Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale (2 page)

Finally, Cara also had a superior attitude that manifested in smart comments and snide remarks. Strike three.

Despite protest from their daughter, Cara’s parents (Jean and David Creed) decided the big city was too dangerous for their blossoming little girl. After the school guidance counselor described the condescending and rude behavior of the young lady toward students and faculty, Mr. and Mrs. Creed decided that moving to a small quiet town full of warm Southern hospitality could possibly save their daughter, or at least make her bearable. This decision coincided with David Creed’s change of career paths. They bought a house in Alabama and David planned to set up an accounting office

***

The maroon Caprice Classic hugged the yellow line as it rounded the curve. Cara sat in the back seat, arms crossed in front of her chest. Her face was expressionless but inside her blood boiled. Her parents were thinking for her again, despite the fact that she was more intelligent than either of them. She was intently listening to the radio instead of her mother’s droning voice, when her father’s sharp military tone cut through the music.

“I really think you’ll enjoy this town. I met a man in college who was from this area; he raved about the hospitality.” His face was almost as expressionless as Cara’s. He exhibited a stern and completely unlovable personality. Never in the past six years had Cara seen him make an affectionate gesture toward her mother. They were both cold and heartless toward each other, always suffering in each other’s company. Their daughter called their marriage “undead” because all the life had left it but it still went on. Worse, it drained the life from whoever else was around. The marriage was a blood-sucking monster, sinking its teeth into the only child they owned.

“Owned” was the right word, since the pair of egotistical businesspersons treated her like an award or a diploma. They bragged about her high achievements when a friend or co-worker spoke with them, but alone in the house she was safely tucked away in her room like a trophy put on a dusty shelf.

Cara was withdrawn for her own reasons - not because of her parents’ behavior. In her mind, humans were just highly evolved apes (self-serving, primitive, and stupid). Therefore contact with them was restricted to necessity only.

The young girl, in her own mind a woman, did not consider herself judgmental, just realistic. She had high self-esteem, which is odd in a misanthropic, anti-social teen. Normally, cynicism surfaced as a coping mechanism for an insecure personality. Cara, on the other hand, displayed confidence and vehemence in her opinions. Peers and authority figures alike saw Cara’s high self-esteem and low opinion of everyone else as a problem attitude.

Jean and David sat in silence, unsure of how to connect with their daughter. Failing to communicate with the girl that they had created was the only thing the couple shared anymore. Finally, Cara’s mother spoke up. “So, when we arrive, what could we do together?”

Cara’s monotone voice came in right after her question. “Is that a pitiful attempt to find out what I’m into, or another fruitless try at quality time?”

“Now Cara, that’s not fair to me and your father. We . . .”. Her mother’s voice was cut off by another impudent comment.

“That is what you and David are attempting, right?”

Her father exploded into rage as he switched off the radio. “I’m your father, damn it! So call me ‘Dad’!”

“I’ll try to remember that, David.” She mockingly canted.

“Smart-ass girl.” Her father’s eyes locked onto the road, ignoring his family. He failed to realize that he was muttering curses against them. After David exhausted his stockpile of expletives(which was considerable, as a result of his education in vulgarities from years in the armed service), the car filled with uncomfortable silence. The only sounds were the tires on the road and the manufactured breeze of the air conditioner.

The family suffered from dysfunction in the fact that it had no emotional togetherness - only alienation and self-righteousness. No one ever admitted to being at fault and arguments raged on for days.

Cara smiled with satisfaction at the state of her nuclear family. She loathed any sign of togetherness because of her parents’ contradictions. David and Jean only attempted quality time when they were bored, when it was convenient, or when they had no office work to bring home. Her parents encouraged extracurricular activities but Cara stubbornly refused. She could still hear her Mom’s voice. “Honey, there are other important things besides grades. We know that’s your strong point, but you should try out for clubs and sports.” Cara was only following the example set by her mother and father. The only difference was that the parents’ priorities involved material possessions and social status.

The town slowly revealed itself through trees buttressing the road. The mother and father breathed twin sighs of relief. David knew it was wrong to think such things, but he hoped Cara would lock herself in her room like in New York. “She can be so damn irritating” he muttered so only his wife could hear.

Erratically spaced houses and trailers blurred past the windows. The homes became closer together and the first shops appeared. The road also changed from the smooth pavement to dark patches on top of the lighter base where the city government cheaply tried to correct the poor road conditions. At one gas station, Cara caught sight of a hound dog settling down on a tattered old rug outside the front door. “My God, I’ve entered Hicksville.” The Caprice eventually entered the town’s epicenter, which featured the courthouse. The domed structure was surrounded by several statues on the sod that comprised the lawn.

Cara’s mother feigned enthusiasm. “Ooooh, look at that statue. Isn’t that amazing?”

Cara looked the limestone sculpture up and down. “Yeah, he’s not wearing a white robe and hood.”

David let his hold on his anger slip. “Do you have to be so pessimistic? Would it hurt you to believe that people might have some good points?”

“Yes David, it would.” She shot back.

“Call me ‘Dad’, damn it! I’m your Dad!” Her father shouted, trying to keep his eyes on the road and direct his yells at his daughter. A scarlet hue crept up his face and the vein running through his temple made an appearance.

“Okay Dad.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “So, you’ll make a lot of money here as an accountant right?”

David seemed to calm down after the girl had changed subjects. “Why do you say that?”

Cara smiled, “I figure an accountant would get a lot of business considering the adults around here never made it to multiplication and division.” Her father breathed an audible sigh.

***

It was a Friday. Bryant stepped out of the pharmacy on Main Street. He watched a maroon Caprice creep by and everyone inside the car turned toward the courthouse. As it continued down the street, he saw the New York state tag. “New people.” He laughed to himself. “They don’t know what boredom they’re in for.” He began to stroll northward away from downtown.

The fall wind whipped Bryant’s shaggy blonde hair in front of his eyes. He slipped the orange-brown plastic bottle with the childproof cap into his jacket pocket and brushed the hair back with his hand. The breeze brought the crisp autumn smell that he loved so much. He tried to describe it but the adjectives eluded him. All he knew was that it made his lungs feel full of freshness, his body more sensitive and alert.

His blue eyes caught sight of a black pickup slowing as it pulled up beside him. The tinted window eased down with the smoothness that only comes with electric controls. A tanned face appeared followed by a deep, resonating voice.

“Bryant, you need a ride?”

The young pedestrian smiled. “Sure, but it’s a long drive. I’m heading home.”

“Hop in. I’ve got gas.” The driver watched Bryant run to the passenger door. His name was Rick and he was on the offensive line on the Fayette County High School football team. Bryant Allens was not a close friend (even though he typically shared a lunch table) but cool enough to deserve a ride.

“Thanks man. The wind is picking up some.” The statement made the driver look out the window. In two hours, the sky had filled with menacing clouds that hid the recently shining sun.

“It’s going to rain.” Rick spoke to himself.

Bryant assumed it was the beginning of a conversation. “That’s not going to affect the almighty Fayette Tigers, is it?”

The athlete chuckled. “Nope, we’re still going to kick the shit out of Vernon.”

Bryant felt the conversation dry up. Then he found a new opening for dialogue. “Who are the new people in town?”

Rick began immediately. “They’re from New York City. They have a daughter; don’t know her name. Probably Yankee pricks. They have money too.”

Bryant’s mind screamed “Can’t you meet them before you judge them?” But nothing came out of his mouth. He felt loathing for the more popular boy beside him but also shame for wanting to speak contrary to him. Rick stopped to give Bryant a ride and, at school, let him sit at the popular kids lunch table.

Rick correctly interpreted Bryant’s silence as disapproval. “Hey, they’re all the same. Remember the Brauers? They were just like that. Had money and thought they were hot shit. Besides, Donnie Jacobs’ dad sold them a house heading out near the city limits. He said the dad was an asshole and the mom was a bitch.”

Bryant looked out the window knowing he would never have a true friend in Rick. He could only think of one person who had been a true friend and that person was dead. These thoughts brought an uncomfortable silence into the cab.

Finally, the driver spoke. “You didn’t comment on the truck, man. It was a present for making first string.”

Bryant gave a weak smile. “It’s cool.” After a sharp curve, the dilapidated trailer came into view. “This is it. I can walk from here. Thanks for the ride.”

Rick pressed the brake rather hard and both boys were thrown forward. Bryant pulled the latch and exited the vehicle. The teenager inside the truck gave him a “see ya” and sped off. The tires kicked up dust on the gravel road. Bryant pulled the collar of his suede jacket up around his neck and lower face. He walked across thirty yards of grass before he reached his trailer. He opened the door to his single wide, brown and rust mobile home and stepped inside.

The interior of Bryant’s abode felt welcoming in comparison to the chill wind outside, despite the trailer’s thin walls. He closed the door, flipping the lock as he did so. The click reassured him that he would be safe. His few friends wondered about his almost obsessive-compulsive behavior, every door locked and every window latched. The young man walked through the living room and kitchen into the master bedroom. Master bedroom was a laugh. Between the full sized bed and a dresser, Bryant could barely walk across it. The second bedroom was the size of a walk-in closet, and a small one at that. It was just an empty space on the other side of the trailer.

In the “master” bedroom, Bryant checked the six shot revolver he kept on the nightstand. Yes, it was still loaded. He gingerly set it down and walked to the living room, where he checked the mahogany gun cabinet. He stared through the glass for a moment before pulling the door open. After his father’s death, guns seemed to be the only reminders of a parent gone. The old man had believed in home protection. In life, his father avidly collected guns, in addition to a motorcycle that was many years gone. Bryant took a few weapons with him when he moved out. He left his original home with two rifles, a shotgun, and two pistols. Thoughtfully, he left the rest for his mother. Chances were that she had pawned them to help keep her kitchen stocked with alcohol purchased across the county line.

Bryant left the gun cabinet unlocked, which worried his visitors even more than the isolation he preferred. A friend named Ralph, who later died in a car wreck, had (once) asked Bryant about his refusal to lock the cabinet when he went to great pains to lock everything else. His response was “You never know when you may need one.”

Bryant shoved the memories of his best friend away. It was too much, his father, his friend. Thinking about them only brought pain. Immersing himself in other activities was the only way to stop from reminding himself. Bryant went to school and worked the maximum amount of hours OSHA allowed high school students (even though he had reached his eighteenth year). Any free time he had went to studying. Needless to say, Bryant’s lack of a social life brought criticism from his classmates.

Bryant lifted his work shirt out of the clothes hamper and decided to start walking to his mother’s house. Mrs. Allens - widow Allens actually - lived only a mile from her son. Mr. Allen’s death had brought a gulf between them that neither knew how to bridge. The only contact the mother and son had now were the times he borrowed the truck to drive to McDonald’s and when he dropped off her prescriptions (like the one in his pocket). He had worked at McDonald’s for two years. The money saved in that time helped him afford the rent on the trailer. The owner of the land took care of the water bill, which also helped. Minimum wage could accomplish wonders when the the employee was properly motivated.

***

Cara Creed, with Jean and David, stopped at McDonald’s instead of trying to have a home cooked meal and unpacking. In Fayette, the McDonald’s and the Burger King restaurants sat in the middle of town on opposite side of the Highway, facing each other. This led to all kinds of competitive efforts on both sides to steal business from the other one. Their flapping banners proclaimed specials that always mimicked the new promotions of the other fast food chain.

Cara stood in line for a cash register. Her parents stayed back to give the illusion that the teen was separate from them, more for her sake than theirs. The young girl ordered a number three without cheese and an unsweet tea. The sandy blond boy taking her order seemed to stare at her the entire time she spoke. Cara finally asked, “Do you have a problem?”

“Are you the girl from New York?”

“Well, I’m not related to you, so I’m probably not from Alabama.” Cara coolly remarked.