Just Us

by Stark, Collin

  He laid there, thinking, until the sun went down. Dad brought him some canned tuna, crackers, and a side of imitation cheese. The tuna was a bit dried out, but it paired nicely with the crackers and the greasy, cheese-flavored plastic. While he was partial to the canned fruits and candies, what Kern really looked forward to was meat. There had been weeks, even months, where they didn't have any. They had a small stock of canned beef, dry salami and pepperoni, potted meat, and a couple of other processed or salted bits of goodness. If Kern had his way, they would be eating it for every meal like they used to. Dad said they needed to conserve it, that they needed to space out there protein. Kern guessed he was right, but he would still like a nice can of mystery meat smothered in steak sauce.

  As he sat there in the dark room, waiting for Dad to call him into the back bedroom so they could go to sleep, Kern heard something. At first it was just a nearly inaudible scratching. After a couple of minutes, it turned into a slight shuffle. Kern was just about to get up and look out the window when Dad stepped into the door, holding his hands low, telling him to be quiet.

  "There's two of them outside," Dad said in a low, hushed voice. "Come to the living room, quick!"

  Kern rolled out of bed and started for the door, but turned back and got his bag. He grabbed the radio and crammed it in, along with a few odds and ends that were on the dresser. Dad handed him the .22 when he got there. His nostrils were burning from the bleach Dad had poured all around the room. The carpet was already white in spots from it.

  The .22 felt odd in Kern's hands. The wood stock and the smooth, metallic barrel felt foreign to him. Before this all started, guns were cool. Dad owned a few guns, but they were gifts. Once he said that he would rather take his chances defending the house with a baseball bat than worrying that one of his kids might get their hands on the guns.

  Kids. No, that wasn't right. It was just him and Dad, always. Now it was just them. And those things were here. Kern thought he should have been more afraid, like he was when they were staying in shops and rundown houses. Now, all he felt was relief. It was instantaneous and fierce, and it would probably pass if they made it through the night, but right now he was relieved. Maybe, if they could get past the dead, they could go somewhere else, or maybe they wouldn't get past them and this would all be over. Kern's greatest fear was that they would be stuck, slowly wasting away.

  Kern grabbed a cushion from the couch and sat it in the middle of the bleach stains. He once thought that it would be easy to take out two of them by themselves, but that was the trick the movies had played on them. A quick bash to the head wasn't enough to kill them unless it had some force behind it, and even then it had to penetrate the skull and destroy the lower part of the brain. Stabbing them in the head was equally ineffective. Huddled in the buildings back in the city, he had watched more than one person get their weapons stuck in the skull and then bitten. Or worse.

  Shooting them in the head was the most effective, assuming that one hit the right spot or had a large enough caliber. This was even more risky, because those who survived the first few weeks knew that a gun was as good as a dinner bell. People were used to other people or animals, which would dart away at the sound of a gun. Not the dead. They would flock to it. If you were lucky, they would all be slow and you could get away before you were surrounded. If you weren't lucky, the fresh ones would be sprinting down the road towards you.

  And so they sat there for hours; long, unbearable hours. Kern watched the moon pass by the window, and wanted so bad to go to it and see if there were more, and what they were doing. Did they keep on moving or were they staring aimlessly? It wasn't even Dad who kept him from it. Kern knew that if he got too close to the window and one of them was close, they might smell him. Kern was ready for something, anything, to happen. The eternal game of hide and seek, cat and mouse, had been wearing on him for months.

  Dad was crouching, shaking from the strain. Kern knew it must be hurting his legs. Why Dad was doing that, he didn't know. They were slow, and with that much bleach soaking in the carpet, the dead would have to be right next to them to smell them. There was the small chance that one might walk right up to the windows and catch a glimpse of them. Even then, Kern thought they would have enough time to react.

  Tears started to stream out of his eyes. It threatened to take his breath, but he knew it was the best way to keep them from being found. Dad laid a blanket out in front of them, stifling the smell, but Kern still had to close his eyes. Before long, Dad reached over and gently pulled the .22 from his grasp as Kern slept.

  xxxxxxxxxx

  It was early in the morning when Dad stepped towards the window. He grabbed a glass of water he had left on the sill the night before and finished of what was left in it. Slowly, he moved to the side of the window and looked out in the direction the two zombies had been shambling in. When he was satisfied, he quietly moved from room to room, looking out into the neighborhood and into the courtyard. Their luck had held.

  One of the infected looked like it was wearing a police uniform. It was hard to tell in the light, but he thought he could make out the patch on it's shoulder. The other was a man, missing it's left arm. It had troubled Dad all night. The neighborhood they were in was far away enough from the city and it was evacuated well enough that those two were an unlikely combination. Dad figured that the houses in the neighborhood were pricey. The cop would have been out of place, especially since he hadn't seen any police vehicles or signs of martial law. It meant, possibly, that they were moving out of the city.

  Dad could never be sure, though. This was the type of neighborhood he typically wasn't welcome in, with it's gate and all. Maybe the police officer was a resident who stayed behind? Maybe the man came from one of the houses? He hated to rationalize and stereotype the two of them as well as the neighborhood itself. That kind of thinking was counter-productive, but thinking was one of the only tools he possessed now.

  If they were moving out of the city, it meant that at anytime a large group could happen upon them. Worse, sometimes they stood almost as if in a trance for days. They would stir at the slightest sound. It was almost like they were waiting. If that happened, there was no telling when he and Kern could escape, but where would they go?

  A military presence nearby was something to consider, but they hadn't seen them since the very first so the chance was small. That they were broadcasting from far away was possible, but not probable. No doubt the technology existed, but this was over the open airwaves, not digitally. There were just so many things he didn't know. Still, they had to go somewhere.

  He didn't want to give Kern too much hope that they would leave anytime soon. It was something he had wanted to consider and plan for. Canton was too far, and that was exactly where Kern wanted to go. It was best to squash this idea now instead of letting it fester. Dad had an idea that they might have better luck in the mountains, but they would have to start growing their own food if they stayed there too long. That was something that Kern didn't understand. The past few months he had wanted to stay on the move. One thing he never took into account was what they were going to eat. It was only by luck that they had found this neighborhood. There might not be anywhere else that was as accommodating.

  He contemplated the decision as he sat there. They would probably have to leave soon, if his suspicions were correct. To the east lay the mountains, and to the west rolling hills which gave way to the plateau. Neither of them would be an easy go, especially if the roads were clogged with vehicles like the city. They had a blue sedan in the garage with a few full gas cans. Or would a truck be better? Even in the apocalypse, he had to weigh the ability to go off road if need be versus gas mileage.

  But was this really the apocalypse? Maybe it was a mostly localized event and a large swath of the world was still business as usual. If that was the case, a long haul would be best, to get out of the infected regions. Still, if it wasn't, they could waste all their gas and food, getting stranded in the middle of
no where. No options seemed good anymore. Everything seemed to be based on luck. One thing was certain, though. They couldn't stay here much longer. A decision needed to be made before Kern woke up.

  Almost as if on cue, Kern stepped up behind him. "Are they gone?"

  "Yes. I haven't seen or heard any others, so we are safe for the moment. I think there will be more, though."

  "Why do you think that?" Kern pulled a metal water bottle out of his bag and took a swig.

  "The two infected I saw were out of place here, especially since we didn't pass anyone at all on our way here. I guess it's possible that they could have lived here, but I don't think so. We would have seen them by now. No, I think the ones in town are starting to branch out, find other sources of food."

  "By food, do you mean people?"

  "I guess."

  Kern went into the kitchen and came back with a can of potted meat, some crackers, and a couple of cereal bars. After using one of his knives to spread the meat over the crackers, they both ate in silence as they stared out the window, both of them knowing what was on the other's mind. Dad relished the potted meat. He used to hate it, especially the way his father would load it up on white bread, slap a tomato on it, and call it supper. Now it was a delicacy. They both ate their food slow and deliberately, enjoying the moment.

  "So, what do you think we should do?" Kern asked.

  "I'm not sure yet, son. If we stay here, we risk getting trapped in here or them breaking in on us. But if we leave, we are leaving behind a treasure trove. There might be enough food here to last us for years. Plus, we have electricity for the time being."

  "There might be more places like this, and if need be we can hunt or fish! Listen, I know that you want to stay here. This is the best place we could hope for at a time like this, but what if the dead break in..." Dad shot Kern a hard glance. Comments like that made his blood boil and his mind fray.

  "Infected, Kern, they're infected."

  "Whatever," Kern said, rolling his eyes. "It doesn't matter what they are, Dad. What matters is that one day, we won't be safe here. The longer we stay, the more our smell lingers on everything. You remember what the TV said!"

  It was true that Johnny Wrigley, the red-headed announcer on the news, said that the longer people stayed in one place, especially large groups of people, that the more likely it was that the infected could smell them. News stations had also become the proponents of "fake news". It didn't matter what station you watched, everyone had an angle. Dad had wondered from the start if they were all told this because it gave people some peace of mind. Sure, the bleach trick worked wonders. Especially when they were trapped in the little restaurant, and he could see large numbers of people creating more of a scent. Still, could the simple fact of staying in one place too long make their house smell much like a dog house when the dog slept in it all winter?

  "I don't know, son. What I do know is that we have to weigh our options. I mean really consider what our next move will be. It's easy for us to be scared off by a couple of them and make a retarded dash for whatever safety we think we might be able to find. Or stay here because we are afraid we might not be able to find food or shelter somewhere else. I've played all of this out in my mind, from some kind of lush paradise with no infected, to being ripped apart as soon as we run out of gas." Dad's face started to turn red, feeling like Kern was belittling him with what he said.

  "You think I'm just wanting to keep you here. Well, in a way I do. There's food, a couple of guns, and we have heat and air if we need it. I know that at any time, the infected could bust in here, but what would be stopping them from breaking into the car on the side of the road while we are sleeping? Or surrounding us when we have to look for food? I'm not saying that they can't get us here, but there's just as good of a chance of it happening if we leave here."

  "That's where you're wrong," Kern said with a smug smile, crossing his arms and staring over his dad's shoulder. "There's a chance that there are people out there. Right now. Every minute we sit here is a minute closer to when they might move on. One day, all this food will run out. It might be a year from now, or even longer. When it does, what are we going to do then? Hope that someone else is going to come? Or are we going to leave?"

  "We're not leaving yet. That's final. If you want to go traipsing off then go ahead. Take your backpack and all the knick-knacks you've found and be my guest!"

  A deep, flushed red flowed up Kern's neck and into his face. There was a time when he would have uttered one of his adolescent, guttural growl-screams. Instead, he grunted and stormed off into the kitchen. Food was one of his few weaknesses. Cold never really bothered him, and he could stand the heat if need be. Sleep could wait a day or two if needed. But when he went hungry, especially now, he got angry and made rash decisions. It was best that he ate a bit. He would be more pleasant afterwards. Dad didn't even care if he had two portions of meat this morning.

  xxxxxxxxxx

  "Aim it at the door!" Dad said. Guns weren't his thing. He had a hard time knowing if the red meant that the safety was on, or if it was off. Frantically, he clicked it back and forth. Were there even bullets in the gun? Last time he had to use it, it fired. But he never thought to actually reload it. One time he knew how to do it, his own father had taught him. That was a long time ago.

  Another sharp bang on the door made him fumble the gun. Luckily he didn't drop it. There were hushed yet excited voices on the other side. Dad tried to rationalize it, to make sense of it. If they were looters, surely they would have just broken the door down or snuck in through a window. In times like these, people didn't knock.

  "Please let us in!" It was a woman's voice, but Kern couldn't tell if there was malice in it. He took a spot behind the couch, the .22 pointed at the door.

  What should he do? How long had it been since they had seen other people? Last time they had encountered anyone, they tried to rob them blind. Even though Dad had only shot the man in the leg, it still bothered him. People weren't good as a rule now. Society had devolved.

  "Open the door," Kern said. The .22 was poised at the door. Kern didn't know what a .22 could do but Dad did. And it wasn't much. Still, they didn't have time to circle out the window the back door.

  Dad grasped the handle. Again, banging. It sent a throb up his arm. Physical fitness was but a dream to him. When Kern was doing sit ups and lifting the weights he had scavenged, Dad was looking out the window or thinking. One of his greatest fears was being in a life-and-death contest where his strength was a factor.

  He opened the door and awkwardly leveled his pistol. A scrawny, red-headed woman in mismatched, oversized clothes jerked back, putting her hands in the air. "Whoa, Whoa! Don't shoot!" A blur shot out from behind her, causing Dad to take a step back, the pistol wavering back and forth. A ragged, teenaged girl, not much older than Kern, stood beside the young woman. She was holding a kitchen knife in front of her, her eyes filled with malice.

  "What do you want?" Dad asked.

  "Li...listen," the woman said, "We've been watch...watching you, and can we please have some food? I know you have some, we've seen you carrying it out of the houses."

  "There's plenty of food in some of the other houses, on the west side."

  "No, those...things... are over there, and more are coming. We can't risk it."

  "Look, we can give you enough food for a day or two, so you can get away from here. We risked it to get this food, and if you had time to watch us, then you could have helped us or done it yourselves. Close the door and I'll go round up some..."

  "No!" The girl stepped in front of the woman, jutting her knife forward. "You have food, and we need food, so give us some." The woman put her hand on the girl's shoulder.

  "Honey, no, please..."

  "Screw this, I'll get it myself," the girl said as she stepped through the threshold of the house. She was quick like a cat, but slowed and eyed Dad, brandishing the knife. Behind her, the woman was wide-eyed, much like Dad would have be
en. She jabbed the knife toward Dad. For a moment he was afraid that she would stab him, but for a split second he was scared for her.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kern taking aim. She was a scrawny thing, half-mad by the look in her eyes. Still, Dad knew it wouldn't have been hard to take the knife away. Before he could move to size her up and keep an eye on her companion, he heard the gun go off. Dad could count the times on one hand that Kern had shot a gun, but at that close it didn't really matter. It all played out in slow motion; the blood bursting out of her side. The way her body slightly rocked, the look of confusion on her face.

  Dad didn't hear anything. The girl's lips moved, Kern was yelling something. She dropped her knife and dropped back to the door, then slid along it. The woman's scream was more of a rumble in the air than a sound. Everything felt so distant. His son had just shot a human being, a little girl not much older then him. At that point in time, he would have given all the food in the world to have taken back that moment, to have given them the food they had asked for. Seconds can sometimes feel like minutes, and in those few seconds he pondered this before his veil of silence was finally torn aside.

  "Get out now! I'll shoot you, too!" Kern said, now aiming the gun at the woman.

  "You shot her! You son of a... you shot her! How could you do this? What kind of a person does something like this?"

  "A person who wants to keep what he's risked his life for. Now leave!"

  "Kern, what are you doing?" Dad yelled.

  "Keeping them from stabbing us or trying to take our food!"

  The girl was turning pale. Shock was setting in. Tears began to cascade down her cheeks. Dad wanting more than anything to scoop her up and bring her inside. When he tried to move towards her, the woman pulled a large screwdriver from behind her back.

  "Don't you touch her! You have done enough! All she wanted was some food. She wasn't going to stab you, she was just being a kid. Now look what you've done! Come on, Julie, quick! Let's go before they finish they job!"