For each of them, the experience was like entering another country or possibly walking on the moon. While there were houses and cars and yards and all the other trappings of a modern community, the lack of any people—or even animals, for that matter—added a discomfiture that they could never quite overcome. Despite the drizzle that persisted, there should have been children in yards playing and dogs barking and adults driving or moving about in some fashion.
Watching with wary eyes all around them, the three men walked down the middle of the street. Behind every door, every tree, and every corner they knew that danger could be waiting for them.
“So what are we looking for anyway?” Gerald asked.
Dr. Caldwell answered, “We’ll know it when we see it.”
“So, nothing in particular?”
Again, Dr. Caldwell shot back, “I can’t think of anything that’s not in short supply right now.”
Momentarily departing from his typical behavior, Malachi interjected, “Not water. Not now anyway.”
Gerald finished with, “Yeah. That was a helluva idea Neil had. Who would have thought about draining the hot water heater into our empty water bottles?”
They nodded at one another but didn’t say anything else. Gerald wondered if perhaps there was a bit of jealousy or competition with the doctor in regards to the younger Neil. He couldn’t tell for sure, but the doctor’s short answers made him suspect that there might be some issues between the two men. He also wondered about the police officer. There was just something about the cop that didn’t seem right all the time. He often seemed emotionally distant and disconnected from the others in the group. Physically, the police officer was rarely in the same room with everyone else, which none of the others seemed to mind. It was a weird dynamic to be sure. He looked first at the doctor and then at the police officer, wondering about his observations and whether or not he, Evelyn, and Dave had made a mistake by coming along with them.
The excitement of having run into living people again had just made them all so hopeful that any hesitation about going never rose to the surface. On the bus, it had been miserable but they felt safe and somewhat secure, if a little hungry and uncomfortable. Perhaps the good doctor and his friends would have just given them some of their food and water and moved on their way. Maybe he and his two bus mates could have waited all of this out. He’d made a life of waiting and watching and hoping that things would get better for himself. Why had he chosen to change? He was a black man who’d grown up in a white man’s world. Sure, things had gotten better over the past few years, but he was still black. He couldn’t wish that away no matter how hard he tried. And it wasn’t just about color. It was about attitudes and expectations; it was about prejudices and fears, both his and others’; and it was about missed opportunities and discarded dreams. He’d learned the art of keeping his head down and his mouth shut to get by in corporate America. Nobody wanted to hear his ideas anyway. If he could keep his comments to himself, the comfortable paychecks would keep rolling in and he could maintain the quality of life that he wanted for himself.
Now, there he was walking down the middle of a street that was as foreign and intimidating as the desert to a polar bear. It was quiet though; the only sound that of water dripping from awnings and down gutters. With each step, the three men seemed to ease a bit.
“Neil’s a smart one,” Dr. Caldwell said. “He seems to really be in his element in all of this.”
Somewhat surprised by the comment, Gerald pressed for more information. “Is he former military...security?”
“Nope. Mortgages.”
“Mortgages?”
“Yeah. Some mid to low-level nobody who was never considered anything but replaceable. Kind of sad really. He’s a born leader, but I bet he’d never say it. And his old bosses never saw it. What a fucking wasted opportunity for them.”
Gerald was decidedly able to relate to that sentiment, having spent a lifetime wallowing in the quagmire of disappointment and missed opportunities.
They were spiraling out from their new hideout. The streets, like the houses, all looked the same. There was a distinct “Stepford” quality to the neighborhood, everything perfectly laid out and planned. The absence of any people contributed to the otherworldliness of it as well. It was like an unused television or movie set that was awaiting the word “action” to bring all of it to life.
They turned another corner and were on their return trip when they spotted an olive colored Humvee on its side in the front yard of one of the houses, this one a yellow shade. The driver, obviously not buckled in safely, had been pitched through the now shattered windshield. The body, of course, was absent, having likely been set upon by the ghouls as soon as it hit the grass. Maybe he or she was still unconscious when the transformation from human being to midmorning snack took place.
In the yard, however, where the body should have been was a metallic black object. Triumphantly, Dr. Caldwell announced as he peered through his binoculars, “That’s what we’re looking for.”
“What?”
He smiled. “Better hardware.”
Dr. Caldwell and Malachi picked up their pace to a light trot and covered the distance to the wreck much quicker than the slower and more laboring Gerald. The doctor raised the M4 military assault rifle above his head like a trophy of victory. He checked the load on the magazine and confirmed what he suspected: it had never been fired.
Smiling again, he said, “This will even the odds a bit in a pinch. Let’s check out the Hummer to see if we’ve got any other goodies.”
Forgetting, or possibly disregarding his training in the excited moment, Malachi was already atop the vehicle before Dr. Caldwell shouted, “Fuck! Malachi! Check inside before you go diving in. No telling what might be waiting inside.”
The police officer was already reaching for the door handle when he drew his hand back as fast as the gasped breath that he swallowed back down his throat. The rear passenger window was down and immediately in front of him. He felt exposed and helpless staring down into the dark on the other side, not knowing what horrible torments could be harbored in the shadows.
Dr. Caldwell pulled a lever on the side of the new firearm and readied it for action. “Malachi? You okay?”
From inside, Malachi’s ears were tickled by the slightest suggestion of sound and he froze. He was struck with an intense vertigo that caused him to falter. Across his mind, like a crackling tempest spread the words, “Oh no. Not him.”
But it was indeed his father’s voice that said again, “What’s wrong, Mal? You gettin’ into trouble again? Does Daddy need to take you out back?”
“What’s wrong, Mal?”
Who was speaking that time? Was that the doctor? Or was it...? He looked up to confirm that there was indeed a doctor who could be talking to him. His grip on reality, like his grip on the side of the big vehicle, was loosening dangerously. There was a doctor, but the look that Malachi shot to Dr. Caldwell was full of the confusion and doubt that had been dogging the police officer. The doctor hadn’t seen the look for some time and was concerned to be seeing it again.
Malachi shook his head and forced himself back into focus. By that time, Dr. Caldwell had come around to the front of the Humvee and was pulling the shattered windshield from its frame. He said quietly, “It’s okay, Malachi. I’m here. We’ll do this together.”
Gerald wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but the doctor’s demeanor made him uncomfortable at once. There was something going on that was spooking the doctor and not knowing what it was that was causing it was bringing on a new fear for Gerald.
He whispered to Dr. Caldwell before the doctor had climbed in through the now glass-less window, “What’s going on?”
“Just watch out and make sure that nothing sneaks up on us. We’ll have this thing checked out in a sec.”
“But...”
“Don’t worry. Just keep an eye out. Okay?”
Gerald backed away and pivoted aroun
d to see their surroundings again. The houses all around them seemed to be looking at them now. They were no longer empty buildings. They were creepy, soulless creatures that seemed to be circling and threatening them.
From inside the Humvee, Dr. Caldwell shouted, “Got it!”
He re-emerged from inside with another of the firearms, a pair of metallic green latched boxes, and some other odds and ends all stuffed into a camouflaged pack. “Okay, let’s get our asses back to the others before anything happens. Malachi, you coming?”
He jumped down from the vehicle without a word. Carrying their newly found equipment, the three made their way back to the house. All three of them, Malachi included, walked with a much-deserved swagger. Today was about good news and they’d be the bearers of it.
Chapter 39
A couple of days passed without incident while the group debated their next move. They ate, rested, and talked. With each passing day, the nights grew a little longer, a little darker, and a little cooler. The days too were becoming cooler as the rain and damp weather persisted.
Unfortunately, the house did not have a fireplace, so a small Coleman grill was brought from another backyard nearby and a constant fire was kept burning to generate a little warmth. That creature comfort, however, was fleeting and confined to the room in which the grill sat. The rest of the house was slowly but steadily yielding to the encroaching cold.
“So, what’d you do before all this?”
Meghan, walking from downstairs to up, at first didn’t realize the question had been directed at her. She retraced a couple of her steps and asked, “What was that?”
Art stepped forward from out of view and said, “I was just wondering. You’re just so...fit. You must’ve been an exercise instructor or something with a body like that.”
“What?”
“I mean...I don’t mean to be too forward or anything, but don’t you think you’ve got a great body?”
Starting to feel quite flustered, Meghan sputtered, “Well I...you know...I don’t...,” and then she trailed off, not entirely sure how to answer that question.
Art let a slick, well-practiced smile play across his face. His eyes not too subtly took an elevator ride from her feet to her head and back down again. “Trust me. You are a very attractive woman.”
Meghan was embarrassed as the flushing red of her breached modesty filled her cheeks.
At this acknowledgment, Art’s smile stretched onto his bristly cheeks, revealing two rows of glistening pearly whites that all but reflected her face back at her.
He walked away with a bit of a swagger and left Meghan confused as to what had just happened. He walked up the stairs that she had been trying to climb before the exchange, leaving her motionless down by the front door.
At the top of the stairs but just out of sight in the hallway stood Dave, the younger and more robust man from the bus. He motioned to Art and the two walked quietly into a bathroom toward the end of the hall.
Dave said in whisper, “Man, you are smooth. I mean, wow. That was impressive.”
Art shrugged and smiled, pleased at the observation.
“No. Really. That was very...slick. And believe me, I’ve seen some things in my day. Isn’t she with...?”
Art nodded. “If I’ve learned nothing else, it’s that things, love included, are temporary and just commodities and properties to be leveraged and sold to the highest bidder.”
“And you’ve just upped the ante?”
“Exactly.”
“Whatcha got in mind?”
“Just a little more say in how things are done around here is all.”
“There’s definitely something to be said for being the master of one’s own destiny and if you can do that and convince that sweet young thing to be at your side, hell, I’d call that a good day.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
Dave leaned forward. “You got any other moves you’re planning?”
With the same smile uncoiling itself just above his chin, Art said, “I’m just getting started.”
Chapter 40
Danny threw the dice and moved his token seven spaces around the game board. He did this with all the interest of a teenager forced into attending a three-day insurance sales seminar. The little green piece representing Danny on the board didn’t show any more interest in the game than he did. It came to rest silently and unenthusiastically, waiting on the next roll of the dice for its chance to move once again.
With a whine, Jules buzzed, “I liked the games at the other place better.”
Danny didn’t answer her and instead chose to push the dice toward her. Ignoring them, Jules continued, “I like my games at home better too. I miss home. I just wanna go home, Danny. When are we gonna go home?”
“Just roll the dice, Jules. It’s your turn.” Danny wanted to be at home too, but seeing how far and how thoroughly the catastrophe in Alaska had spread he had begun to wonder himself whether home would be waiting for them at all anymore.
“I don’t wanna play anymore. I wanna go home.”
Again, Danny was forced to imagine home and what was waiting for them now. Were his parents still alive? Was anyone back home still alive or were they like all the other people out there that were bent on killing and terrorizing? It was long past time for this nightmare to end. His affect was becoming as flat and pale as the morning skies. He was only playing the game to burn the hours until it was time to sleep again. He looked over at Jules and saw that she wasn’t in the mood to wait to sleep. She had simply lay back and closed her eyes in frustration. He was amazed at how easily she could embrace her slumber. It was typically much harder for him to find the peace to slip into an actual restful sleep. When he closed his eyes, he still saw his friend Martin laying across the seat in the minivan those many days ago. Sometimes, he saw Tony, who had been killed trying to help them get away from their first hiding place. It didn’t seem right to him that a person of his age would have seen so much and such cruel death.
Danny finally decided that perhaps sleep was an option worth pursuing for himself too. Right there across the glossy Milton Bradley game board, he spread himself on his stomach and wished for sleep to find him.
About twenty minutes into his nap, when his mind wandered somewhere between sleep and awake, Danny thought he heard somebody walk into the room. Their voices defied detection as they spoke in hushed, hissing whispers. Danny was reminded of the times in which his parents had ventured into his room after he’d gone to bed but before he had truly embraced sleep. He would lie there with his eyes closed feigning sleep. Usually, possum playing led him to sleep’s embrace. Maybe his parents knew this. Maybe all parents knew this. Maybe it was a game that they all played without ever really knowing that the other was playing. These thoughts, mixed with the voices, played themselves across his mind, like flashes of color and light...a neural pyrotechnics show exclusively for him.
And the old trick worked yet again because it was several hours later when he found himself being shaken awake by Jules.
“Danny. Danny. It’s dinnertime. Get up, Danny.”
“Okay, okay. I’m awake.” He rose from his belly with game tokens and cards stuck to his face and in his hair.
Meals still tended to be good for everyone, especially because there seemed to be such an abundance of virtually everything. There were plenty of proteins, starches, and sweets. They even managed to still be holding some cans of fruits and vegetables. Drinks were usually sports drinks, sodas, or water.
This meal was no exception. They ate heartily and shared the rare smile and even rarer laugh. Mealtime was when everyone was at his or her best. Some ate out on the back deck under the grey but dry skies, while others ate at the glass top bronze table inside.
The only one absent was Malachi, who had taken to his solitude again. His interaction with others was reserved solely for Dr. Caldwell, but even that was very limited.
The reclusive police officer had withdrawn again and isolate
d himself from everyone else. His behavior was still worrisome, but it was also viewed as much less of a threat than before. This, of course, stemmed from his recent reliability and his keeping to himself his extreme opinions about others. He was still considered and referred to as creepy in conversations between the women primarily, but even they, Emma included, recognized that his contributions had kept them all alive at one point or another.
While the others ate that night, Malachi retreated to a small bathroom situated in a hallway on the ground floor next to the unfinished utility room. It was in a dark corner of a dark hallway, lit only by the fading pale light of the evening sun and a lonely creeping strip of flickering light down near the floor.
He sat on the closed toilet and pressed his hands together in front of his face. His silent prayers were being given voice by a series of grunts and whimpers. Even through his clenched, trembling eyes, Malachi could see him.
“That’s right, Mal. You should be prayin’ for the things you done.” The air in the dark room became rank and foul all at once, tainted with the foul waste that was collecting in the bottom of the un-flushed toilet bowl below him.
“You been a bad boy again, Mal?”
Malachi cracked open his eyes slowly to reveal the confines of the small room. He’d chosen the room because it seemed so small that even a floating spectre wouldn’t be able to find enough room in which to taunt him. He was relieved when he didn’t see anything but the dancing shadows of the minuscule flickering light of the single burning candle on the sink counter top.
He became acutely aware of how badly he was sweating when a rivulet of beaded perspiration streamed down his forehead and onto his cheek. He swabbed away the salty liquid with hands that were as moist and heavy as kitchen sponges.
The sorrow surprised him at how quickly it overtook him. When the tears and quiet sobbing struck, he lost near total control of himself. He leaned forward and planted his forehead onto the wall.
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