by Glen Krisch
“We didn’t see any. Just drove right in.”
“Where’d you say you’re from?” the woman asked, skeptical.
“We’re on unincorporated land just outside Newton County. Our family runs the Cherryhill Campground.”
“So that’s why. They haven’t gotten to closing off that road yet. Not many people live out that’a way.” The woman’s face softened and she spoke to someone behind her. Two boys, not much older than Charlie, stepped into view and lowered an aluminum ladder.
“Check ’em good, Luke,” the coveralled woman said.
“Sure thing, Mom,” said the dark-haired boy with a weasel-like face. He climbed down first, and then held the ladder for a smaller boy who must have been his brother. While he had reddish-blond hair, they both shared the same beady eyes, the same pointy nose.
The boys didn’t carry guns of any kind as they approached; instead, they both wielded ballpeen hammers stained with dried blood.
“Let me see ’em,” said the boy named Luke.
“I told you, he isn’t bitten,” Kendra said, stepping in front of the boy. “He fell off his bike and broke his arm.”
“Oh, I believe you, sweet tits,” he said. “I just gotta make sure. Mom’s orders.”
“You’re a pig,” she replied.
“What’s going on down there, Luke?” the woman said.
“Nothing. Just a little gettin’ to know ya’,” the boy said over his shoulder. He looked up from Kendra’s chest to her eyes. “Best mind your mouth if you want the doc to check him out.”
Kendra stepped toward the truck without taking her eyes off Luke and said, “Billy, help him out your side.”
“Go on, Linus, check him for bites,” Luke said to his little brother.
Billy stepped out and motioned Charlie to follow.
“Can you make it?” Billy asked.
“It’s my arm, not my fucking legs.” Charlie shifted to the edge of the seat until his feet dangled outside. He took a deep breath, and with Billy’s assistance, slid the rest of the way out.
Billy didn’t know what to do for his brother. He’d never seen him so distraught, so full of pain. He reached out to him, briefly, until Charlie lifted his gaze and gave him such a rage-filled expression that he wouldn’t doubt a zombie had taken a bite out of him at some point.
Linus circled Charlie, inspecting his exposed skin.
“I seen your arms, now lift your shirt,” Linus said, tapping the hammer against the opposite palm.
Charlie managed to work the fabric high on his shoulders.
“Come on,” Kendra said as she came around the side of the truck. “This is ridiculous!”
“Nothing ridiculous about caution, girl. Not when people are dying otherwise,” the coveralled woman said. “Check ’em good, boys.”
While Linus inspected Billy and Charlie, Kendra allowed Luke’s lecherous gaze to pass across her skin. She adjusted her shirt higher, exposing her ribs.
“No bra, I take it?” the boy named Luke said.
Kendra lowered her shirt and said, “I don’t care if you have that hammer. If you say another word to me, or look at me at all, I’ll rip your throat out.”
“No reason to be surly,” Luke said and chuckled, walking around her slowly as he panned his eyes over her. “It’s the end of the world. Why can’t we have a little fun?”
“Fuck off,” she said, and glanced toward the woman above.
“What’re you waiting for?” the woman said. “If they ain’t bit, let ’em up then!”
“All right, Linus, you head up first, and then the gimp. You help him over then down the other side.”
Linus nodded and started climbing.
“Can’t we just go through where they moved that flatbed?” Kendra said.
Luke spat a wet gob at their feet and said, “If he can’t climb a ladder, then we can’t have him joining us.”
“It’s fine, Ken. I can climb.” Charlie paused at the ladder, glared over his shoulder at Luke, then started climbing one-handed.
“Come on, now, Gimp,” Luke said when Linus made it all the way up, and rapped his ballpeen hammer against a ladder leg.
Charlie was only half as fast. He wobbled and nearly lost his grip, clutching a chest-high rung with his good arm. Sweat beaded his face despite the chill autumn air.
“Hey, knock it off!” Billy said.
Luke laughed and said, “Fine, kid. You next. If he falls before he reaches the top, you can cushion him with your bony ass.”
Billy started to climb.
Linus stood at the top, and he actually looked like he wanted to help. He held the top of the ladder to prevent it from tipping over.
“Sister goes next,” Luke said.
Billy glanced down as Kendra stepped from the bottom rung to the second to last. He was starting to think they were going to make it, that they’d made the right decision coming here instead of going home first. He quickly gained on his brother, and breathed a sigh of relief when Linus reached out to help his brother to the top.
“I said, knock it off!” Kendra yelled from below.
The violent burst of her voice made Billy miss the next rung, causing him to look down.
Luke ran his hands over Kendra’s exposed legs. She stomped back with her heel, connecting solidly, and the boy immediately gave off a high-pitched squeal, covering his face, even as blood began pouring from his nose.
“What’s going on down there?” the woman said from above.
“Your pig of a son doesn’t know to keep his hands—”
“Kendra, look out!” Charlie said.
Snarling and bloody, Luke whipped his arm back, ready to strike with the hammer.
Instinct took over as Billy leapt down like a professional wrestler performing a drop-kick off the top rope. Remarkably, his feet spiked Luke in the shoulder.
Bones broke beneath him as a gust of breath jetted out from Luke’s lungs.
“My baby!” the woman cried.
Billy rolled away with the air knocked out of him.
Luke fell over, one shoulder hanging lower than the other by a good half-foot. He regained his feet, the hammer switching to his good hand. Blood pulsed from his pulped nose. He growled, low in his throat, sounding like a zombie though he still lived.
“Get you bitch,” he muttered wetly.
Billy gasped for air that wouldn’t come. He knew he wasn’t dying, but having the wind knocked out of him gave him suffocating panic.
Kendra kicked Luke’s arm and the hammer fell. She lunged for it, but he yanked her by the hair. She screamed, grabbed the ballpeen, and slammed it down onto his foot.
Luke cried out and tumbled over.
Kneeling, Kendra was at his eye level. She cocked her arm back and buried the rounded head of the hammer into his cheekbone, and Luke toppled like a felled tree.
“Luke, no!” Linus cried from high above, and just as Charlie was climbing onto the scaffolding atop the wall of cars, Linus kicked him in the face.
Charlie pin-wheeled his arms, but it did no good. Gravity took hold of him, sending him flying off the ladder.
Automatic weapons’ fire exploded from every direction.
Billy’s own body danced as fire punched through him—Charlie falling next to him, twisted unnaturally in a heap—and he sank with the sun.
“I’m sorry—” Kendra murmured, her voice lost in the staccato.
Billy’s head jerked back, his last thought: At least I won’t be among the undead.
CHAPTER 22
Billy was glad he hadn’t left Charlie behind. Nothing good could have come from letting themselves get separated. They put the mended fence behind them, peddling along the tree-lined gravel road. The leaves crackling under their knobby tires was somehow refreshing.
Charlie
slowed his bike to a stop when they came across a fork in the road.
“What now?” he said, appearing uncertain.
“Kendra,” Billy said. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. Think we should get her?”
“She’s probably fine,” Charlie said. “We should get back and tell Dad.”
“Mom would be pissed if we didn’t swing by Blake Tanner’s place,” Billy said.
“Listen, there’s a frickin’ zombie horde marching right outside the campgrounds. Kendra is safe and cozy at Blake Tanner’s cabin. Even if the horde broke through the fence, what are the chances they’d go straight for Tanner’s? We don’t have time to waste. Let’s go, little brother.”
“Why are you acting like that?” Billy asked.
“Like what?” Charlie said, not looking him in the eye.
“Like you know for certain we shouldn’t go to Tanner’s.”
“I do know for certain we shouldn’t. I just don’t know why.”
Billy nodded. He’d had similar feelings, such as knowing just as strongly that he shouldn’t have left Charlie behind. An overwhelming sensation, as if a gentle hand were pushing him in a certain direction. It was hard to deny its persistence.
Charlie started peddling again, keeping it slow as he waited for him to follow.
Billy sighed, but gave in. Once they got moving, they sped along at a dizzying clip. They only slowed when they both looked back at the sound of an approaching vehicle—a white panel van with an empty luggage rack on top and fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror.
“That dude doesn’t even see us,” Charlie said. “Move over.”
Billy moved off to the left-hand shoulder to let the driver pass as Charlie hovered protectively between him and the approaching vehicle.
The van slowed to match their pace, and the driver rolled down his window. The bearded man perked his eyebrows and said, “Morning, boys.” His leering smile widened, revealing a missing eyetooth.
Neither boy replied.
“Where you going in such a hurry?” the guy asked.
“Away from you, dickweed,” Charlie said, and flashed him a middle finger.
“Fuck off!” the driver said, leaving a choking blue exhaust cloud in his wake.
“What was that about?” Billy said.
“Just a feeling,” Charlie said, his eyes lowering to the road in front of his bike.
“A creeper feeling?”
“Exactly. Better to strike first when people give off that kind of vibe. I don’t even feel bad about not telling him about the horde.”
“That must have been some feeling,” Billy said, and laughed nervously.
“Sure was. And the guy riding next to you, you know, your big brother? He’s never been diddled, either. Trust your gut and it’ll save your ass.”
Billy nodded, not understanding completely, but knowing he should take to heart whatever advice Charlie had on offer.
They rode on in silence, Billy pondering his brother’s words. It seemed like a big step, trusting his own gut. Not only did it mean he was old enough to make those judgments, but that the world—and those individuals roaming its geography—was not always worthy of his trust. It felt like an adult thing, this taking of personal responsibility. He sat a little straighter in his seat, chin held high, as he matched his brother’s pace.
As they reached their gravel driveway and slowed next to their mom’s car, Billy couldn’t believe the excitement he was feeling over the horde. It was a morbid bliss; a horrible, vile thing had happened, but Billy couldn’t wait to share the news.
Charlie seemed to be sharing the same exuberance.
They both got off their bikes and ran in a mad dash for the front door, and almost as strange as the reality of the existence of zombies, found it locked.
Charlie turned to him, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on? It’s never locked.”
“Should we knock?”
“Naw, I bet Mom’s just around back.”
The heavy wooden shutters had already been secured over the front windows, the side windows as well. Every year, when they locked up for the winter, they shuttered the windows to keep out the elements and to discourage home invaders.
“Charlie, what’s with the windows? It wasn’t like that when we left.”
“Mom’s just getting a head start on closing up the house.”
“She never does that,” Billy said. “Dad puts on the shutters. You sometimes help, while I hold the ladder.”
Charlie’s expression turned serious. He hurried around the side of the house and around to the back, Billy following. They nearly plowed into their mom, who was standing on a stool and locking the last wooden shutter on the last shutterless window.
“Oh, geez, there you boys are,” she said, looking down from her perch. Her hair was a frizzy mess of red and gray waves escaping the blue kerchief pulled tightly over her scalp. She brushed back some of the wayward hair and returned to her work.
“Mom … what’s going on?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, Mom,” Billy said, “what’s with the shutters? That’s Dad’s job.”
“We need to be ready to leave as soon as possible. And with your dad busy all over the campground …” she said with a shrug, jiggering the last window. Three of the shutter’s corners slipped in easily, but the fourth was being stubborn. She fought to get it in place and added, “I just couldn’t sit around the house, not with it all boxed up and clean. I had to stay busy.”
“Need help?” Charlie said, approaching the stepstool.
“No … just need to get …” she said, grunting between every word, “the God damn thing to go in!”
Billy and his brother exchanged shocked expressions. Their mother never swore, and seemed perversely glad whenever she needed to stick a bar of soap in any of her three kids’ mouths for using vulgarity in her presence.
She gave the shutter one more violent shove, and it popped into place.
“There, that’s that.” She stepped off the stool and brushed her hands against her jeans. Seeing the boys’ frozen expressions, she huffed. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry, boys. You shouldn’t have heard that. No, I take that back—a good Christian woman should never take the Lord’s name in vain, even when she’s alone.”
“Mom, it’s okay,” Billy said.
“Yeah, Mom,” Charlie said, and then looked down at his feet. “I heard you and Dad talking, you know … about Grandma and Grandpa. I’m really sorry they’re gone.”
Once again, Charlie had surprised him, and without prompting went up to their mom and embraced her in an unashamed hug. Billy just now noticed Charlie was taller, as if in the span of a few hours he had become an adult.
“Oh, my little Charlie,” she said, and then held him at arm’s length. “I needed that. And thank you. Yes, the flu took your grandparents. They both died peacefully, in their sleep,” she said, tears in her eyes. “We were going to tell everyone tonight, when the news wasn’t so raw.”
“Mom, you know about the zombies, right?” Billy said.
“Shut up, dweeb,” Charlie said between gritted teeth.
“What,” Billy said, “that’s why we came home, right?”
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“It’s nothing, Mom,” Charlie cut in.
“A horde,” Billy said, “just outside the fence on the north end of the grounds.”
“You saw … zombies?”
“They’re the people who die—”
Charlie punched him in the shoulder, cutting him off.
“Ow, man, what’d you do that for?”
“Charlie,” Mom said with a cluck of her tongue, “you know we don’t tolerate violence in this family.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“The people … the zombies,” Billy said, only now graspin
g Charlie’s point.
“What is it, Billy?” she pressed.
“They’re the dead. From the flu,” he said, not able to stop the words from spilling out, but also not able to meet her eye. He looked at his brother instead, and he seemed uncomfortable.
“I’m sure it’s nothing of the sort,” she said, adding a sharp-edged, unnerving laugh. “You boys and your imaginations … I’m going inside to make lunch. Are you hungry?”
Charlie nodded.
Billy stood in disbelief.
“Good. I’ll make some sandwiches,” she said, and turned away for the front of the house. “It’s nothing fancy. We need to use the cold cuts before we leave for Florida.”
“Mom?” Billy said, wanting to get through to her.
It was disturbing knowing he was handling the bizarre reality of the existence of zombies, while his mom seemed to be avoiding giving it any consideration.
Charlie punched his shoulder even harder than before and whispered, “Not another word, dweeb.”
“Can you make me a sandwich, too?” Billy said, grabbing the shoulder.
“Of course, dear!” she said and went inside.
“What’re we going to do, Charlie?” he said. “It’s like she’s not even listening to us, like she doesn’t know what’s real is real.”
“What we’re going to do is wait for dad to get home. What I’m going to do? I’m going to have a sandwich. What you do … that’s your decision.”
CHAPTER 23
The boys wolfed down the sandwiches, potato chips, and glasses of cherry Kool Aid. Sure, the meal wasn’t fancy, but their mom had made it, which meant it was more than tolerable.
They both watched as she flitted about the house, grabbing armloads of clothes from the front hall closet and dumping them into open suitcases in the living room.
Charlie waited until she went back toward his bedroom and said, “Don’t say anything more about the horde. Not until Dad gets here.”
Billy nodded and stood to clear his spot at the kitchen table.
“So …” Mom said, trailing off.
Billy stacked his plate in the sink and found her standing in the hallway.