Deadlocked (4 page)

I thought about my youngest daughter, Annie. I thought about her curly red hair. I thought about the way Laura’s mother fawned over her and laughed at how our daughter had inherited her fuzzy head of hair. I thought about the time Annie got a plastic racecar stuck in that fuzzy hair and ran around the house like her head was on fire. I thought about the time she managed to unlock the front door and wandered into the neighborhood. I thought about the moment I found her in our neighbor’s backyard, playing on their swing set as if everything was perfectly fine. I thought about how I picked her up and squeezed her in my arms as I cried and cried and cried.

Memories of Annie gave me the strength to carry on.

I continued my journey and fought against the waves that seemed determined to force me under. Every foot I swam felt like ten and the water pulled at me as if trying to carry me under. The glimpses of shore were interrupted by the rolling beat of the waves that washed over my face and stung my eyes.

My stomach clenched, then convulsed. My abdomen quaked in pain. There was no way I could keep swimming. The seizures in my belly didn’t stop and I vomited up bile and blood. I let myself fall below the waves to get away from the puke. I considered giving up and letting myself sink to the bottom.

I thought about Laura. Before, when I imagined my girls, I recalled several moments I shared with them. But with Laura, I thought of just one. I thought about the look on her face the moment she said, “I do.”

I was a nervous wreck at our wedding. I’ve never been a very competent public speaker and standing in front of people was always uncomfortable for me. I was all but useless on our wedding day. My hands shook, my legs trembled, and it seemed like a monumental task to repeat the words the judge spoke.

I thought about the moment I slipped Laura’s wedding band onto her finger. I thought about looking into her eyes. I thought about the smile, tender and sweet, that she gave me in that moment. She was calm, content, and perfect in every way a woman could ever possibly be.

Memories of Laura gave me the strength to keep swimming. Her beautiful smile could carry me home.

I reached the shore of Hailey Bay after having used every last ounce of willpower in me. I clawed at the rocky shore and dragged myself away from the waves, past the broken pieces of debris that had washed up before me. I collapsed beside a pile of rotted seaweed with my face pressed into the decaying pillow. I closed my eyes for what I thought was a second.

“This one,” said a man's voice above me.

I felt a boot kick my cheek and I opened my eyes. A man wearing black rubber boots stood above and pointed at me. He motioned for someone nearby to come to him. I saw another man, much younger and also wearing black boots and a yellow poncho, walk over to us. He raised a wooden oar high into the air and then brought it down fast, the edge of the fat end aimed at my face.

“No!” I said and raised my arm in time to block the oar. The force of the strike crashed into my left forearm. I bellowed in agony.

“Oh shit,” said the man with the oar. “He’s not dead.”

“Can they talk?” asked the one that found me.

“I don’t think so."

I moaned in pain and rolled around on the rocks.

“Oh shit, buddy, sorry. I thought you were dead,” said the bearded man that had kicked me in the face moments ze=earlier. He helped me to my feet and then let go, whereupon I swiftly fell back down. My swim through Hailey Bay had sapped me and standing wasn’t an option.

The two fishermen raised me up and the bearded one wrapped my arm around his shoulder to help me walk along the shore. To be honest, he carried me as my legs shifted uselessly beneath. We made it to a wooden dock where he set me down.

“You okay?” asked the younger man.

“No I’m not okay.” I spoke through clenched teeth.

“Hey man, I’m sorry, but I thought you were dead.”

“If you thought I was dead, why the hell were you going to bash my head in?”

“How else was I supposed to kill you?” asked my assailant.

I looked up at them as if they had started speaking in tongues. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Don’t you know what’s happening?” asked the older one.

“I was in the city. I saw what's happening. Still doesn’t explain why you were trying to bash the brains out of someone you thought was dead.”

“Then you don’t know what’s happening,” said the kid.

“What do you mean?”

“Zombie apocalypse." The young man set his oar on his shoulder and smiled down at me.

“I know it sounds insane,” said the older one. “But Billy’s right. I wouldn’t have believed it either, but I saw it with my own eyes. Bodies came washing up on shore, then stood right up and started trying to eat people. Worse damned thing I’ve ever seen in all my life. Pure fucking insanity.”

“I need to get home,” I said. Looking back on it, I don’t think anything the fishermen told me sank in. My brain was suffering a mix of physical trauma and utter confusion.

“Where do you live?” asked the grizzled old man.

“Courtshire. On the other side of Bayshore.” I pointed in a direction away from the bay, but I have no idea if I pointed the right way.

“How about you let us get you a pair of pants before you head out?”

That's when I realized I was half naked. I got up, brushed the sand off my ass, and stared down at my sopping wet, naked lower half. I was almost embarrassed, but I stopped caring just as quickly. What did it matter who saw my dick? The world was ending.

“Come on,” said the older man as he pulled me back into his supporting arms. “We live right over there. Come on, Billy,” he said to the younger fisherman. “Let’s get this guy a pair of pants and some coffee.”

I wasn’t in a place to argue. My legs still didn’t work and I suspected shambling through the streets half naked with my head bleeding profusely would raise my chances of getting mistaken for a zombie by a few thousand percent.

The fishermen were father and son. The dad’s name was William and his son was William Junior, but everyone just called him Billy. They told me they were shrimpers and had been out in the bay when the news of the attacks hit. I asked if they'd seen the school bus of kids eating each other but they said they'd been watching a different channel and saw a story about a hospital in New York.

They said it started in the ER. People that had come down with the mystery virus started to die, then come back to life. The reporter at the scene was attacked on camera and they saw him being eaten alive before the camera feed died.

“End of the world,” said William. He handed me a hot cup of coffee that I was glad to accept. My left arm was in a sling and they'd helped me bandage my head up. I wasn't sure if my arm was broken, but it sure hurt a hell of a lot.

“Why aren’t you guys hiding?” I asked.

“We don’t need to hide,” said Billy. “We’ve got a fence round us. Ten foot high. Leads all the way to the road and back to the shore. As long as we don’t let those water zombies wash up, we’re safe as can be.”

“I've been building a salvage yard here,” said William. “We’ve been working on it for about a year. Got the walls patched up and already getting some contracts, but we keep the shrimper going to pay the bills for the time being. Course, junior here’s going to be a professional baseballer in a few years, so we’ll probably just sell off the yard when that happens. Ain’t that right, slugger?”

“Yup.”

“Is that why you’re so good swinging that oar?” I asked. I raised my swollen left arm as evidence of his prowess.

“He’s an all star hitter, pal,” said William. “We just got the news that he got a scholarship. He’s going to be the next Barry Bonds. He’s been knocking the heads off zombies all afternoon. Boy’s got talent.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that dream’s shot to shit.” I sipped my coffee and didn’t think twice about what I said. However, when I looked back at Billy and William it seemed like my comment was the first jarring moment in which they understood how different their lives had become.

“I guess you’re right,” said William with an uncomfortable laugh. He sat down in a chair beside me and poured himself the last of the coffee. “I guess I can kiss my season passes goodbye.”

“Fuck that,” said Billy in defiance of our melancholy. “This is America, man. We’ll get through this shit. Give us a few months and everything will be back to normal. I promise you that.”

“I hope you’re right, bud,” I said. “I really do.”

William chuggt>
ain’t
no more zombies washing up on our shore. Think you can walk?”

“I guess so.” I stood up with a generous amount of support from their kitchen table.

“You can take Billy’s truck if you want,” said William. I glanced up at Billy to see if he had a problem with it, but he just nodded.

“Fuck it, take it. We’ve got Dad’s truck if we need it.” He dug into his pocket and tossed me his keys.

“Wow, thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just get home to your girls. Make sure they’re safe,” said William.

An idea hit
me
as I got ready to leave. “You guys still have the boat, right?”

William nodded. “The Casper. It’s out by the dock. Why?”

“If I can get my family back here, would you be willing to head out into the bay with us? We could bring some food and water and supplies, and we could just head out there and wait for this shit to calm down.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said William. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

“You sure you want to just go out in the water and sit around?” asked Billy. “Seems like we’re just as safe in the yard, what with the walls and all. I'm not too keen on staying out in the middle of the Bay for days. And what if Mom comes looking for us?”

“Trust me, Billy,” I said, “if what's happening in the city starts happening here, that oar won't do you much good. When I was swimming in the bay there were zombies on the bottom. One of them tried to drag me under. It’s only a matter of time before they get here. You’d be safer in the bay. I don't think these zombies, or whatever they are, can swim, but they can obviously walk around down there.”

“He’s right,” said William. "You know how much your Mom hates the government too. There's no way she's leaving her apartment if the police and the army are showing up like the TV said." He glanced at his watch and then at me. “How much time do you think you’d need?”

“Half hour at most.”

“What if there’s a lot of traffic?”

“I can take the side streets to get from here to my house. I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

William took Billy’s keys out of my hand and gave me a new set. “Here, take my truck. It’s a four-wheeler and a hell of a lot tougher than Billy’s pussy wagon. You get home and get your family, get some supplies, and get back here. If you can get back by, say, 2:00, then we’ll take you out into the bay. That gives you almost 45 minutes. Should be plenty of time.”

“What happens at 2:00?” asked Billy.

“We set sail,” said William. “We’ll head out to the bay. If you can’t make it back by two, just get in the yard and wait a day. We’ll swing back by tomorrow at noon to look for you.”

I swigged the last of my coffee and shook both their hands. “I owe you my life. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just get your girls back here safe,” said William.

"And try not to get yourself eaten," said Billy.

CHAPTER FIVE – NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH

William’s truck was a lot nicer than I expected a fisherman would own. It looked brand new and the upholstery inside was impeccably clean. It did stink of fish, but I guess that comes with the territory.

I drove up to the gate and William unlatched it. He slid the rusty old door to the side just enough to fit his head through to make sure it was safe. He nodded to me and then opened the gate all the way. He motioned for me to roll down my window so we could talk.

“When you get back, just lay on the horn a few times. I’ll come let you in.”

“All right, William. Thanks again.” And with that, I was off.

The traffic was building up all throughout town, but I'd lived here for twenty years and knew these streets better than most. I never expected my time as a pizza
delivery
boy to come in handy, but as I navigated the alleys and avenues of Bayshore I was thankful for that summer spent stinking of pepperoni and sausage.

I passed a few grocery stores and saw people ransacking the aisles, looking to gather supplies. The parking lots were packed and it was clear anyone dumb enough to pull a car in there wasn’t getting out again any time soon.

I tried to think of what supplies I should bring to the boat. We didn’t have enough at home to feed all of us for an extended period of time. We would have to think of someplace other than a grocery store to get the things we needed, but that was a problem I could deal with later. First, I needed to get home.

The streets of our subdivision were all but abandoned. I saw a few neighbors packing things into their cars, but there wasn’t the sense of urgency I was afraid I would find. It was a relief that the panic hadn’t stricken the suburbs the way it had the city. It would make our escape easier.