by Wimer, Kevin
Chris looked at Hector who was smiling from ear to ear. He had had Hector’s hot sauce before. It was fantastic but extremely hot—hot enough to eat the lining of his stomach. Chris took a breath and let it out as he spoke.
“No . . . I think I better pass on the hot sauce . . . I’m not sure my stomach can handle it this early in the morning.”
Hector shrugged and made a face.
“Suite yourself . . . It just means more for me.”
The two men chuckled as the line behind Chris began to back up. Chris stepped out of line and around the steam table and to where Hector was standing. Hector dipped out a plate of food for the next person in line. Chris nodded his head and smiled at the people Hector was serving. He looked across the meeting room and at the young man sitting alone.
“Do you know who that man sitting over there?” Chris asked, nodding his head in the direction of the young man who had just shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth.
Hector loaded another plate of food and handed it back to a woman who was waiting patiently. He looked to where Chris had nodded. He shrugged his shoulders as he spoke.
“Don’t know. He showed up sometime late last night . . . Might have been early this morning,” looking at Chris who was still staring at the young man, “I worked half a shift last night so that I could be in the kitchen this morning. He came in through the front gate,” dipping out another plate of food, “I was on patrol roaming the grounds when he showed up.”
Hector noticed the look on Chris’s face. He was suspicious of the young man. Hector turned and looked at one of the other workers in the back who had brought out another panful of eggs. He asked the worker to take over for a minute. Hector and Chris stepped away from the steam table.
“Do you know him?”
Chris shook his head and wrinkled his brow.
“No. I don’t know him,” looking at Hector who had a brow raised, “It’s just the way he looked at me when we were in line,” looking back at the man who casually sat alone while eating his food, “My cop senses kicked in a bit . . . It might be nothing . . . and then again, it might be something. Tex wouldn’t let anyone in without having a good feeling about them. Right?”
Hector nodded. It was true. Tex wouldn’t let anyone through the gates of Graceland without having a good feeling about them. He would put them in a holding area—a cell of sorts—and then vet them before allowing them to roam freely throughout the camp.
“You are right . . . Tex is a good judge of character,” looking at Chris, “He let your sorry ass in, didn’t he?” Hector chuckled as Chris rolled his eyes, “I think Cubbie and Lailah were manning the front gate last night. I know Tex was working last night too . . . He was in the library going over some maps until earlier this morning.”
Chris turned his attention from the young man back to Hector.
“Maps? What kind of maps?”
Hector shrugged his shoulders.
“Not sure. He said he would talk to all of us later.”
Chris knew that Hector meant that Tex would talk to all of the Scavengers later. He hoped to be included in that meeting. Chris wanted to be a Scavenger. He wasn’t sure what his job would be at Graceland. He would do whatever task given to him and he would do it without complaint. The group had saved his life and he owed them.
“I’ll ask Tex and if I see Cubbie and Lailah I will ask them too,” Chris said as he started to turn and walk away, “I better go and eat this,” pausing as he looked at his plate, “Whatever this is before it gets any colder.”
Hector smiled.
“You can always warm it up with a bit of hot sauce.”
“No. I’m good for now . . . If this concoction doesn’t kill me, the hot sauce sure as hell would.”
Hector laughed and nodded his head. He knew his hot sauce wasn’t for the faint of heart. The hot sauce that he had made fresh this morning was a bit on the mild side compared to his normal sauce.
“Once things start to calm down here . . . I will come over and see how you like it,” Hector said, pointing at the food, “I may just bring you another plateful while I am at it. It will save me some time of having to walk back and get you more.”
“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you in a little while.”
Chris turned and walked away. He walked across the room and towards a table he had somewhat claimed as his own. He had sat at this table now for a week. He had eaten breakfast and lunch and dinner at this very table. He took a bite of his food and then another quick bite. It was more than just good—it was delicious. Chris looked up from his plate and watched as more people began to file in. The meeting house was now a beehive of activity. Graceland was awake. He watched as Hector and the staff served each of the people that stood in line. Chris didn’t know all of them by name but knew in time he would come to know them by heart. He took a drink of his coffee and then looked around the room. His eyes wondered over to where the young man was sitting. The man was looking right at him. Chris sat his cup of coffee down and took another bite of his eggs. He watched as the man stood from the table and walked back up to the line and took his place behind an older gentleman who was waiting patiently for his pate of food.
Chris didn’t like the way the man had looked at him. Something didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t place the man’s face. He thought about the bandits and then about Deacon. Chris sat there eating his food while watching the young man make his way back through the line for a second helping of food. Hector served the man and asked him how he liked his breakfast. The man just looked at Hector. He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked away. Hector looked past the man and over to where Chris was sitting. He shrugged his shoulders. Chris nodded his head and watched as the man went back to his table and sat down and began eating. Maybe he’s been alone since the outbreak. No human contact for six months would do a number on someone’s social skills. Chris thought as he looked at the back of the young man’s head. He turned and looked around the room to see if there were any other new faces. He could see no one else but he same people he had eaten with each morning now for a week. Chris smiled at them and a few of them returned the smile.
Chris started to turn back around to finish his food when a familiar voice echoed through the room of the meeting house. He looked towards the line and watched as Tex began making his way through it. He watched as he grew closer to Hector and to what was being served. Tex stood in front of the steam table as Hector placed the eggs and black beans onto his plate. The face that Tex made said it all. He too wasn’t thrilled about the concoction. Chris knew that once Tex had taken the first bite he would be hooked and left wanting more. He laughed as Tex and Hector bantered back and forth. Tex wasn’t too picky about his food and said he had eaten much worse. Chris dug into what remained of his food and finished it off just as Tex walked over the table.
“Morning partner,” Tex said, sitting his tray down, “This seat taken?”
Chris started to tell him no but Tex had already sat down. He watched as the man placed his cowboy hat onto the back of the chair and then turned around and took a bite of his food. Tex looked up at Chris as he chewed his food and then took another bite before saying anything.
“This isn’t half bad,” turning he looked over his shoulder at Hector who had just served the last of the group that had been standing in line, “Needs more hot sauce.”
Hector nodded his head in agreement.
“I told you it would.”
Chris wrinkled a brow as Tex wolfed his food down. He had never seen a man eat so quickly. It was as if Tex was starving and hadn’t eaten in months. Chris turned his attention to the young man just a handful of tables away. He was still sitting alone. It was how it had been for Chris his first couple of days at Graceland—no one wanted to sit with the newcomer. Chris was too busy looking at the back of the young man’s head to notice that Hector had walked over. Hector placed a bottle of hot sauce in front of Tex who looked up from his food just long enough to say
thank you.
Hector pulled a chair out and then pulled his apron off and took a seat next to them. He pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow—the kitchen was boiling hot. He took a breath and then spoke.
“Have you asked Tex yet?”
Chris shook his head.
“He hasn’t stopped eating long enough for me to ask him.”
Tex sat his fork down and then took a sip of his coffee and then wiped his mouth. He looked at Hector and then at Chris. The two men had something on their mind. He wanted to finish his breakfast while it was still hot. He thought about going and getting another plateful before finishing off what he had. Hector was one hell of a cook—much better than his ex-wife had ever dared to be.
“Well Hoss, you’ve got my attention,” looking at Chris, “Ask me whatever it is that is on your mind quickly . . . I would like to finish my eggs before they get cold . . . I hate cold eggs.”
“Who is that man sitting over there?”
Tex wrinkled a brow and then looked over his shoulder to where Chris had pointed.
“I don’t rightly know. He came in late last night.,” shrugging his shoulders as he picked up his fork and took a quick bite and began chewing as he spoke, “Cubbie found him wondering around by the front gate . . . The man said that he was hungry and looking for a place to rest for the night.”
Chris looked at Hector and then back at Tex.
“Where is from?”
“He said that is from Harrisonburg . . . and that he had been there since the outbreak,” Tex looked at Chris and could see the hamster wheel in his head starting to spin, “Why? You think he has something to do with Deacon?”
Chris shrugged.
“Don’t know. We were in line together earlier,” looking over Tex shoulder as he looked at the back of the head of the young man, “He gave me a look that was a bit unsettling . . . It was like . . . It was like he knew me or something.”
Tex turned and looked at the young man who was sitting alone. He wondered if his gut feeling about the man had been right or if he had just taken pity on him because he was alone. His gut didn’t have that same trusting feeling that it had had with Chris. He narrowed his eyes a bit as his gut began to gnaw at him.
“And that has you spooked?”
“A bit.”
Tex nodded. Chris wasn’t the kind of guy who spooked easily. He looked at Hector who raised a brow and shrugged his shoulders. It was the way Hector shrugged his shoulders and raised his brow that caused Tex to doubt his actions from the night before. Tex regretted not asking more questions. He regretted not putting the young man in a holding cell for a least a day or two until they could sort things out and find out more about him. It was standard procedure and Tex had not followed it. Tex knew exhaustion had gotten the best of him—he had made a mistake. He hoped it wasn’t a fatal mistake and that he still had time to correct it.
“Well damn it all to Hell,” Tex said as he pushed his tray back and stood from the table and put his hat back on, “Hector go and get Ron . . . Find Ken too,” looking at the two men who were still seated at the table, “I guess I should go and ask the questions I didn’t ask last night . . . Tell Ron and Ken to double check the gates before meeting us over at the holding cells.”
Hector nodded as he stood up and headed for the doors. Chris looked at Tex. The look in the man’s eyes were that of concern. He felt his heart began to tick a beat faster. The hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. It was as if an electrical charge had filled the air around him.
“Let’s see what we can shake out of this young man,” Tex said.
Chris nodded as he stood from the table and took a breath. It felt the like the first time he had been on the job as a cop. The first night he had made an arrest and had had to question a suspect. It was a hauntingly familiar feeling that gnawed at his gut while the voice inside his head screamed. Deacon is coming for you. He is going to kill everyone at Graceland because of you.
CHAPTER 15
Hector ran out of the building and across the main courtyard of Graceland and towards the front gate. He found Ron with one of the other men standing guard. The two were looking out at the field in front of them—their eyes were narrowed, and their brows wrinkled. Hector could see the look of concern on their faces. He stopped moving forward just long enough to take a breath and look out past the front gate and to where the two men were looking. The field in front of them had begun to fill with walkers. Hectors breath was caught in his throat as his heart began to pound in the center of his chest and his mind began to race with fear. It was the first time Hector had seen this many infected this close to Graceland—it wasn’t uncommon to get a straggler or two but a pack or a herd was more than uncommon. It was unheard of.
Hector was now moving in what felt like slow motion to him. His legs felt heavy and his body unwilling to move and propel him forward. His spine tingled with fear as he looked out at the filled in front of Graceland—filling with the undead.
“Ron!” Hector shouted.
Ron turned to see Hector running towards him. The look of fear in Hector’s eyes caused him to feel that same fear. His heart began to beat a tick faster as his mind began to fill with dreadful thoughts. He knew his thoughts would soon cloud his judgment if he didn’t get them under control. He couldn’t allow his thoughts to control him and his actions—lives were at stake and one of those lives were that of his own. Ron had never been the kind of man who scared easily but seeing what now stood before him and the others at Graceland more than just scared him. It scared him shitless. Ron hadn’t seen a mass of walkers this large since the night of the outbreak. He wondered why now? Why were they all gathered here in one location? Graceland had escaped the horrors that had plagued the heaver populated areas. The town of Broadway had had its share of infected but nothing like that of the city of Harrisonburg and other bigger cities. He could only imagine the nightmarish Hell that was New York and Baltimore—the list of cities could go on and on.
“Hector, where the hell is Tex?”
Hector blinked his eyes as he stopped short of the gate and the two men guarding it. He looked at the field in front of him as it began to fill with more infected. His eyes grew wider as he stood there unable to move—unable to say a word. His mind was blank—paralyzed by fear—and his mouth stood agape.
“Hector!” Ron shouted.
Hector looked at Ron and then back at the field. Ron grew angry at the man who was unable to speak. He stepped over to Hector and grabbed him by the arms—shook him and then slapped him across the face.
“Snap out of it!” Ron shouted as Hector blinked his eyes and looked at him, “Where the hell is Tex?”
“He’s in the meeting room . . . Him and Chris are with that young man?”
Ron narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side.
“What man?”
Hector tried to force the fear that consumed him from his mind. The angry hiss of moans coming from the dead that now filled the field in front of them wouldn’t allow it—fear now controlled him. He stood there looking beyond the gate as his legs began to feel weak. He could feel them starting to buckle out from beneath him. Ron looked at Hector who stood there like a bump on a log. He grew angry as he grabbed Hector and slapped him across the face and then shook him. He began to fill with rage—fear pushed him to a rage that boiled out of control. Ron started to hit Hector again when he stopped. His hand was in mid motion when he stopped himself from striking the man. Hector was a good man and he didn’t deserve to be hit.
“Hector, I need for you to snap out of it,” Ron said, shaking him one last time, “What young man are you talking about?”
Hector shook his head and mumbled a bit before being able to form his words fully. He looked from the field of the undead and into Ron’s angry eyes.
“I don’t know . . . Some young man that they found wondering around the front gate last night.”
Ron released Hector from his gr
ip and quickly turned and looked out past the front gate. He cursed aloud as his mind began putting the pieces together. Ron was sure the young man had something to do with the walkers being here. He took a couple of steps back over to the gate—placing the binoculars he wore around his neck to his eyes. He began scanning the filed in front of them. He moved over the field slowly—like a hunter stalking its prey. He could see nothing but the undead that filled every square inch of the field in front of him.
Ron turned from the field and looked at the other man who had been manning the gate with him.
“Tony, go and find Shane . . . I want the two of you manning this gate while I go and get Tex . . . Bring enough ammo to keep your ass in the fight,” a lump formed in his throat, “It’s going to be one hell of a fight.”
Tony nodded his head and turned and ran towards the housing quarters.
“Hector, where is Ken?”
Hector shrugged his shoulders. He hadn’t seen Ken since the night before.
“I haven’t seen him. He didn’t show up for breakfast this morning . . . I thought he was with you.”
Ron gritted his teeth. It wasn’t like Ken not to show up for breakfast. The man would eat any slop put in front of him. Ron had a feeling in the pit of his stomach—a dreadful feeling. His friend was dead. Ken and Ron had met out on the road a day or two after the outbreak. The two had seen and been through a lot of shit together—shit that most wouldn’t survive.
“Shit!” Ron shouted as he took a step and started to leave the main gate. He stopped himself knowing that he couldn’t leave his post. He looked at Hector, “Ken was manning the back entrance last night. He was to leave his post when the daylight crew showed up . . . Did the daylight crew show up?”
Hector shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know . . . I just assumed they had . . . Why? What do you think is going on?”
Ron was just about to answer when one of the walkers banged its rotted body against the front gate—raddling the chain-link fence. He started to put his rifle into his shoulder but decided to save his ammo—by the looks of things they were going to need all the ammo they could get. Ron prayed that the fence would hold them off and keep them out. He prayed that the links of the fence were strong enough to hold off the herd that was now gathering in front of them. He had a gnawing feeling that the fence would give without much effort—one hard push from the herd and it would fail. Ron pulled his knife from its sheath and stepped forward. The walker that had banged its body into the fence hissed an angry moan as Ron drove the blade of his knife deep into its forehead. The head of the walker cracked open as blood and brain matter began leading down the links of the fence. Ron pulled the blade of his knife from the head of the walker and watched it fall to the ground before turning to look at Hector.