After The End (9 page)

The firearm was in the cab of the F-150 until
we got back to the camp. Once we got home, it would be locked in
the case with the others we’d acquired throughout the chaos (we
only kept them as a final response for when all else fails). I
thought about the return trip, my thoughts only disturbed by the
snoring from the next room and the occasional moans from the
exterior of the structure. The day was long and uneventful, but far
from peaceful. I wondered how Daemon was resting.

The Sun had set twenty minutes prior when
three little knocks tapped on the door; the team had already
gathered in the truck beds, ready to leave. I saw it was our late
arrival and proceeded out the door. Daemon had changed into a pair
of Levis and a blood donation tee the Red Cross was handing out
last Halloween. As we strolled around the house to open the garage
door and rejoin our party, he noticed me checking out his new
attire.

“Yeah, met some icky people on the way over
and had to do a little clothing shopping. My other outfit got kind
of gore-splattered, but we won’t have many Dead in our way for at
least a block. Besides, I couldn’t resist this shirt.”

He smirked as he pointed out the logo of
fangs and the phrase: donate blood. It fit him well.

I shook my head and lifted open the metal
door. I was a little jealous he was the only one whose shirt hadn’t
stuck to his back awkwardly in the Spring air. Both vehicles roared
to life and everybody found a spot for the ride home. I pulled out
the bow and quiver of arrows and got comfy between Randolph and
Daemon; I hoped the weapon would be unnecessary as we backed onto
the glistening street.

The drive back to camp went by quickly and
Daemon had been correct, we encountered only a handful of zombies
for the first several blocks. I noticed some were hardly decayed;
they must have been successful at hiding until very recently. I
felt a miniscule pang of remorse for these people. They’d managed
to survive the first tsunami of infection, only to be absorbed into
the zombie masses weeks later.

A moment of terror and depression compressed
my chest as I saw the bleak future ahead for our community. How
long could our fresh start last? These people seemed to believe I
was able to lead them into a new life, and I prayed to a God I no
longer trusted, that they were right.

Failure wasn’t an option, not when so much
was at stake. I breathed deeply and slowly. My eyes focused on
Ellen’s tiny rabbit foot, as her father rolled it in his palm, to
keep my world from tilting me over the edge. Feeling a slight nudge
at my side, I realized Daemon was trying to get my attention.

He whispered into my ear.

“Are you okay? Your heart is pounding like a
freight train; it’s deafening.”

I caught the hint, and just gave him a little
smile and nod. He’d been discrete so that no one would be alarmed.
I pressed the fears down into the deepest compartments of my
psyche, and concentrated on scanning for approaching enemies. I
kept the shotgun along my right leg, in case the hostility came
from another human.

Pavement receded as the brush became trees
separated by gravel and soil. We’d be at the clearing soon; then
work would keep my inner thoughts locked tightly away as bags and
equipment were schlepped back to our people.

I noted that the vampire to my left hadn’t
needed a donation this evening, even though he vibrated with
energy. I wondered how long that one man’s blood would keep the
hunger at bay. If the strength held, he could probably fly two or
three loads of this treasure to the camp before us humans reached
the gate. Tonight wouldn’t be too rough a hike if Daemon brought
Cal back with him to lend a hand. Of course, the younger vamp would
need to land without damaging his cargo, or himself.

To say our return was triumphant would be a
bit much, especially considering I’d lost a guy, and there was
palpable tension of distrust between one of our vamps and a half
dozen of the humans. Nonetheless, as soon as we unpacked our prizes
the community shook off those things and rejoiced in our safe
reunion. The issues with Daemon were lessened, both by having his
mentor near and the previous dangers far.

As far as Dane’s messy end, none of us really
liked him; he was an annoying dipshit and no one was terribly sad
or shocked to hear of his passing. Our mourning for the deceased
was brief and general. I felt guilty at having lost a person, but I
never actually grieved over him; it was like the feeling one gets
when accidentally running over a stray dog.

As the added bonus of beer and whiskey was
displayed, past downers fell away like leaves on an ignored
houseplant and were replaced with the anticipation of Christmas
morning. Our settlement had worked hard to last this long. Now we’d
play hard before crawling hungover to our chores at dawn. Not being
much of a drinker, I volunteered to lock up the shotgun and store
the last of the supplies. My hands grasped a sack of canned goods
and Ramen noodles and I felt a cold palm on my shoulder. Turning
expectantly, I was surprised to find the Roman next to me.

“Oh, hey Cal. How can I help you?”

“I merely wanted to offer you some
assistance. You seem shocked to see me; were you expecting someone
else or did I happen to startle you?”

He peered at me as though trying to read my
hand at the poker table. I felt my cheeks redden as I realized his
words were closer to home than they should be. I opened my mouth,
but the vampire waved his hand and grinned.

“Never mind, I see the answer already. It’s
probably due to being in such close confines these last forty-eight
hours. May I?”

The box of cookware at my feet floated up to
his arms. I trailed behind Cal as he marched to the storage shed,
mentally reminding myself not to play cards with him in the future.
Once the packages were put away, the elder Undead blocked the
doorway. He ran a hand through his blond-gray hair before
speaking.

“Squirrel, I know there is a growing affinity
between Daemon and yourself. To become romantically involved with a
vampire, particularly with a young one, is perilous. I encourage
both of you not to pursue this as it can only end badly.”

I opened my mouth to pretend I didn’t know
what he meant, but couldn’t find any words.

“You don’t know the obstacles to such
relationships; the most basic being that he could kill you if he
relaxes his restraint. Remember the steel rod during our training
sessions?”

I was blindsided by this birds and bees
speech. I think I nodded or something because Caelinus continued
his warning, each word making me acutely more embarrassed.

“It takes years and even decades for an
immortal to maintain control with emotions. As soon as we become
enthused by a person or idea, the hunger grows with each pump of
our blood. Whether it’s due to anger, or passion, or actual
starvation, the hunger is a dam waiting to burst.

At this point, Daemon’s dam is made of twigs
and mud; it will be a long time before he can build it into
concrete and steel. Do you understand what I am attempting to say
to you?”

He stood straight and his anxiousness was
visible in the pained expression he wore. It appeared he spoke from
experience and not from an arbitrary code of vampiric living.
Shadows of his own life fluttered in his eyes and sorrow walked in
the lines of his frown.

“Yes. You’ve made your worries clear. I
wasn’t even aware how attached we were becoming until you called me
on it. I won’t do anything stupid; you know I’m a survivor. Daemon
and I are good friends and that’s all. You’re probably right, it’s
mostly just our having been so close these last couple of
nights.”

He moved to exit the room and I followed.
Walking back to the pile alongside him, I asked,

“Do me a favor and when you talk to Daemon,
leave this part out of it. I want to be able to keep the friendship
and I can’t do that if he’s uncomfortable around me.”

We lifted two more bags while the children
were being shown into their cabin for bed.

“Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

After three more trips, the supplies were all
in place and the party was raging. Although the sentries were only
allowed one beer max, everyone else was sharing the bottles of Jack
Daniels. I witnessed a riotous game of charades around the fire pit
as Cal took his protégé to check the perimeter and discuss the
prior night’s activities.

I got a sinking sensation in my navel,
knowing that it was going to be an awkward conversation. When my
turn came around, Chase had to prompt me to stand for my improvised
mime session.

The rest of the night went by quickly. I
traded guard shifts and sat on the tower with my binoculars after
failing miserably at charades.

Seriously, how do you pantomime Forrest
Gump?

They gathered around the illumination,
telling stories and jokes below while our fangy friends soared
overhead. For an instant, the world seemed simple.

Then all the thoughts that had been
compressed into a tiny box in my mind rushed out and overwhelmed
me. I tried to keep busy by scanning the edge of the woods, but got
distracted when it occurred to me that that pointing at the forest
would’ve been a useful way to win that round of charades.

Even though I was sober, a kind of mental
drunkenness overtook me as I perched on the platform. Things were
getting so complicated, despite our lives getting more secure;
vibes of foreboding rippled within me.

As suddenly as the impulse began, it turned
to mist. The woods were dark but not overtly dangerous, the camp
was in high spirits, a couple was finding use for those condoms
behind the latrine, and the children slept soundly gripping their
new toys. Life was normal and pleasant.

I shook off the panic and began humming with
the sing-a-long that was starting around the embers; it was a
medley of Disney songs. Sunny was surprisingly good at Hakuna
Matata.

My watch alarm went off at 9:00 AM to create
an impromptu serenade of groans from my dehydrated bunkmates.
Slipping out of the cabin as unobtrusively as possible, I checked
my armaments and cleaned up before breakfast.

Within an hour, the rest of my companions
trickled out to attempt downing a meal. I noticed Chase was moving
slower than usual. In stark contrast, Sunny seemed her usual perky
self, despite having been my relief for guard rotation only a few
hours prior. As the couple grabbed plates of my admittedly poor
cooking, she teased her disheveled spouse.

“What, no appetite today,
Mister-I-will-feel-fine-tomorrow? Did the big bad whiskey make you
feel sickies?”

As he stared at the lumpy mass on his plate,
Chase briefly shared the complexion of the Incredible Hulk. I
laughed along with his wife before joining the game.

“Nah, he’s hungry. He simply doesn’t like how
greasy the raccoon meat looks, sliding around his dish. Or maybe
it’s the texture of the stewed tomatoes.”

The sunburned man held up both palms. His
lips were clenched as he steeled himself against his tumultuous
stomach. Finally, he suspended our fit of giggles.

“Okay. I surrender. I was wrong, you were
right. I give up; just please stop. I need to keep something down
so I can get the new fishing gear out and check the old lines.”

He resembled a child pleading for a toy or to
stay up late. Chase had managed to perfect wounded puppy dog eyes.
Sunny beamed as she handed him some water and set a bottle of
aspirin on the table. All eyes were fixated on the tiny white
container with the childproof cap.

“This will help everyone have a better day;
it was in the medicine cabinet in our safehouse yesterday. Everyone
take two, eat, drink water, and get moving.” She turned to Chase,
“Feel better soon Honey.”

She finished her last bite and kissed his
forehead.

“See you later. Squirrel and I are going to
get some firewood and maybe get a little hunting done. Love
you.”

Chase smiled as he shoved another forkful of
stew into his mouth and waved. The bottle had already rattled its
way around the table, giving hope to the masses. We grabbed an axe,
my bow, and a gunny bag from the shed on the way to our chores.

We exited the safety of the glimmering steel
wall, and wove our way between the pits and Chevaux-de-Frise (a
structure I learned about in a book about civil war defenses; it
looks like a series of sharpened X’s with a tree trunk connecting
them in a row). I mentally noted that our patchwork of wooden
prongs needed to be repositioned and sharpened.

As I examined the condition of our protective
measures, Sunny pointed at one of them; there was a fleshie
partially impaled twenty feet to our left. It was still ambling
after us from our raid – the Dead often followed the sound of the
trucks until they found someone to eat.

It was bringing the framework closer to camp
glacially as it threw all its strength into the spike with every
step. When we moved closer to destroy the carcass, it became aware
of us and started tugging sideways and reaching its tattered
arms.

The thing had clearly been infected for some
time; the skin had receded from its fingertips, leaving talons of
bone and nail. The face was sunken and ashen, an eye swung with
each movement; it was a bulbous pendulum. A twinge of recognition
wavered in my gut, but no name came to mind.

Probably someone who I’d seen at the parks
before the world died. Don’t try to remember, just deal with
it.

My sword was drawn and Sunny adjusted her
grip on the axe as we drew beside our detained quarry. The police
uniform it wore was stained and torn; I noticed the collar still
held a little crease. Suddenly, my partner gasped and recoiled; the
color drained from her face. I gazed at her, startled by her loss
of composure.