by James Cook
I frowned and shook my head. I could smell the booze on Tom’s breath, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he would be so cavalier about the situation if he wasn’t a couple of sheets to the wind.
“It’s not me I’m worried about Tom. You and Sarah have a son to look after. Fuck’s sake, how did you two manage to survive this long? What would you have done if Gabe and I hadn’t been there?”
Tom’s smile faded, anger darkening his features. “Look, we’ve fought the undead before, lots of times. We know how to handle ourselves. Ever since we ran into you two, we haven’t had a chance to do much fighting. You and Gabe always jump out front and smash everything in sight. When the hell have we had a chance to prove what we could do?”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Brian stopped me. “Would you two stop it? What’s wrong with you, you sound like a couple of old women.” He said, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “And don’t talk to my dad like that.”
I looked down at the boy’s indignant face, and all the irritation drained out of me in a flood. There’s nothing like getting scolded by a twelve year old to let you know when you’re being a jackass. Tom was right. We had been overly protective of them, mostly because of Brian. Sarah stepped forward and put a hand on my arm.
“Listen, you’re right, we got sloppy tonight. I’ll make sure we’re all armed before we leave the fence from here on out, okay? I know you’re just trying to look after us. I really do appreciate it.”
I sighed. “Alright, fair enough. I don’t want to ruin the evening any more than I already have.”
“Eric, you didn’t ruin anything.” Tom said. “You risked you life to protect us—again—and then you got mad at us for not being smart enough to arm ourselves. I understand why you want to lash out, but you need to remember that we’re all on the same team, here. We can’t start fighting amongst ourselves, not with all those things out there.”
I managed a half smile and a nod by way of response. Truth be told, I was just tired and a little drunk. Living in a world where I measured my life in days rather than years had been wearing on me worse and worse lately. I needed a break from it all, but that was not going to happen any time soon. If ever.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just tired is all. I don’t know about you guys, but I think I’ve had enough excitement for one evening. I’m going to go get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Sarah asked, her expression concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…you know, craziness.” I made a vague gesture at the corpses strewn about beyond the fence. Sarah looked dubious.
I bid everyone goodnight, and crawled down to the bunker, making sure to shut the hatch behind me to keep the cold air above from seeping down. Gabe and I had been sleeping underground ever since the Glovers moved into the cabin. The gas lantern by the ladder lit the way to the control desk as I walked by row after row of empty metal shelves. My footsteps grated against the bare concrete floor and echoed a hollow refrain against the white steel walls. A year ago, I wouldn’t have heard my own steps. The abundance of supplies on the racks around me would have muffled them, but two brutally hard winters had seen our stores dwindle down to nearly nothing. The bunker felt empty and forbidding without the comforting closeness of abundant supplies. I sat down in front of the laptop and opened an application that controlled the power coming from a bank of batteries a few feet away. They were at just under ninety percent. First good news of the day. I turned on a couple of lights over my bed and twisted the knob on the lantern to shut it off.
My gun belt went over a hook beside my bed, then I peeled off my boots and changed into a loose fitting t-shirt and a pair of shorts. The drawer on my bedside table rasped open with a tug and yielded a bottle of scotch stashed inside. The particular brand I poured into a heavy tumbler once cost hundreds of dollars a bottle back before the Outbreak. Now I drank it like cheap swill. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared at the Kel-Tec hanging from its holster. I took it out, replaced the partially empty magazine with a full one, and laid it down on the table beside me. How screwed up had my life become that I couldn’t get a good night’s sleep without a gun in easy reach? I shook my head as I took a long sip of the warm brown liquor. It bit into me sharp and crisp, the flavors of peat, smoke, honey, and scorched white oak mingled on my tongue and warming up me on the way down. I set the glass on the table and stared at the gun again.
So. Tonight?
No.
Not tonight.
Brian would be upset, and it would make a hell of a mess.
That would just be rude.
“Congratulations” I muttered to myself, my words beginning to slur. “You found an excuse for one more day.”
The bedsprings creaked as I laid back and picked up a paperback from the table. The book was a field guide that detailed how to find wild edible plants, and how best to prepare them for consumption. It also focused on ways to attract attention for rescue, but I ignored those parts. No one was coming to rescue me, and there was nowhere for them to take me even if they did. The pages in front of me grew increasingly blurry as I put down more booze. Finally I just gave up and put the book down. The room spun slowly around me as I lay staring at the dusty ceiling. I would need to be unconscious soon if I wanted to avoid being sick. The bed creaked again as I struggled to sit up and pull open the drawer beside me. Clumsy hands that felt like they no longer belonged to me grabbed an orange prescription bottle and fumbled out one small white pill. I couldn’t make out the words on the label, but I knew that they expressly warned against combining the pills with alcohol.
To hell with it. I thought. What’s the worst that could happen?
I popped the pill, washed it down with one last shot of booze, and lay back to wait for it to kick in. It didn’t take long. My mind grew hazy as I began to float on a warm sea of buzzing numbness. I liked it there. It was comfortable.
I didn’t care if I ever woke up again.
Chapter 3
Swarm
Of course, I woke up. I always do, and like always, I was none too happy about it. A pot clanging on a stove sent peals of agony hammering around inside my head. I sat up and looked into the kitchenette. Gabriel was mixing some venison and beans in a bowl with a few wild onions. Flatbread sizzled on an iron skillet atop an electric range, and a teakettle was just beginning to whistle. Gabe wore a red t-shirt with the USMC logo on the front, and a pair of the mesh shorts he preferred for his morning exercise routine.
“Feel like eatin’ something?” He asked, not looking up.
“Not really, but I will anyway.”
The food would have smelled delicious if not for the ball of eels is roiling around in my gut. I had to bite back a wave of nausea as I stood up and walked into the kitchen. Gabe scowled at me a little more than usual as he handed me a thin metal plate to put my breakfast on. The walk back to my bed seemed to take forever, step by painful step. I slumped down onto my bed, folded the bread over like a big taco, and took a bite. It was warm and chewy, and the onions added a nice flavor. I swallowed and waited. The first bite stayed down, and didn’t give any signs of trying to come back up, so I took another.
“Think you’re up to taking on the river today?” Gabe asked.
I looked up, and immediately regretted it. “Sure.” I replied. “Let me finish getting some food on my stomach.”
I chomped away at my breakfast until I managed to get the whole thing down my gullet. Right about the time I swallowed the last bite Gabriel stopped by and deposited a big plastic cup of cold water on my bedside table.
“Drink this, take a couple of pain pills, and be ready to go in an hour.” He said.
“Hey, what about tea?” I asked. “I saw you boiling water.”
“Hot water’s on the stove. Knock yourself out.” He said, and shut the door to his bedroom.
“Thanks.” I grumbled.
A couple of minutes later, I heard huffing and
puffing coming from Gabriel’s room indicating the start of another brutal round of calisthenics that he put himself through every morning. Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, mountain climbers, eight counts—he even had a pull-up bar welded to the wall. He was at it for the better part of forty-five minutes. I had my own routine, but I usually preferred to work out in the evening. The rigors of daily life in the Carolina mountain country are taxing all by themselves, and even though I had not set foot in a gym in nearly three years, I was still in pretty good shape. I had lost a good deal of muscle mass, and I was not as strong as I was before the Outbreak, but what I had lost in power I more than made up for in vastly improved endurance.
Once my plate was empty, I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured some hot water over a bag of tea. The caffeine helped me wake up and cleared most of the fog from my head. Three glasses of water and four Ibuprofen later, I actually started to feel alive again. The pounding in my head subsided, and I briefly debated taking a quick bath, but decided against it. The bed underneath me was just too damn comfortable. It was vital that I spend a little more time with it.
Gabe finished his morning routine and emerged from his room. Sweat drenched his clothes and sprayed everything within a few feet of him as he walked around the bunker gathering a bucket, a bar of soap, and a sponge. He tapped the laptop a couple of times and activated the water heater above the shower stall in the corner. I heard a hissing sound, followed by the metallic babble of water filling the tank. Gabe half turned to look at me over one shoulder as he squatted in front of the computer.
“You taking a shower this morning?”
I shook my head as I sat up. “No, I’m good.”
He nodded and clicked a few keys to shut the water off at two gallons. I stumbled out of bed, got dressed, and buckled on my web gear before climbing the ladder to the surface. The morning was bright, sunny, and probably only about forty degrees. My breath issued forth in a pale mist as I walked toward the cabin. A quick glance beyond the western fence line showed me that someone had been nice enough to push the corpses from last night over the edge of the cliff. I was grateful for that. The effort probably would have set my skull to pounding again.
Bright sunlight warmed my back as I approached the gravel driveway that arced in front of the cabin. The Glovers had clearly been up and moving for a couple of hours at least. Sarah was replenishing the stack of firewood beside the stove with split logs from the front porch while Tom and Brian were cleaned a couple of rabbit carcasses on the plastic folding table they brought with them from their old camp. A small cast-iron pot of water dangled over a fire nearby, slowly coming to a boil.
“So which one of you Elmer Fudd wannabe’s murdered Bugs Bunny?” I called out as I walked toward them.
Tom looked up and grinned, patting his son on the shoulder. “That would be this guy. Got ‘em this morning out by the tree line. There was a whole bunch of them munching on some clover over there. He got these two before they ran off.”
Brian looked up and smiled. His delight was slightly disturbing, being that his hands were covered in blood and there was a pile of rabbit guts on the table in front of him. I guess there was still a bit of the old world squeamishness left in me when it came to children. When I thought about it for a moment, it made perfect sense that Brian should learn to clean and dress wild game. This was, after all, the way humanity had survived for countless millennia before the dawn of civilization. If the human race expected to survive, kids would have to start pulling their weight.
“Dad’s been showing me how to clean them.” Brian said. “He says we can use the hides to make Mom a pair of slippers.” He held up a pair of bloody rabbit pelts.
A couple of bullet holes perforated the skins right where the heart and lungs would have been. The kid’s marksmanship impressed me. Rabbits are fast, and it takes a sharp eye and a quick trigger finger to bring them down.
“That’s very thoughtful of you Brian. Do you know how to clean the hides?” I asked.
“Not yet, but Dad said he’ll teach me.”
I looked up at Tom and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Where did you learn how to do that?”
“My old man was one of those survivalist nuts.” He replied. “Used to take me and my brothers hunting and camping all the time when I was a kid.” Tom’s eyes grew distant. A reminiscent smile crossed his face. “Those were good times, back before Mom died. Dad was still happy in those days, and he just loved being out in the woods with his boys. Taught us all kinds of stuff.”
Tom’s smile lasted a few seconds more, and then slowly faded, replaced by the same hollow-eyed sorrow that I saw on my own face every morning. He looked down at his son, and brightened a little. At least he still had his wife and his little boy. That’s a hell of a lot to live for. Brian gave us both a quizzical glance before picking up his knife and going back to work on the rabbit.
“You guys heading out this morning?” Tom asked.
“That’s the plan,” I replied, taking a deep breath, “I’m just waiting for Gabe to finish getting ready.”
“Had anything to eat yet?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
I heard the door to the cabin close, and looked up to see Sarah smiling as she stepped off the porch.
“How you feeling this morning?” She asked.
I shrugged. “None the worse for wear.”
Sarah stepped closer to me, her eyes doubtful as she got a better look “You sure? You look kind of pale, and your eyes are all bloodshot.”
I gave another shrug by way of response and strolled off toward the front gate. Better just to walk away from that conversation. Truth be told, I didn’t feel so great, but I had work to do and I was not about to let a stupid little hangover slow me down. A couple of cardinals took off in a burst of flapping wings and tail feathers when I reached the fence. I crossed my arms over one of the rails and rested my chin on them as I stared out across the meadow. Something moving through the forest just beyond the tree line caught my attention. I squinted and covered my eyes to get a better look, hoping it was a deer and cursing myself for not grabbing my rifle. A few seconds later, the figure resolved itself and stumbled up the steep mountainside crashing through low hanging limbs and undergrowth. I cursed. Just another infected. I was about to draw my pistol and walk out the gate when I saw more movement behind it. I cupped my hands over my eyes to shut out the sun’s glare.
What I saw coming up the hill made my blood run cold.
“Oh shit, not good.” I muttered under my breath.
I turned and walked quickly back toward the bunker. Sarah saw the look on my face and went on alert as I approached.
“Eric, what’s wrong?” She asked.
I pointed back behind me. “Infected, lots of them, headed our way.” I gestured at Tom and Sarah. “You two go check the gates, make sure they’re locked down tight. Brian, go get your gun and one of those big green boxes of nine-millimeter ammo. There are extra magazines in a black box next to the rifle rack. Bring it up here and load up as many as you can. Tom, Sarah, when you’re done with the fence, get a couple of M-4’s, some ammo, and the big bag of spare clips hanging from the wall beside the salt barrels. Start loading them up. I’ll go get Gabriel.”
Tom and Sarah looked out toward the tree line just as the first few infected emerged into the clearing. Their faces went pale when they saw how many walkers were bearing down on us. Trees swayed and branches shuddered as the undead passed beneath them, crashing like waves against an ocean wall. Birds took to the air in flapping, squawking bursts while ghouls scrambled and heaved beneath them.
“Oh my God.” Sarah whispered, reaching out for Tom. It was the first time I had ever seen her look rattled. Brian’s face went still, the rabbit lying forgotten on the table in front of him.
“Guys, come on, we need to move!” I shouted at them, clapping my hands. They jumped and looked at me with wide frightened eyes for a moment. Sarah was the first one to get her head screwed back on straight
.
“Right, sorry. Tom, sweetie, go check the front gate.” She said, shaking her husband by the shoulder. He came back to himself with a start.
“Okay, I got it.” He said and sprinted off toward the fence.
Sarah briefly clutched Brian to her chest and kissed him on the head before gently pushing him toward me and running for the west gate. I grabbed Brian and half dragged him behind me as I sped to the bunker. We climbed down the ladder and made a beeline for the armory. Gabriel looked up at us from a short stool where he sat lacing up his boots.
“Get your ass back on the clock, brother.” I shouted. “We got infected coming at us.”
Gabriel looked up for a second, then quickly finished tying his boots.
“How many?” He asked.
“Don’t know. A fucking lot. Must be hundreds of ‘em.” I said as I loaded my rifle.
Seconds later, Gabe was buttoning up a bush jacket and strapping on his MOLLE vest. It took the three of us maybe a minute to grab rifles and ammunition before we climbed back up to the surface. Just as I emerged from the hole, Tom skidded to a halt in the dirt near the hatch.
“Get me a chain and a padlock!” He shouted, nearly frantic.
I climbed from the bunker and stepped aside to let Gabe crawl out behind me. “Why, what’s wrong with the one on the gate?” I asked.
“It’s broken. I think it’s been cut.”
“Cut?” I shouted, incredulous. “What the hell do you mean, cut?”
“There’s no time, dammit! Where can I get another one?” He yelled, grabbing me by the arms.
I swore vehemently and dropped my gear.
“Come on.” I said, and started running.
The door to the tool shed burst open and slammed against the wall when I went through it at a dead sprint. I ran to a metal bin on a shelf near the floor and grabbed a length of heavy chain and a sturdy padlock. Tom snatched it from me and took off hell-bent for glory back to the gate. I hurried back over to the bunker hatch and retrieved the weapons that I left on the ground. Gabe was already by the main gate with his big SCAR firing on the infected shambling across the clearing. Tom shouted to him to stop shooting and move out of the way. Gabe ceased fire long enough to step aside and let the other man wrap the chain around the gate. The lock clicked into place, and Tom stumbled back nearly tripping over his own feet. I reached the gate just as Gabe and Brian opened up with their rifles again. A wide skirmish line of walking corpses had emerged from the tree line, their ranks growing thicker as they stumbled toward the fence. My heart dropped down into my stomach as I surveyed the wide field beyond the trees and took stock of our situation. The horde emerging from the forest was one of the largest that I had ever seen. The entire eastern end of the mountain leading up to the cabin was an undulating tide of the walking dead. I turned to Tom and Sarah, who were busy loading magazines for their M-4’s.