happened.”
Using the oar, Alvin pulled the raft against the skiff.
He talked as he transferred their guns and packs into the dinghy. “Damn it. I should have gone with you. This wouldn’t have happened if I didn't chicken out.” Then he climbed into the raft, his heft and maladroitness causing him to nearly fall over the opposite side.
“I shouldn't have gone in the first place. It's stupid to take a risk if you don't have to,” he said, hoping to subtly ingrain the guideline into Alvin’s brain. “I just,” he said and let out a nugget of laughter. “I was getting so sick of paddling.”
Suddenly there was a large splash a few feet away as another corpse fell into the canal.
“Dead dummies,” Alvin said with a smirk.
Noah looked around the marina. The clamor was enough to rouse the dead from every nook and cranny within earshot. A half-dozen weaved through the maze of cars on the bridge. A few more came out of the back of the Dockside Cafe, and another came stumbling out of the public restroom near the launch. The one that had fallen in the water a moment before came bobbing up to the surface like a buoy, flailing and twisting only a few feet away from them.
“Jesus!” said Alvin, leaning away from it.
Suddenly a sharp screech sounded from the Winnebago. Their heads pivoted like chickens in its direction. The formerly teetering motorhome had begun slowly rolling toward them.
“What the hell?” said Alvin.
“Something knocked it in gear,” Noah replied. “We have to get out of here, now.” He turned his attention to the electric motor and attempted to glean its operation. Black and red wires hung from the bottom of the motor. He connected them to a battery in the stern.
“Will it work?”
The Winnebago was picking up momentum. In a moment, it would be right on top of them.
“It has to.”
He flicked the switch on the tiller and a power indicator flashed. They both breathed a sigh of relief. Noah switched the motor into reverse and twisted the throttle on the tiller handle. The little two-horse outboard pulled them out of the path of the Winnebago seconds before it drove off the retaining wall and slammed into the water.
“Yeah!” Alvin punched the air.
Noah tried to smile, but it looked more like a pained wince. He looked over his shoulder. The motorhome was sinking nose-first into the canal. Too many close calls, he thought.
Hauling the weight of two full-grown men was a strain on the small motor, but it was still a far more efficient method of travel than paddling. And, to Noah’s surprise, the engine made less noise than the oars did when they banged against the gunwale after each row.
When they were far from the marina, Noah stopped the boat and switched positions with Alvin so that he could tend to his shoulder.
“So why could you get in this boat, but not in the yacht?” said Noah.
“Because I can see everything in this boat.”
“Got it.” Noah pulled his collar over his shoulder and examined the bite. Blood oozed from the oval teeth-marks.
Alvin’s jaw gaped open as the color blanched from his face.
Noah scooped up a han
dful of water from the canal and poured it over the wound.
“Does that mean you're gonna turn into one of them things now?” Alvin asked nervously. His hand instinctively reached for the paddle.
“Bites won't kill you—not necessarily.”
“But in the movies people always turn after one of those things bites ‘em.”
“It’s not like it is in the movies, Al. We already have the disease. It won't kick in until I die, and I'm not going to let a scratch do me in.”
“What do you mean, we already have it?”
“I knew someone who died without having been bitten, and she came back anyway.”
“Who?” Alvin asked skeptically.
Noah hesitated. “My mother.” He took a deep breath. “She slit her wrists—no bites—and she still came back.”
Alvin’s eyes widened. This was the first time Noah had mentioned his mother. He wasn’t big on unloading his personal baggage. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Can I ask what happened?”
“I don't know. We woke up one morning and she was gone.” He sighed. “I guess she just got tired of it—tired of being scared and nervous every minute of every day.” Noah stared into the water. “You know how I told you about my father losing it after one of those things surprised him in the shed?”
Alvin nodded.
“It was my mom.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I had to kill her. The old man, he,” his voice caught in his throat. “I think once he saw her, he was ready to go too.”
Alvin swallowed.
A moment of silence passed between them, and then Alvin said, “But how do ya know for sure a bite won’t trigger it?”
“Common sense.” Wiping his tears away he turned back to Alvin. “If I had rabies, why would it take a bite from a rabid dog to trigger what’s already in my blood?”
From the look on Alvin’s face, Noah wasn’t sure he understood.
“I told you. It’s not like the movies.”
V
Noah and Alvin arrived in Lyons around noon, or so Noah surmised based on the sun’s position in the sky. After pulling the boat onto the shore, they gathered their packs and guns and headed east, in the direction of Alvin’s house, on the far side of town.
The two cautiously crept through the streets, scanning for threats as they moved. Alvin was surprised by how clear the roads were. There were some bodies lying around of course, but none of them were reanimated. Maybe what Noah had said about the chaos dying down was more truth than smoke, he thought.
Noah found the complete dearth of living dead to be very suspicious. Based on the diminishing frequency he had encountered at his home, he had hoped their ranks were thinning. But down to nothing? His stomach twisted with anxiety.
They stopped at the intersection of Commerce and Cyprus Streets. A Walmart loomed in the distance. Noah tapped Alvin’s shoulder and then pointed at the superstore.
“But is it worth the risk?” Alvin asked, mimicking his friend.
Noah smiled. “I need to get to a pharmacy, and you need supplies.”
Alvin shook his head.
“You don’t know what you’ll find at home. Your family could be out of food.” Noah looked around. “Besides, if you’ve been on the outs with them, don’t you think arriving with a big bag of supplies would be quite the peace offering?”
Alvin had a pained look on his face.
“We’ll be ok,” Noah reassured him. “We just have to be smart about it.”
Noah looked down the five-lane commercial drive that bisected Lyons. Aside from a peppering of abandoned cars and the occasional carcass, he could see clear to the other end of town. There was no movement anywhere. How’s that possible? He thought. There had to be at least a few dead wandering around.
Something tugged at Alvin’s pant leg. He gasped and jumped back. A desiccated, male corpse reached for him. Its pelvis was twisted backwards relegating it to locomotion by dragging.
Noah buried his machete in its skull.
Alvin put his hands on his knees and caught his breath.
“If that's the worst we encounter today, I'll consider us lucky,” said Noah as he stepped on the corpse’s neck and extracted the blade.
Alvin looked up just in time to see the traffic light shut off. “That's weird. The light stopped working.”
Noah squinted at it. “Maybe the power grid finally shut down.”
Alvin smirked. “Your old man’s probably freaking out right now.”
Noah looked at him askance, but the glance went unnoticed by Alvin.
They crossed the street and weaved between the pumps of a gas station that stood at the end of the Walmart parking lot. Along with half a dozen cars, a large fuel tanker had been abandoned there. It sat above the underground fuel tanks, unable to deliver its liquid cargo.
There were still more than twenty cars in the lot. Noah took an odd comfort at the sight of a corpse thrashing around in the back of a silver Nissan. Just seeing anything move made the otherwise total lack of activity slightly less unsettling.
With the power off, Walmart’s automatic doors refused to open.
“Grab one,” said Noah.
Each man took hold of a leaf and pulled until the doors slowly spread apart. As they came to the inner door, Alvin readied himself to repeat the process, but Noah held out his hand.
“Hold on,” he whispered. Cupping his hands to the glass, he peered inside. The soft sunrays streaming through the frosted skylights were enough to give him a dim view of the front of the store. Movement. “There’s a few trapped inside,” Noah said, not taking his eyes away from the glass.
Alvin peered through the window. Several bodies shambled through the aisles, which were littered with merchandise, without any apparent thought or purpose.
Noah chuckled sardonically. “It looked like this before everything went to hell.”
The joke was lost on Alvin. “Should we go in?”
“We should try to lure them outside. There could be as many of them inside as there are cars in the lot.”
“How we gonna do that?”
“We’ll figure something out.”
They left the entrance and walked around the building. In the back was a loading dock with two huge metal garage doors that sat four feet above the ground. One was closed, but the other was ajar by a few inches. Silently, they both wondered what horrors might lie behind such a large and ominous door. Perhaps a hibernaculum of undead to counter their uncanny good luck walking through town?
Placing his palms against the bottom slat, Noah lifted the door. At first there was nothing, but then, out of the darkness crawled the corroded body of a young man. Alvin and Noah leapt backward, startled. The boy reached over the edge of the dock, exposing a deep bite on his forearm. He pulled himself under the door, and then fell onto the pavement with a crack. He tried to get up, but Noah stopped him with a quick swipe from his blade.
They waited to see if any more would follow. After some time passed, Noah climbed onto the dock’s edge and threw the door open. It retracted with a clatter, flooding the loading bay with sunlight.
The center of the loading bay was mostly empty, aside from a few boxes strewn about the floor. The sides of the bay were lined with large racks stacked with various goods in cardboard boxes, and at the far end of the room was a barricaded set of double doors.
“We need to lure the ones inside through this door,” Noah said looking down at Alvin. “While they’re piling up out here,” he pointed at the boy, “we’ll go in through the front and seal the doors from the inside.”
Alvin nodded.
Noah walked to the rear of the loading dock. A handcart stacked with boxes of air conditioners blocked the doors. The kid—probably a stock-boy or cashier—must have holed-up in the backroom before dying from his wound. Noah unlocked the wheels and pulled the cart out of the way. Suddenly, a car alarm started blaring, and he nearly had heart failure.
He ran back to the edge of the lo
ading dock to find Alvin struggling with the door of a locked car. Noah started to ask what Alvin was doing when the door behind him swung open and a fat woman in a polka dot dress shuffled through. He raised the machete, but before she could cover half the length of the dock a lanky man in a navy-blue jumpsuit joined her. And then, the door shuddered as it thumped against a third corpse.
Damn it, thought Noah. This could be bad.
He jumped to the ground and ran towards the front of the store, waving for Alvin to follow as he darted past. Alvin looked into the loading bay. Dead were filing out the back door like endlessly spawning enemies in a video game. He forgot the alarm and ran after Noah. After rounding the corner of the building, they stopped to catch their breath.
“What the hell did you do?” asked Noah.
“I was looking for something to draw them out and set off the car alarm.” He chuckled, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry.”
Noah peered around the corner. A small group was already pounding on the car. Another corpse fell off the dock, then picked itself off the ground and joined them. “Well, you got their attention. Let's get inside before any more come out of the woodwork.”
They circled around front and entered the store’s foyer, closing the doors behind them. Before passing through the second set of doors, Noah peered toward the gas station at the end of the parking lot. No movement.
A mile east of Walmart, a horde of corpses lumbered in the streets surrounding Saint Anthony of Abbot Church. Out of the hundreds of bodies, only one heard the faint honking in the distance.
Fitzpatrick moaned, triggering a succession of guttural groans from the other corpses nearby, which spread out further like ripples in a pond. He headed in the direction from where the sound emanated. The dead in his immediate perimeter followed, as did the dead in the secondary perimeter, and the tertiary, and on and on. In only a few minutes, every cadaver in the area was following Fitzpatrick toward Walmart. The mass of bodies shambled down the streets and, with the power no longer running, there was no carillon to call them back to the church.
Noah and Alvin split up with the intention of clearing out any stragglers before focusing on scavenging supplies. As he crept through the store, Noah couldn’t stop thinking about the car alarm. It would continue to blare so long as those mindless things kept bumping against the vehicle. But that car must have been sitting in the same place for months, Noah thought. It will have to die soon.
Worse Than Dying Page 4