by Chris Lowry
"What are you thinking about?" the Boy asked.
I glanced over and saw his eyes shining in the firelight. Moist.
"You won't remember, but when you were a toddler, we did a lot of camping like this."
"Zombies outside the tent then?" he smirked and wiped the end of his nose with the back of his hand.
"There are always wolves out there. And bears. And skunks. But I was thinking about the last time I camped with
all three of you."
"I don't remember."
"We should have done it more. I was thinking about spending more time with you, how I wished I would have."
He adjusted the way he was sitting in the nest of blankets.
"I was thinking about mom," he said just above a whisper.
I almost asked what happened.
But Bem said his name.
Soft too, like a partially warning laced with regret.
"I miss her."
Bem sobbed into a blanket.
And I regretted feeling sorry for me.
Maybe that was one of the sources of my rage, maybe even the main source. Who was I to throw
a pity party for myself when there were other people out there suffering, kids who had it worse
than me.
Homeless? Sure, but I had a tin roof rusting over my head back then and food to eat.
There were dads who had to sleep on the ground.
Sad I didn't spend more time with my children?
My mom had died when I was twenty-one, so I had been alive longer without her than before.
That scar had healed, but it was fresh on Bem and the Boy.
Raw.
They needed to be protected, they needed routine and safety.
I thought we might find it at Fort Jasper, but the empty rooms, the empty walls, the open gate
and everyone gone meant it wasn't here.
Even though we didn't know what happened, I needed to skip wondering about my little group
of survivors, and focus on the mission.
Get my youngest.
Get these kids someplace safe.
Keep them safe.
Let them heal.
Be the rock they could rely on always.
I rolled up onto my knees and crawled across our little campsite to plop down between them, then reached for both to drag them into an embrace.
They cried against my sides then, the Boy starting and Bem following.
Great heaving sobs that poured their grief, and despair and anger out onto me, dripping like tears across my shirt, soaking the layers.
I may have cried too. Sad for their loss, and sad for the loss of a woman I loved once.
And maybe for what I had lost again.
There was too much gone in this new world.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Someone's coming."
The Boy lifted his rifle and sighted on movement in the woods.
I moved away from the kids and out in the open from the shadows to be a target and draw focus on me.
"Stay back," I said out of the corner of my mouth.
"I got him Dad," the Boy said, a hint of exasperation coloring his voice.
I wondered for a second if he thought I was being too overprotective, then decided I didn't care.
Since I found them, we had been captured, chased, shot and left for Z food in the middle of a football field.
I didn't think I was bad luck for the kids, but the reason behind our string of bad situations was my fault.
It's not every day you get to piss off an insane militia man masquerading as a General, who declares a personal vendetta against you and chases you halfway across the country.
I was sure we had lost them by stealing an airplane from Vicksburg and flying East.
But if there was one thing I had learned in the zombie Armageddon was to always expect the unexpected.
Which is why I smiled when Tyler stepped out of the trees.
"You were making a lot of noise," I lowered the rifle and reached out to shake his hand.
"I wanted you to know it was me," he cradled a hunting rifle in the crook of his arms, bundled up in layers of long sleeves, long pants and a hunting poncho.
he had a branch with leaves stuck in the straps of his pack, a moving piece of shrubbery,
and the coloring of his clothing meant he had to work to make sure we saw him.
"Where is everyone?"
He stared at the gate over my shoulder.
"I've been out a week," he said and shrugged.
Tyler was somewhere between fifteen and seventeen, small boned, razor thin made more so by hunting and scavenging to survive.
He was also one of the best woodsmen I had ever seen, skills honed to a sharp edge by constant use since the Z came.
"Place is empty," I informed him. "No sign of struggle."
He took it well, and stepped past me to inspect the interior of Fort Jasper.
I watched him stutter step as he caught sight of Bem, a typical teen boy reaction, despite her lumpy clothes and shapeless jacket.
I had a mini-war of pride and protectionist because my girl was still quite beautiful even under layers of dirt, grime and looking like homeless person.
Say what you will about everything else I've done wrong in the world, I made gorgeous babies.
I started to clear my throat and noticed the Boy glaring too.
He was taking being an overprotective brother seriously, so my pride swelled again.
Tyler recovered and marched through the gate.
Bem played with a strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear.
I decided to let it, followed the teen into the compound, and watched as he cast around quickly and came back to stand in front of me.
"No struggle," he said. "No blood."
"No Z."
He shook his head and studied the ground.
"Rain a couple of days ago cleaned up the dirt. Let's look outside."
"Gear up," I told the Boy.
He glared at Tyler and began to clear out our little campsite from the previous night.
Bem and I trailed Tyler as he made ever widening circles from the gate to the road, searching for signs of passage.
"Got something," he waved me over.
Boot prints under overturned leaves, pointing away from the compound.
"We could have figured that out since there's only one way to go," the Boy snarled as he caught up, huffing under the weight of three packs.
He passed one to Bem, the other to me and adjusted the one he had on his back.
Tyler shot him a look and nodded, biting back any comment he might have made.
"Shut the gate?" Bem pointed.
Our scout watched her move toward the gate and kept watching as she pulled it closed.
"Where to next?" the Boy brought his attention back to the ground.
We fell in line behind Tyler as he moved to the main road.
"No tire tracks yet," he said. "Still walking."
He pointed to scuffed tracks in the dirt, more than a few, all moving in the same direction.
There wasn't much more to see, but we walked on the blacktop as he tracked whatever happened, our eyes and ears listening for zombies, and anything else that seemed out of place.
The Boy watched Tyler, as he kept glancing at Bem out of the corner of his eyes, and she blushed when he caught her staring.
I sighed.
Human nature didn't give a damn about the zombie plague.
CHAPTER FIVE
We hit the railroad tracks and still hadn't found anything.
Just boot prints on the side of the road, all headed in the same direction. Scuff marks in the leaves, overturned twigs and branches.
Sign of a large group passing through, normal walking patterns according to Tyler so not zombies, but nothing more.
"Where are they going?" I wondered aloud.
"If it's even our group."
I hadn't considered that. What if we were
on the wrong trail? What if it wasn't Anna or Brian or
the others, but some marauders or bandits that came along after.
"Tracks," I said.
"Where?" the Boy searched the ground.
"Train tracks," I pointed. "We're going to follow them."
Tyler studied the ground on either side of the rails.
"They did not go that away," he smirked.
"We are," I told them. "We don't know who we're following. Or what. But I do know where we need to go."
"Find the others," Tyler said.
"If we can. But we're going to have to rely on luck a little for that. Right now, we
need the essentials. Food. Shelter. More weapons. The rail is easy to follow."
"Keeps us elevated on a slope," Tyler appraised the terrain.
"We haven't seen many of the Z, Dad."
The Boy was right.
We hadn't heard any moaning, or groaning or seen the shuffle of a gray skinned body filter through
the trees.
I held up my hand for quiet and we listened to the birds in the trees.
Nature sounded normal.
"Are we going in the right direction?" Bem asked.
It was the first time she spoke on our hike and Tyler quirked his head to one side like he had
heard a Siren calling him to the rocks.
I almost punched him back to reality but took a breath instead.
"East," I told her. "Somewhere up there is Fort Knox."
"You want gold Dad?"
"All of it in the world Boy," I clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll build thick walls from the bars.
But I was thinking an Army base would have maps of the refugee centers and that's the
only one I know about."
I shot a look at Tyler and he made a face, shook his head no.
He didn't know of any others either.
Which made sense. Neither of us were from Alabama. He was a Georgia kid picked up from a Children's
Brigade I ran across in my race across the deep South.
And I'd never had cause to know much about anything North of the interstate in Alabama.
It was all fresh territory for us.
"If we find another depot, or base we can check, but we'll make our way east and North until then."
"Kentucky is a long walk."
I sent up a silent prayer to the education gods. At least the Boy knew Fort Knox was in Kentucky.
"Food first," I laid out the order.
"We could go back for the plane."
The plane would cut our time down and we could search from the air.
I wasn't sure how it would go from the sky though. It was easy when we were following the interstate,
and flying East would make sense.
"If we find fuel and a destination, it might make sense," I agreed with my son. "But I don't
want to run out of gas at five thousand feet."
I didn't wait for them to agree or to offer an opinion.
I just turned and started walking up the middle of the tracks, my steps long enough to hit
every other tie between the rails.
They fell in step behind me, Tyler bringing up the rear, and the Boy making damn sure he was
between the teen and his sister.
I couldn't keep a grin off my face as we marched through the morning sun.
CHAPTER SIX
"What is that?"
"It's a truck," Bem answered before I could.
We stood between the railway iron in a casual line looking at the crew cab contraption blocking the path in front of us. It was a regular
four door pick up truck, white with the logo of the railroad on it, but with something extra.
"What's wrong with the wheels?" asked the Boy.
It was my fault really.
I missed out on part of his education. Growing up in Pine Bluff, a small town that
sprouted up as a railroad connection to the Arkansas River I sometimes didn't know what they
did not know.
Like what a rail truck was.
The regular pick up had been modified with steel wheels that dropped down and locked into
position on the rail line. The wheels would turn the steel, and convert the road driving
vehicle into a rail car.
"It's a rail car!" Bem shouted then put a hand over her mouth at the outburst.
That made us all laugh.
Tyler made a big show of it, being sure she saw his appreciation for her joke.
I made a note to pull him aside and do some Dad threats later.
"Exactly," I said.
It was pointed in the right direction, and I wondered why it was out here in the middle of nowhere.
At least until we drew even with the windows.
They were smeared on the inside with gunk and gore.
"Something's in there," said Tyler.
He backed away and pulled his rifle out.
"Too much noise," I said and knocked against the glass.
A Z face bounced off the window trying to snap my fingers off.
Someone died in the truck, a man by the look of what was left and the Z he became was too dumb to get out.
I tried the handle.
It was unlocked.
"Get a branch," I wished for my big giant Bowie knife or a pike instead.
The Boy found a good long, thick branch and I hauled the door open to let the Z out.
A wave of rotting stench washed out with it as the zombie fell out of the door and spilled
a large puddle of goo onto the cinder bed of the railway.
Bem squeaked and took a step back, slipped and plopped onto her bottom on the tracks.
The movement drew the Z and it slithered toward her, using its arms to drag and leap across the iron rail.
I used the branch as a club and tee'd off on its head, trying for a long hard drive to an imaginary green par four away.
Golf was never my sport, but it was a decent swing if I do say so myself and the Z appreciated it.
His went splat, separated from his neck and bounced down the slope on the side of the railroad.
"Gross," Bem got up and dusted herself off.
"You think that's bad?" the Boy stuck his head in the truck and pulled back out gagging.
I had to agree with him.
Rotting Z stuck in a closed cab since who knew how long, combined with sun and closed windows made
for a unique smell combination that sent all of us almost reeling.
"Is this a good idea?" Tyler regained his composure first, but he was the furthest away.
I opened all of the doors, and was glad we were light on breakfast and lunch because there was
nothing to bring up.
Zombie apocalypse, not only a great diet opportunity but constant ab workout from dry heaves.
We used pine needles to scrub out the seats and covered the floorboard with fresh ones we pulled
from the trees in an effort to mask the smell.
I checked the engine and it turned over, and small luck, the gas gauge said the tank was full.
We turned the A/C on full blast, and stuffed the vents with more needles to fill the cabin with
a better smell.
"Mount up," I said when I thought it was as good as it was going to get for now.
We would keep the windows down and a breeze blowing through would help.
"Can I drive?" Bem eyed the wheel.
Teens and human nature.
But if you can't learn to drive after the Dead start walking, then when is there a good time.
I motioned her behind the wheel, and slid into the passenger seat as Tyler and the Boy jockeyed for position in back.
She gripped the wheel with both hands and went through the motions of adjusting her mirrors and seat.
"We're the only ones out here and you're locked on a rail," the Boy teased. "Just press the gas."
And she did.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Windows down, wind in my hair, the only thing missing was the radio. It reminded me of rolling through the
backroads of Arkansas, only straighter as the railbed cut through the low rolling hills of North Alabama
and cut through Tennessee.
I felt happy. Two kids with me, a good soldier at our backs, and a full tank of gas to get us closer
to our destination.
Then I felt guilty for feeling content, because there was a little girl out there waiting for me
to find her.
Waiting for me to rescue her.
Maybe more people waiting on me.
Not that they knew I would come, the rational side of my head tried to argue.
But maybe they hoped I would.
They hoped anyone would
I didn't know what kind of trouble moved Brian from his dream Fort. I wasn't sure why Anna
would disappear or where Byron would take Hannah.
There were too many variables and speculation only led to frustration.
The same with my daughter.
Speculating about fate, about her well being or state of mind would drive me out of mine.
Better to make a plan.
Follow the plan.
There was a map of the refugee centers in Aniston. Lost now.
But where there was one, there were a hundred spread out on bases across the South. The Army did
nothing in small measures, and what they did print was in triplicate.
We would get our bearings, get a destination and hunt.
I'd find her.
No doubt about it.
I couldn't afford doubt. It would make me quit and I couldn't quit.
Not ever.
"Slow down," I told Bem as we approached a road.
She pressed the brakes and we were rewarded with a small town a few hundred yards up the road from the
railway crossing.
"Anyone feel like shopping?"
Bem pressed the parking brake and we got out.
"Do I lock it?"
I almost said no.
But call it a gut feeling. We were being watched.
By Z or by human I couldn't know yet.
I nodded.
"Seal it tight."
"It's going to stink," Tyler grumbled.
But he closed a window as the Boy rolled up the other.
We clicked the locks shut and grabbed our packs and rifles.