Just Us

by Stark, Collin

  Dad pulled out the bag of fish and frog legs and took out about a third of what was left, leaving the rest for Kern in the morning. He took small bites, not only to savor it but to make it seem like more than it was. When that was done, he took out an old pack of crackers and cheese, took two of the five out, and ate them. He washed it all down with a swig of water from his canteen. It wasn't much, but it would get him through the night and probably all the next day. He kept dandelions, cattail shoots, berries, and nuts in a large resealable bag. He would eat them when the sun rose, and when Kern woke up he would tell him that he had already eaten his breakfast.

  Another thing they took every day were vitamins. Dad had a couple of months supply for both of them. When things go south and people start running, one of the last things they think to take are the multivitamins they stockpile. Dad liked to think it helped. Even if they were hungry, at least they were getting some of the vitamins and nutrients they needed to keep on going.

  After several hours of pondering and listening, the sun finally began to crest the eastern foothills. By the time he had strung the perimeter, it was too dark to step outside of the trees and take in their vantage point. It was a good one. Somehow, they had gotten to the top of a solitary hill nestled in a thicket, surrounded by trees. Dad couldn't have picked it better himself. He watched the sun creep up over the trees, and filter through their leafy tops and onto the grassy ground below. He nibbled on his greens and berries as he watched it rise, not a single infected in sight.

  After waiting for the sun to fully warm him, he walked over to Kern and nudged him awake. He wanted to let him sleep for a little while longer, but he was exhausted himself. It was a ritual between them now. Kern opened his eye's quickly and fixed on Dad's face. Dad smiled as Kern shook his head and stretched.

  "Time to wake up, son," he said. "Get up and start packing. I already had breakfast, your's is still in my bag. I hope you like semi-cold fish and frog legs!"

  Dad was sluggish and groggy after his nap. Kern had brewed some coffee, and even though it tasted terrible, it at least gave him the strength to push himself up and help Kern take down the perimeter. It was going to be a long day. He was already soaked with sweat when he awoke, the sun high, but not quite noon.

  "You alright, Dad? You can lay back down, I will keep watch."

  "No, I'll be alright. Besides, we need to get back down into woods, maybe find some food. We have enough for a little while, but every little bit helps."

  "I guess. I was really hoping we could bed down for a few days. I'm tired, Dad. We need to rest. We have been out here for months, and we haven't rested much."

  "I wish we could, Kern, but as tired as we are if we stay in one place too long, I'm afraid we won't be able to go any further. We have to keep moving." Kern just shook his head.

  "Yea, I guess you're right," he said, dejected.

  "Is everything okay? I know it's been rough since even before we left the house."

  "I'm fine, Dad."

  "Well maybe we will find some power to get that dead laptop running, right? There has to be someone out here with some solar panels, or even just a truck with a live battery and an inverter."

  Kern just nodded and picked up his pack, walking West. That was the extent of their conversations these days. Both of them were too tired to carry on a sustained conversation most times, let alone any kind of argument. Dad just shrugged, piled what little he had taken out the night before back into his pack, and went West.

  xxxxxxxxxx

  Several days later, they were camped on the edge of the wide woods, a series of overgrown fields and hills extending across the horizon. Not too far away was a small mountain. Or a big hill, depending on where one were raised. Luck had been with them, and they had managed to kill two turkeys and some small game. They had cooked every bit they could strip and dress, and packed it up in plastic bags and clean cloth. When they first killed the two turkeys ( they both had snuck of on a few of them and each had speared one ), they thought they could eat an entire bird a piece. Dad ate until he was sick, Kern until he vomited. It was a good thing, though, At least they would have food for more than a couple of days.

  Their strength had come back to them, and they even laughed together as they fished on the bank of a small creek. They hadn't spotted more than three infected since Kern's tussle by the river, and they had dispatched two of those. The other was on the opposite side of the creek and had never seen nor smelled them. Life had been good those few days, when the food was plenty and the infected were almost nonexistent.

  Kern had gotten rather good at baiting bluegill with balled up leaves and the occasional berry. All they needed was a little movement and color to stir them. Sometimes he wondered if it was because there was no longer anyone left to fish, and now they were over-populated. Surely, the bugs were making a come back, but maybe not the right ones to feed them all to satisfaction. Did fish ever get satisfied? Or were they like the dead, feeding on whatever they could until they gorged themselves. No, he thought, they would explode if they did that.

  A small house they had looted the day before had yielded a bag of salt, one of the white ones Kern remembered being poured into a plastic container. Who poured it, he never tried to remember. It had been used to salt food, and sometimes to pour in water for him to gargle. Now, they salted down the fish they pulled from the creek. Their first instinct was to salt down the turkey since they had so much of it, but it had been cooked already and the salt would just preserve the top, if anything. So they salted the fish heavily and wrapped it in plastic baggies. If it didn't spoil in a few days, they would cook it and see how it tasted. Neither one of them had ever salted anything before, so it was worth a shot.

  Kern's shirt was sticking to him, wet with sweat, and he noticed Dad's was doing the same thing. They didn't take them off because they had to be ready to run at a moment's notice. Black may not have been the best color to wear in the hot sun, but it helped them blend in better. Kern's was straight black, while Dad's had some band logo on the front of it. That one had been turned inside out. Kern reeled his line in and checked his bait, then cast back out into the middle of the creek and laid down on his elbows as Dad intently watched the lines.

  Kern was glad that they were talking and laughing, even enjoying their circumstances a little. The hunger and depression had taken it's toll on the both of them, but neither of them were lasting. All it took was a couple of days on a full stomach and not running away from something to make them feel human again. Dad had even broken out an old deck of playing cards and they had played Blackjack and Go Fish the night before. As much as he tried not to show it, he needed Dad, needed to talk to him. Memories of the time before had been long buried in Kern's mind, but that didn't stop him from feeling like Dad was that last link.

  Kern began to get drowsy and laid on his back, covering his eyes from the sun. There was enough open ground around them that he wasn't worried about the dead coming up on them, and even if they did, Dad was perched on a rock and would most likely be seen first. If that didn't work, they had strung up the perimeter. Sunburn wasn't as much of an issue as it normally was, since they had taken to coating their skin with mud to shield them from the mosquitos. Kern was almost asleep when he heard a scream off in the distance.

  It sounded human, maybe a small child. He bolted upright and immediately went to rolling up the string and packing the cans. Dad was rolling up the fishing gear, and packing everything away. In a matter of minutes they were packed up and both had retreated to the tree line, straining to hear where it had come from. Kern pulled the small .25 pistol they had found from his pack. Dad was shouldering the .22 rifle, a shotgun they had found in the house with the .25 hanging from his pack. Finally, they started to draw back into the woods when they heard the voice, that of a child, loud and clear.

  "Help me! Please, someone help me!"

  "It's a trap!" Kern hissed, grabbing Dad's arm before he had a chance to react. Kern could see it all play
ing out in his head. They would find the kid and Dad would rush in to see if it was alright, then they would be surrounded by thugs. If they were lucky, they would be left roaming the woods with nothing but maybe their underwear. If they weren't, they would be staggering around until they rotted away. Dad looked at Kern in desperation, gritting his teeth. His muscles began to loosen up, and then they heard it again, a child crying for help.

  "I have to go," Dad said as he tore his arm away from Kern. "I would want someone to do the same for you! Stay here. If I'm not back soon, keep heading West." With that, Dad ran off toward the voice.

  Torn between his sense of self-preservation and wanting to make sure Dad was alright, he stood there, swaying from side to side. Dad wasn't even out of sight when Kern took off behind him, then angled to the left, trying to stay to the side of whatever situation Dad was getting them into.

  Cries for help were still echoing across the forest. If they weren't running into a trap, then they were running right to the deads' dinner bell. Kern cursed under his breath, wishing Dad had just left with him. He ripped through the underbrush, losing sight of Dad for a moment, then seeing him top a rise. Kern angled back on track when he noticed that he was getting too far off track. Then he heard Dad's gun go off, and he froze. His heart was pounding in his ears, and a terrible fear, worse than any he had experienced since this had all started, gripped him.

  Again, the gun went off, and he could hear Dad's voice.

  "To me! To me!"

  Kern lunged now toward the chaos. He ran as fast as he could, dropping his bag to the ground gently as he ran in the hopes that if this were a trap that they might be set free if captured. If they weren't let go or captured, he would rather his sack be left to rot than let someone else have it.

  When he topped the rise, his eyes narrowed when he saw Dad taking aim at some of the dead. There was already one laid out on the ground in a heap, what was once a bulbous man wearing nothing but shredded overalls. Four more were moving in Dad's direction. Kern stayed hidden behind the tree, crouching down. They weren't too close to Dad, Kern hoped that he could kill them, but Dad wasn't too good of a shot, and he was using a rifle at close range.

  It took three shots to down the first one, two on the second one. That was five rounds out of fifteen, the rifle loaded with .22 long rifle rounds. Dad then wasted four rounds frantically as the next one closed in on him, the bullets ripping through it's chest. Dad was panicking. Even as he stepped back, the last two were closing in on him. If this were a trap, then Kern was going to drop himself right into the middle of it.

  Kern dashed down the embankment. His little .25 pistol only held eight bullets. Dad had said that it was an oddball gun, made in some country in Eastern Europe that Kern couldn't remember the name of. It was a small caliber round, and he would have to make solid shots to drop the dead, which is why he ran almost right up next to the straggler. Dad jammed the butt of his gun into the head of the closest, and it fell to the ground. As Dad took aim, it grabbed his pant leg and pulled him down. Kern watched out of the corner of his eye as he charged the second one. Fully fixated on Dad, it was an easy target.

  It had been a young woman. Even now, after it had decayed in the hot sun and survived a grueling winter and all of the crazy weather in between , he could tell that she had been beautiful once. Her soft features were accentuated even with the yellowish-gray tint to her skin. Kern's first shot whizzed by it's head, the second striking it in the neck. The third and the fourth dug into it's chest. When it turned, he took the risk and grabbed it by the collar of it's rotting blouse, and put the gun to it's forehead. Goodnight, dear lady.

  Dad was still struggling when Kern jerked back the head of the old grocery store clerk, it's apron flapping in the wind as a sign of a small town, probably somewhere close, trying to hold on to times gone by. Kern put the pistol to it's head, then pulled the trigger twice, saving the last precious rounds in case he had missed. He didn't.

  The dead weight of the lifeless carcass rolled off Dad, Kern helping it along with a kick. Dad jumped to his feet and Kern began looking him over for bites. Fear wasn't with him then. They had been through enough that it had become instinct, part of the process. Any other emotions would come after. As Dad patted himself down and Kern traced the patterns with his eyes, they both experienced the calm relief that came gradually as the examination came to an end. No harm had come to Dad this day.

  Dad looked at Kern with a smile, then nodded towards a large oak tree and some bushed to his left.

  "It's safe now. You can come out." Kern tensed, and brought the pistol to bear, but Dad slowly put his hand on Kern's, lowering the pistol, with a stern look on his face. Before Dad turned his head, a smile returned to his face.

  From behind the tree hobbled a little boy. Immediately, Kern took stock. The boy was black, not quite a teenager but not too far from it. His right pants leg was red with blood, causing Kern to step back a bit. A bit of cloth was hastily tied to it, with a piece of wood tied at the top and bottom, just below his knee and above his ankle; a splint. Other than the usual dirt and grime, the boys heavy carpenter pants and button up work shirt were well kept. The look on his face was a mixture of fright and curiosity.

  "It's alright," Dad said, laying his rifle down slowly between him and Kern. "We won't hurt you." The boy hesitated nervously for a second, almost as if he were considering fleeing, then limped forward.

  "My name is Jacob," he said, looking down.

  "My name is Aaron, and this is my son, Kern. We are here to help you. What happened to your leg? Of course, you know we have to ask that. If it is bad, we will walk away and send you on your way."

  "Me and my brother and our friend Derek were running from them. I... I fell down a hill and I think I broke my leg. The... the blood you see isn't from a bite. We all know what that does. When I smashed my leg against a rock when I fell, it also sliced it open. I think I broke it, but I didn't sever an artery. It's just a splint. The first time I have even seen any of the freaks since then was today, and that was three days ago."

  Jacob wrung his hands together nervously. Kern had felt the strange twinge of other humans before. The times had not been kind, and more often than not anyone you met on the road would get what they could out of you. The beggars, whatever food or other supplies you could offer. Decent folk wanted a more than even trade in their favor. The others? Whatever they could take from you was determined by their strength against yours. Luckily for Jacob, Dad was a better man than most.

  "It's alright," Dad said. "Let me have a look at that leg." As Dad knelt down and looked up at the boy, Kern raised the pistol slightly and angled it towards Jacob.

  Dad kept eye contact with Jacob as he rolled his pants leg up gently after loosening the small pieces of torn cloth holding the splint on. It was obvious when Dad had reached the wound by the way that Jacob winced. An actual bandage, dirty and torn but intact, was wrapped around the wound. After inspecting the splint and bandage, Dad helped him sit down. Kern was already past nervous and ready to drag Dad off into the woods. All the dead within a two mile radius undoubtedly heard those gunshots and would be headed in their general direction. He figured the boy to already be a massive liability with a bum leg. The longer Dad took, the more of a liability he became.

  "Look, I can't fix this right now," Dad said. "I can't really do much more than you did but I can clean your wound, put some antibiotic ointment on it, and put a fresh bandage. But now, we have to go. Do you trust me?" Jacob whimpered as Dad tightened the splint back to his leg, and nodded. Tears were starting to fall from his cheeks.

  "Alright," Kern said. "It's time to go."

  Dad handed the rifle to Kern and picked Jacob up. Moans and snarls were already starting to sound over the forest. They picked up their packs and Kern led them off to the west. His first instinct was to head to the high ground, but it would have been slow going. They were right at the base of a ridge, and it went up at a steep angle. Maybe it was just the two
of them they could make it, but not with Dad carrying Jacob. If their smell didn't carry too far, it was possible for the dead to shamble ( or, hopefully not, run ) aimlessly. But if even one of them saw them it would cause a big ruckus if it could and then they would have trouble shaking them.

  He was irritated that Dad had even went to help the boy in the first place. Had he not, they could have went on at their own leisure away from the screams, and now be safely away. Instead, they could have a whole mob of the dead after them, not to mention any opportunist that might be nearby.

  There was no path for them to follow. It was all undergrowth between the trees and bushes, a good cause for concern. Once they had been walking through the woods on a sunny day and one of the dead fell from beside a tree just a few feet ahead of them. It was easily dispatched, but if the timing had been off just a little it could have gotten one of them. Dashing madly through the foliage was a good way to tempt fate, but Kern knew there wasn't any other way. Their best chance was to put enough distance between them and the dead in case they did pick up their scent.

  Kern slowed a bit, hearing Dad's labored breathing as they weaved their way to supposed safety. Jacob was a thin child, but not only did Dad have to carry him but also his pack. Their packs meant their very survival. Given the choice, Kern would have tossed the kid to the wayside at the first given opportunity once they were safe. On the other end of the spectrum, he would be tempted to use him as a distraction if they got surrounded. The scenario quickly played through his mind for a few seconds. It bothered him that he felt that way, and if it were a split second decision he was worried he might take that route, but since he had given it thought, he hoped he would choose a better course of action.

  Finally, there was a gradual slope up the side of the ridge. It was mostly hills and gullies, far removed from the mountains back to the East. It was odd that there was a ridge. He stopped and feigned exhaustion for a moment, letting Dad catch his breath. They had both built up their endurance over the time they had spent on foot. Dad sat Jacob down and quickly opened his pack and pulled out a beaten but thick plastic bottle of water. Sweat was pouring off his brow, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. Kern felt a little guilty. Even though he was sweating himself, it was more like a like dew than the deluge pouring off his Dad.