The Walkers of Ford Road

by K. Massari

shoulder. He rubbed his cheek on her hair and answered:

  “Walkers.”

  “Did you know they would happen?”

  “Yes. We’ve known for a long time.”

  “Why didn’t you try to warn anyone?”

  “We never trusted anyone.”

  Tracey fell silent. She still had many questions. Roger obviously had some kind of family, or was a member in some kind of secret group. It was troubling to her.

  The walkers were inside now. They were stomping and crashing and tearing into the house. Roger was leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed, and every few minutes, he clicked on the flashlight feature of his phone, illuminating his high cheekbones from his lap. Tracey thought he was such a beautiful man.

  “Will they come for me too? The walkers?” she asked breathlessly.

  “No. You’re safe. This is Ford Road, remember?” he said, turning his phone off, staring at her. There was love in his eyes, tenderness, and she shuddered. Then, she sat up.

  “Roger, we are all on Ford Road. It’s a place, a physical space. The family downstairs, they’re in this house, and it’s located on Ford Road.”

  “They are not with me.”

  The roar was deafening. The family downstairs was fighting, furniture was being splintered and destroyed, thrown against the walls, and the people, they were all screaming at once. And … it sounded as if they were being … eaten. The sound of flesh ripping, bones breaking. The tearing noises seemed oddly familiar to Tracey. As if all her life she had been expecting something like this to happen. As if she had seen it often in her dreams and nightmares. As if she had known the planet would go bankrupt. It harbored no love. It could not last. Nonetheless …

  “Roger, we have to help them …” she said.

  “There are so many, so very many,” he said, sounding defeated, his shoulders slumped. Tracey sighed.

  “I had strength for only a few.”

  “Thank you for considering it.”

  She hadn’t expected him to utter even one sentence that would in any way show compassion towards the family or anyone. He was, after all, a coldhearted loner, with a grudge towards society. (But so was she.) He was mellow now, softened by the monstrosity of what was taking place. Stacey tried to get up, but he pulled her right back down.

  “Stay.” It was all he said.

  “Is there any way to fight the walkers?”

  “You’d have to be able to kill like a machine.”

  “Yes, I can kill.”

  “No you can’t.” Now she was fighting him to get up and out of the walk-in closet.

  “Tracey,” he continued and then he kissed her, “you’ve known from our very first minute together … that I’m not like other people.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were worried.”

  “I thought you were a weirdo.”

  “Correct.”

  “I thought you would hurt me.”

  “That still replays in your mind. How … I would kill you. You consider the amount of pain I would put you through.”

  “How many have you killed?”

  “Scores.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?

  “Why?”

  “It’s what we do. It’s what I do.”

  As the cacophony on the lower level died down and gave way to an even more horrible silence, Tracey once again leaned against Roger, her only guiding light in this new unbelievable reality. From far, far away, first responder sirens were heard and shots were fired. It felt as if it had grown dark, as if impenetrable nighttime were around to further cloud the misery and the mayhem.

  “Are they gone?”

  “They’re still feeding,” Roger said matter-of-factly.

  “How long do we stay cooped up in here?”

  “Until it’s really quiet. Close your eyes. Try to sleep.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Sure, why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Quite okay, dear.”

  He would have preferred to ride most of the tumult out in the closet; Tracey was sure he did not want to leave. But she really, really had to pee, apocalypse or not.

  With his phone flashlight, Roger led the way. “I’m outta juice,” he said. “I have to recharge.”

  “Where?”

  “Bedroom.”

  “I will find you there?”

  “Yes.”

  Tracey risked a sideways glance out the window, with hooded eyes and a rapidly beating heart. Orange flames licked up in the distance, groping at the reluctant and indifferent night sky. The rear lights of cars cordoned off entire sections as an exodus began. Shouts and screams echoed into their abode.

  Even in the yard below, fistfights broke out and walkers gathered, drawing strength, relieving their vilest undead urges with a hate-filled vengeance. Tracey was paralyzed. The craziness was everywhere. There was no comfort left, no more beauty.

  Roger gently shoved her towards the bathroom. “Nothing we can do,” he muttered, more to himself. She just let herself be pushed, limp like a rag doll.

  She closed and locked the door behind her. Her head was spinning. How would they get out? Would they have enough to eat? Would the stores even have food, or would the looters take everything away? They were not looters, concluded Tracey, but people trying to survive. Urinating felt heavenly after such a long time cramped into the back of a musty-smelling walk-in closet. And Roger frightened her again, though she yearned for him with all her soul.

  She sat there and started to cry.

  Eventually, she began to feel alone and longed to seek refuge in his arms. Perhaps they could even stay bed for a while, and sleep. But sleep would be impossible under the circumstances. Sheer exhaustion was always a possibility.

  Tracey washed her hands and wondered why the walkers hadn’t tried to come upstairs … Should she risk a peek at the carnage in the lower level down below? She shivered. Something or someone indeed was protecting her.

  Ford Road … It was just a drab country road. With a pretty farm sprinkled here and there. Not much for hitchhikers, though. Too long and lonely.

  Roger was in bed, with his hands behind his head, relaxing. She gazed at him dreamily for a few minutes. Then, she had to ask. She knew she was being annoying.

  “Are we safe here? Why don’t the walkers come up the steps to see who else is in the house?”

  “They wouldn’t dare. Not with me around.”

  “What makes you so sure? Have you experienced walkers before? And when? And where? Oh … on Ford Road.”

  “Ah … so many questions. So much fear.”

  “Can we sleep for a while?”

  “If you want to. Might be a good idea.”

  “And will we have food to eat …”

  “Yes, we will.”

  “Because … of Ford Road.”

  “Yes, we are the gatekeepers.”

  “And who told you that you could save me?”

  “The Father.”

  She laughed, she couldn’t help it. It sounded ridiculous. Who? God? Roger drew her into his arms and kissed her. A kiss to answer all questions. They got into petting while all the world around them got into a war of survival. Explosions caused the window panes to rattle. The smell of smoke wafted into the bedroom from the back; even the mountains were on fire.

  One thing led to another, and finally, he wanted inside of her, and she had craved it all the time. She jerked up and shook her head. Then relented and moaned. She was with him. Finally.

  Despite herself and the situation she was in, after coming twice, she had to giggle, from her belly upward, if only as a form of relief. He lay beside her, smoking, as the world all around them imploded and ceased to exist as a beautiful and powerful America. Someone threw a bottle through their window, and the wine splashed onto the wall. Tracey sat up and he pulled her down.

  “Do we … disappear … into Ford Road?”

  “If you want to
.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “If you stay too long, it won’t let you out. There are a lot of things you have to learn.”

  He offered her a cigarette, which she declined. “Is it … different in there?”

  “Most of them just didn’t want to return to this world afterwards.”

  “Most of them? How many have you taken?”

  He sighed a heavy sigh. He swung his feet off the bed and sat up. He hoisted up his jeans. Slowly, Tracey grabbed a blouse and slipped an arm into it.

  “Will I die? Will it be quick?”

  “Shush, little girl. You won’t die today.”

  A tear escaped her and rolled down her cheek. It had been the worst day in the history of mankind, and she had had the very best sex she had ever had. She stepped into her pants. He was watching her, with love in his eyes, and desire.

  “Are you in there often?”

  “Me? Yeah, sure.”

  “Does it change you?”

  “Yes. You don’t age as much.”

  “I see.”

  The night was calmer now; the wailing from the highway had died down to a dull muted mumbling and whimpering of lost souls. They were cussing, but words were no longer coming out of their mouths. Words were useless now. America was over. It was a smoking tar pit. Ruined for generations to come.

  Roger took Tracey by the hand. They went down the stairs and without bothering to inspect the damage, they walked briskly out the front and quietly down the street. It was Ford Road.

  At first, there were cars and dead bodies and the undead mulling around in the distance. Then the trees and the pastures took over, along with the moonlight and the stars. Everything seemed to fade into the background. The noise went soft, the sky became serene. Tracey felt totally at ease, as if she had swallowed her mom’s valium, or had had too much of her dad’s gin. It was a blur, but a sweet, soothing blur. The kind you have before you drift off into sleep on