Animals

by David A. Simpson

  He found a house the next morning he knew was empty. The door was hanging on one hinge, a rotted body was on the porch and he could see brown stains of old blood on the walls. There was canned food in the cupboard and he ate cold creamed corn while staring at the mummified corpse with half its head blown off. He didn’t find any more guns and there wasn’t a car in the driveway. Whoever had lived here was long gone and from the looks of the place, they had left in a hurry. He found an oversized ski jacket that fit over his armor and slipped it on. It had a furry hood and would be warm if he had to spend a night outside.

  He wasn’t moving very fast, it seemed like he had to run off the road and hide all the time. Sometimes he’d heard a zombie or two shuffling along with no destination in mind. Sometimes it was the wind playing tricks on him. A few times it was the coyotes and he’d watched them tear into a crawling woman as she ignored them and kept moving south. They followed her, taking bite sized snacks. They weren’t skinny coyotes, either. Not at all like those he’d seen in movies or in pictures. They were fat and waddling, stuffing themselves on the easy meals.

  He found a bicycle with air in the tires and thought long and hard before throwing a leg over it. It would be faster but he might ride up on a horde of them. When he was walking, he could stop and listen often. On the bike, it might be too late and he knew once they got the scent, once they started chasing something, they never stopped. He would have to ride until he got there. No breaks, no stops. Just keep pedaling unless they would catch him. Not worth the risk, he decided. It might take him another day or two at the rate he was going but at least he would make it there alive. He would be welcomed home, back to his people. His tribe.

  The closer he got, the more devastation he saw, the less confident he became that he would find the welcoming gates of Smiths Landing standing firm against the outside world. If the infection had been in the food like he was beginning to suspect then no one would have been safe. When the long stretches of farmland and woods became more populated with houses his pace slowed to a crawl. He darted from corner to corner, watched and waited and listened before running to the next. He would never admit it but he had learned a lot from the little kids at the Park. His months of forced labor had hardened him. His chubby cheeks and belly fat were gone. He’d learned how the undead moved and “thought”. He knew they were stupid, felt no pain and would never, ever, ever give up if they caught your scent. As much as he hated them, he was afraid to be without the snotty little brats. He was afraid to be alone. They were good fighters, they could have protected him and if he had convinced them to come, even if the Landing was over run, they could have cleaned it out.

  The sky was overcast and snow flurries danced in the wind. He was cold, hungry, afraid and full of self-pity. He hadn’t had a decent meal in days and eating stale crackers and cans of nearly frozen vegetables had his stomach cramping. He’d seen nothing but empty houses and wandering dead since he left. No smoke from fires, no human noises, no people or cars. This had been a mistake. He should have believed Cody when he said the rest of the world was dead. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to kill off the animals, at least the twins whipped up some pretty good meals. His fingers and toes were numb. He’d been standing as still as a shadow for over an hour while a group of twenty or thirty dead things shambled aimlessly down the street. They were moving a lot slower now that the cold weather had set in but when they wanted to, he knew they could still run. Easily outrun him and drag him down. He had to wait until the last dragging crawler was long gone before he dared move. His guts roiled and he was afraid he was going to mess himself before it was safe to drop his pants. He snuck into an empty house and barely made it to the bathroom in time. He sat there shivering for a long time and when he was finally finished, there was no toilet paper.

  He wanted to cry. He was going to die out here all because of those damn kids who wouldn’t see reason. Days of walking and nights of no sleep had left him too exhausted to be mad. Too fatigued to care about anything anymore. Constantly on alert, always listening and looking had left his nerves frayed. He didn’t know what he would do if Smiths Landing was crawling with the undead and the closer he got, the more sure he became that it would be. Everything was dead. Only he and the kids had survived. Even if he could make it back to the Safari Park without getting killed or dying of hunger, they would never take him in. Maybe he could beg. Maybe he could promise he’d never doubt Cody again. Maybe he could be their slave and do whatever they said. Anything was better than this. Tears and snot started streaming down his face and he was ready to give up. Ready to curl up and die. He sat down on a musty couch in the living room, pulled a comforter over him and sobbed himself to sleep. Cody had won. Cody had broken him.

  35

  Smith’s Landing

  Gordon woke up with a scream as something bit into him. It was full dark and a thousand needle sharp teeth ripped at his hand. He sprang up and flung the thing off, heard it slam against the wall and felt his flesh rip away. He stumbled over another furry body that had latched on to his leg and ran for the door. In the moonlight he saw them; a grin of opossums with their beady red eyes and rat like tails chased him out of the house. They were attacking him like he was one of the undead, looking for an easy meal. He stomped at the one on his leg, heard it squeal and felt the bones crush under his boot. Gordon ran. He ran blindly and they gave chase. They smelled his blood and they were as frenzied as the zombies. He didn’t have time to think, he could hear their skittering claws on the pavement coming for him. He sprinted for blocks, unsure of where he was going, he only knew he had to get away. They were worse than the undead, they didn’t stop after a few bites. They would eat him alive one chunk at a time.

  He rounded a corner, out of breath, lost, his hand spasming in pain and unsure where to go. There was a faint glow on a hilltop off in the distance and his eyes got wide. He realized where he was and his heart soared with renewed hope. He was at the base of the knoll where the exclusive golf course community of Smith’s Landing had been built. He had made it and that was electric lights burning bright like a beacon calling for survivors. All of his uncertainty, fear and doubts fell away and he almost laughed out loud. He had made it home!

  He easily outpaced the little monsters chasing him and slowed to a jog. As he got nearer, he heard music blaring and the screams of the undead at the front gate. That wasn’t what he was expecting, the gate guard or the security patrols should have been on duty and keeping things under control. He dashed into the little strip mall just outside the decorative brick walls flanking the winding driveway that led to the gated community and took cover behind the Starbucks. The front gate was choked with the undead, they were ten deep trying to force their way in. Hip hop music blasted from speakers and a bonfire was burning brightly in the middle of road just inside the gates. He heard the revving of dirt bikes and the whooping of people having a party. A couple on an ATV zoomed up and down the streets driving the undead into a frenzy.

  A slow smile crept across his face. His friends and neighbors were gathering all the undead, pulling in whatever ones were left in town so survivors could sneak around to the back entrance to get in. It was a great idea. He would be able to get to the rear without worrying about running into any of the undead. He swelled a little with pride. His people didn’t cower and hide. They were bold as brass.

  He tore off a piece of his shirt to wrap his bleeding hand, forgot about his hunger, his cramping stomach and his utter exhaustion. He had made it and he’d been right all along. His people were living like the kings they were and he was about to be welcomed home like a returning son. His father was the richest and most influential of all the other families in the Landing and he would take his rightful place as his successor. It would have been nice to have the kids with him. He would rub their noses in it for doubting him and with his family and friends to back him up, they could have killed the animals easily, stripped them of their weapons and made them his servants. He might have to go
back and get Harper. After he got inside and got established, he could lead an army back down to the Park. He’d show them. He’d teach them that you didn’t treat a Lowery like they had. The thought gave him pleasure as he slipped down the side streets and worked his way through the woods to the back of the compound. He picked up a tail, some moaning undead thing that was dragging a broken leg. He tried to outrun her but he was too tired. He stayed a good way ahead of her, it wasn’t hard, and all he had to do was get to the gate.

  He paralleled the tall fence running along the golf course that kept stray balls in and riff raff out. He was shivering again when he reached the back entrance as it neared midnight. The long trek had sapped him of the last of his strength. All he wanted was to get inside, get back home and go to sleep in his own bed. When he approached the gate, a couple of men were standing around a burn barrel with rifles slung on their shoulders and warming their hands over the flames. Gordon sighed heavily with relief. The military were here and everything was going to be fine. He had made it.

  “Hey.” he yelled when they didn’t see him walk up.

  Both turned and nearly dropped the bottle they’d been passing back and forth between them. Gordon frowned. They shouldn’t be drinking on guard duty, even he knew that. They should be alert to protect the people inside. To protect him.

  “What?” asked one of them.

  Gordon stood there for a moment, completely nonplussed. What did they mean what?

  “Let me in.” he said and looked over his shoulder. The old woman was still a long way off but she kept coming, slow and steady like the ticking of a clock.

  “What’s the password?” one of them said and took a swig from the bottle.

  “I don’t know, I just got here.” Gordon said. “Let me in, there’s zombies out here.”

  “No password, no entry.” The first guard said.

  “I live here.” Gordon was starting to get pissed. “My father owns the biggest house in the Landing. I’m a Lowery, open the damn gate.”

  “oooooowwwww.” The second one said. “Well ain’t you special. Take a hike punk, before I call up some more of the undead to chase you off. Unless you got something to trade, something we want, we ain’t taking in any freeloaders.”

  Gordon couldn’t believe it. He had come all this way only to find out some raiders had taken over. The zombie with the dragging leg was closing in, he could hear her scrapping along the cobblestones.

  “Wait a minute.” the first guard said. “You say your name is Lowery? You related to Richard Lowery?”

  “He’s my cousin.” Gordon said, grasping at hope. “We’re really close, best friends even. He’s here? He’ll want to see me.”

  “Yeah, he’s here.” the first guard said. “He kind of runs the place. I don’t remember him mentioning you, though. You sure you’re not just making things up? Are you sure you’re not somebody’s husband come back to get their wife or daughter or something?”

  The man wavered on his feet and passed the bottle back to his buddy as Gordon shook the bars. The woman was getting closer.

  “Do I look old enough to have a kid or even be married?” he nearly shouted. “Let me in, I’m Gordon Lowery! I live here!”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get all excited.” the man said and weaved his way over.

  He was just a kid, not more than sixteen or seventeen. He fumbled the keys and the woman started to keen, she could smell the blood dripping from Gordons hand.

  “Oh shut up.” the second guard said and shoved his rifle through the bars and pulled the trigger as fast as he could.

  He emptied the magazine as Gordon ducked for cover and the other guard covered his ears.

  “Dammit, Flame! Quit wasting ammo and let me know before you go shooting.” the first guard said, mumbled under his breath and finally found the right key.

  The woman was still coming. If any of the thirty bullets hit her, she wasn’t bothered by them. The bone of her broken leg drug on the stones, the skin and muscle long since worn away. It made a noise like fingernails on chalkboard and Gordon wanted to scream at the man to hurry up but was afraid to distract him. The instant he turned the key and loosed the lock from the chain, Gordon shoved and sprang inside. Both men fell and the magazine he’d been trying to reload bounced away in the dark. Gordon shoved the gate closed just as the gray-haired thing slammed into it and reached for them with searching fingers and gnashing teeth. He breathed a sigh of relief and the fear flooded out of him. He was safe. This was a scenario he was used to from the Park. Reaching arms, hungry faces and a spear in his hands. He grabbed the guard’s AR-15 off the ground and thrust the bayonet into her belly, slicing all the way to the breastbone. Rancid coils of guts spilled out and the men scuttled away to get out of the slop zone.

  “Gross. Why’d you do that” one of them said, gagging on the smell.

  The smell didn’t bother Gordon, he had gotten used to it from all the hours he’d spent at the gate doing this very thing. The woman started to shriek at him so he thrust the blade into her voice box and twisted. The snapping sounds of cartilage was louder than the splashing of fresh, black blood and she was quiet. He was almost enjoying himself, paying her back for all the fear her kind had caused him over the last few days. He jabbed out her eyes and they ran down her withered, old cheeks.

  “You’re sick, man. Why don’t you just kill it?”

  “If you knew how to shoot, she’d be dead a hundred yards from here.” Gordon replied and tossed him the gun. He was feeling more like his old self than he had in months. He was home, he was safe and his family was in charge.

  “Where’s Richard?”

  “Up at headquarters.” the first guard said then added, a little unsure of himself as he held out his hand. “Uh, they call me Smoke and that’s Flame. Say, you won’t tell him about this will you? We were just goofing, you know. We wouldn’t have left you out there.”

  Gordon let the boy’s hand hang in the air, refusing to shake it. A little trick he’d seen his dad do on occasion. It set the mood and let them know who was in charge.

  “Yeah.” the second man said. “We didn’t know you were family. Honest. We don’t want trouble with him.”

  Smoke let his hand drop and they both tried to sober up. Gordon wondered why they were afraid of Richard. He was a bully; he might dump your lunch tray at school but these guys seemed genuinely afraid of him. Like maybe he would do something a little more than embarrass you in front of your classmates.

  “I’ll keep quiet.” Gordon said. “But you owe me. You understand? You owe me.”

  They both nodded and apologized again as he turned and walked off, wondering what the heck had just happened.

  Gordon considered things as he made the long trek across the over grown golf course back to his house. Those two idiots at the back gate had nearly let a zombie inside. If he would have been on guard duty, he never would have opened the gate until it was dead. Hell, they didn’t even check him for bites. He needed to have a talk with Richard. The undead were stacking up at the front gate and pretty soon, they’d be able to climb on each other and make it over the top. Mr. High and Mighty was always going on about that, said that’s why they had to keep the numbers down. Gordon hadn’t minded that job, though. He liked to see how many different ways he could kill them and see how bad he could butcher them before they finally collapsed. More than once he’d pictured Cody or Donny’s face when he stabbed them with a pitchfork, twisted the tines and pulled ropes of guts out to spill on the ground.

  He stood outside the house and watched from the darkness for a long time, his hunger and fear forgotten. It was lit up bright, the music was blasting and all he saw was teenagers drinking and smoking. No adults at all and no one wore armor. They had on their hockey jerseys or wore designer clothes. It was a party, just like any other party before the fall except this one was a little wilder, a little louder and a little meaner.

  Gordon watched through the giant windows, not feeling the cold. He h
ad been alone for weeks when he was trapped in the old military surplus store. He might as well have been alone in the Park since everyone hated him. He didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes and if he wasn’t careful, Richard would be making him the butt of his jokes again. Most of the kids looked older than him, they were seniors in high school and college kids but they looked soft. He hated the thought of it but the stupid brats in the park could have whooped any of their asses. They’d been living it up and partying since the outbreak and he would bet they’d never known a moment of discomfort. They had everything he had wanted all along but now he saw. Now he realized it made them weak. He couldn’t be seen as weak, he wouldn’t become a servant to them. He was a Lowery and his rightful place was next to Richard. They would share power like their fathers had. They must never know he’d been a scared little boy, jumping at every noise and so afraid he’d pissed his pants. They could never know how he’d been run out the park, blubbering and crying and afraid.

  His uncles’ place was a mirror image of theirs, the two brothers had them built at the same time to the same specs, each one dwarfing the other million-dollar homes. They were ostentatious and larger than life, much like their owners.

  He didn’t really care much for his cousin. They played together as kids but Richard was three years older. That was a lot when they reached high school. Gordon was still playing with action figures while Richard was sleeping with every girl that would let him. And some that wouldn’t, if rumors were true.

  Their fathers were brothers, heirs to a large financial portfolio that had its beginnings back in the prohibition era. Their grandfather, Gordons great grand dad, had learned quickly that paying the right men the right bribe would make sure his loads of booze coming out of Canada didn’t get intercepted. He was one of Al Capones suppliers and the money pile kept growing and growing. By the time President Roosevelt ended prohibition in 1933, Ezra Lowery had already moved his money over into real estate. He snapped up properties cheap during the great depression and after the War, the Lowery Family became one of the richest in Southern Minnesota.