Loose Ends: A Zombie Novel (30 page)

Short Order said, “I didn’t have a plan. I got to the truck and had to hide under it while a couple goons leaned against it until the screaming started. I’ve been looking for you all … a while.”

“Where did you guys end up, Doc?” Chef said. “I nearly … I didn’t know what to think when they told me what was happening and who … where have you been?”

Doc put his head in his hands rubbing his eyes and then pulled his hands back through his hair.

He finally mumbled. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“We were trapped in the store a couple days,” Short Order said. “We finally made a plan to get out, but Chef got jumped out front by the raiders as I was going around the-”

“Let’s talk about it later,” Doc said. “We need to focus on where we are going.”

“We just need distance,” Chef said. “They won’t follow us.”

“They will,” Short Order said.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Linda and the other women in the trailer with the zombies and the Riding Dead back at the campground.

I didn’t go back, I thought, we never save anyone, but ourselves.

We should have tried to save them too.

Chef said, “How do you know?”

“I just know,” Short Order said. “We don’t want to go too far west from here. Things get bad out there in a few more miles.”

“West is the only way to go unless you want to drive back by the campground,” Doc said.

“We need to change direction before too far,” Short said.

The truck sputtered and started losing power. I stopped thinking about Linda.

“That was a quarter tank?” Doc asked.

Chef said, “We just dropped to empty in a second. Something is wrong besides gas.”

We coasted to a stop in the center of the street.

Doc said, “Looks like we won’t be going too far west.”

Chapter 9: The Week We Went Fishing

They stood in the road for almost a full minute arguing over what to do with the truck. It felt like eternity. Chef wanted to just take to the woods. Shaw wanted to hide it because they were going to know we hadn’t gotten far. Chef said they were going to find it anyway and they would probably find us while we were wasting time trying to hide it. Doc finally came away from the engine saying a pump had busted, but he had no clue how to fix it and we couldn’t refuel even if he did. Doc joined Shaw’s side finally and we pushed the truck off the road into the trees. The tarps were gone along with most everything else, so we pulled down tree branches to make a screen that probably wouldn’t fool a zombie.

We heard engines.

We took what little was left in terms of weapons and supplies. It was mostly what Vike had taken off of Doc and what Shaw had been carrying on him when he came to rescue us. We started trudging blindly through the woods.  After a few hours, we stopped to take turns sleeping and standing watch. No one slept and we couldn’t see anything until morning came.

We continued on through the woods.

The land off the highway and beyond the campgrounds was being largely reclaimed by the forest. Unused farmland had gone from fallow fields to sparsely treed savannahs to immature forests. The wooded sections between farms and roadside attractions were merging into one another again. We didn’t realize we were walking into fences until we tore away the vines in front of us and saw the boards or we ducked under branches into a section of rusted chain link.

Buildings along the roads were made from cheap particle board or patched siding. They had been stripped away quickly by the elements and they were nearly erased now. The back roads were hidden by grasses, invasive trees, and creeping roots or vines. Sometimes we wouldn’t realize we were crossing one unless we caught a glimpse of broken pavement between carpets of leaves and ground cover. Even if we still had our maps, we wouldn’t have been able to locate ourselves on the Earth.

We saw three zombies in as many days and managed to avoid them.

We were short handed on equipment and hunting didn’t go well. Traps we were able to set did not snag the rabbits, birds, or squirrels we desired. We couldn’t stop catching rats. They had overrun the forests. They had driven out most of the other animals. Having to sleep outside involved sweeping them off several times during the night. Chef tried to make the most of it with the Rat-Tat-Touille challenge, but we were eating rats, sleeping with rats, and stepping on rats.

On the fourth day, Doc declared his own fishing challenge and we spent the time trying to fashion poles and tackle from strings, braches, and trash.

“This isn’t going to work,” Chef said.

Doc ignored him as he fixed the bits of rat to the bent wire.

Chef explained, “You have to have something with barbs. We’re more likely to catch a fish diving in or using a spear.”

Doc dropped his hook into the water of the pond. I thought about the boy I had dropped into the water with his brain still intact. He had swum down and retrieved his ball.

I stepped back from the water.

Doc said, “Go make a spear.”

“I’m always afraid there are zombies down there,” Short Order said. “Every time I eat a fish I think about them picking at zombies under the surface.”

“Fish don’t eat zombies,” Doc said.

“How do you know that?” Chef asked.

Doc said, “Why don’t you pay attention, Chef? Have you ever seen anything eat a zombie? Vultures, rats, flies, or worms … nothing eats them. They eat us. Man, it is a wonder you stayed alive this long.”

“Because I don’t pay attention to what fish eat?” Chef asked.

“Because you don’t pay attention to anything,” Doc said. “Outside the kitchen you’ve got no focus and no plan. That’s why our great escape plan is just wandering around the woods and eating rats.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve snapping at me, John,” Chef said walking away from the pond.

Doc pulled his string out of the water and stood up from the shore.

He called after Chef, “How’s that, Chef David?”

Chef turned back around at the top of the bank.

He said, “I never came up with a plan that involved trying to get you killed so I could live.”

“That’s not what happened when you took us into the Super Max?” Doc asked.

“You fired your gun, Doc,” Chef shouted. “That’s why we got swarmed. Another example of how you tried to get us killed.”

“Say what you mean, Boss,” Doc said.

Chef said, “I did. Your plans involve saving Doc and that’s where they stop.”

“Say what you mean,” Doc repeated.

Chef stared at him a moment.

He answered, “You came into that raider camp looking to get me killed, so you could live.”

Doc said, “I had Mutt with me and I had to buy us time. They were grilling us for information and then they were going to kill us. I had to come up with something to give us a chance and I did. I didn’t know it was you they had.”

Chef answered, “They had somebody. You were just going to sacrifice whoever it was.”

“So?” Doc said. “You think we lasted this long because we politely let other people survive. We survived because we played our parts and either hid or ran away when we got the chance. Who the hell are you to lecture me on surviving at the expense of others?”

“Once you saw it was me,” Chef said, “Your plan became to ass kiss the crowd to make up for the fact that you knew I would cook better. You had no plan, but to survive. I was just another obstacle.”

“I was trying to buy time,” Doc said.

“Like hell,” Chef said.

He started to walk away again. Doc walked up the bank and grabbed hold of a tree to catch his balance. He shouted at Chef again to stop him.

“You got no room, boy,” Doc yelled. “If you’re so interested in the group, why did you keep the damn keys in your pocket?”

Chef turned back and walked up to the edge of the slope looking down at Doc.

He answered, “John, what the hell does that have to do with anything?  I was driving.”

“You should have left them in the ignition,” Doc snapped. “Mutt and I were almost killed because of that … more than once. Anything could have happened to you at any time, but you were fine as long as you could drive away when you needed.”

I looked over at Short Order. He was sitting on a rock by the water tossing in bits of bark and moss. Someone needed to stop them, but he had his back turned to them.

“That’s ridiculous,” Chef said. “I kept the keys with me so the truck didn’t get stolen.”

“Oh, that plan worked out superbly,” Doc said. “Mutt and I ended up jumping right into the back with the gang because they stole the truck. If the keys had been inside, we wouldn’t have had to run for our lives down the train tracks. I can’t even count how many times we almost died for that one thing. If we had the keys, we could have led the zombies away and come back for you two the same day. We would have been gone before the Riding Dead knew we were there.”

“How dare you?” Chef snapped.

“How dare I?” Doc laughed. “If you want to hold the keys, champ, you better have the balls to get to the truck when the pressure is on.”

Chef said, “You better know your limits, Doc, because your bullshit bravado puts other people in real danger.”

“We’re all in real danger,” Doc said. “If you’re not up to surviving, you better lay down now before we get used to you being around.”

“You pompous ass,” Chef said, “You would have lost your stupid ‘Burger to the Death’ game and Mutt would be dead too. Why’d you put me in that spot, John?”

“You don’t want to have this conversation with me, David Sharp,” Doc said. “There’s nothing worse than a liar in the kitchen.”

Chef said, “No, Doc, I do not want to have this conversation and I’ve tried to walk away from you twice, but you never shut your mouth for all the …”

There was a long pause.  Chef was looking across the pond.

Doc asked, “All the what?”

Chef said, “We have a visitor.”

I pulled out my hunting knife and looked around me. Doc pulled out the .45 and looked for his aluminum pole he had left near the water. Short Order just sat on the rock and stared across the pond.

I saw the boy standing on the opposing shore looking across at us. He had a real fishing pole and tackle box in one hand. He was black and had long, straight hair. He was wearing a flannel shirt and overalls that were too big for him. I pictured a dead boy attacking us with a baseball, but this one was alive. He was a little younger than me.

“Hello,” Doc said leaning back against the tree again with his .45 in one hand and the aluminum pole in the other.

The boy said, “Identify your people.”

We just stood and stared.

Chef answered, “We don’t have people; we’re just passing through. Who are your people?”

“Turn around and go back,” he said. “You don’t want trouble from us.”

Doc looked up at Chef and then back to the boy.

Doc said, “We can’t do that. People are chasing us, bad people, and we have to get away.”

“That isn’t my problem,” he said. “Look for your trouble somewhere else, if you know what’s good for you.”

“We’re looking for help not trouble,” Doc said. “You got someone in charge that we can talk to about our situation?”

“No,” he said, “Turn around and go pester the fish in some other hole far away.”

“We’re not going,” Doc said. “What’s your name, son?”

“My name is Shy Porter,” the boy yelled, “and I’m not your son!”

He lifted a plastic tube on a handle that looked like a flare gun. When he pulled the release, an arrow sailed across the pond at Doc’s face. He ducked away, but not fast enough.

The boy ran up the hill with his fishing gear and his harpoon gun. Doc slowly lifted up the .45 from where he was pinned to the tree and aimed at the boy’s back as he topped the bank across from us. Chef reached Doc and grabbed his arm. He closed his hand over the hammer of the .45 to keep Doc from firing.

“Are you kidding me?” Doc snapped.

The boy disappeared over the hill and his clattering box receded into the forest. Chef pulled the gun out of Doc’s hand.

He said to Doc, “Are you kidding me, Doc?  You planning to shoot that kid?”

Doc pulled against the bolt holding him to the tree.

He said, “He shot me first.”

Short Order got over to Doc and grabbed the arrow that had caught Doc’s hair as he tried to duck away. He wretched it from side to side until it pulled loose from the scar in the trunk. Bits of Doc’s hair floated down into the packed leaves on the bank.

Doc said, “We need to go after him.”

“No,” Chef said, “I don’t think we do. We really need to put some distance between us and whoever he’s going back to tell on us to.”

“We didn’t do anything to him,” Doc protested.

“We tried to fish in his water hole, I guess,” Short Order said.

“And he’s been taught to shoot first and ask questions later,” Chef said.

“No,” Doc said, “He asked a question, but we didn’t have the right answer. By the way, did anyone else hear him say his name was Shaw Porter? Do you have some explaining to do about that, Shaw Porter Sr.?”

Shaw said, “No, I got nothing to explain that.”

“He said, Shy,” Chef said. “He said his name was Shy Porter.”

“What the hell is the business with Shy?” Doc said, “That is coming up a lot. What does it mean?”

“It means we need to go before Shy comes back with his people to defend his fish,” Chef said.

Doc reached out and closed his hand back over the .45 Chef had taken from him. Chef looked down at the gun and back up at Doc. He let go of it.

Chef started gathering up and moving away from the pond at a different angle from the boy’s retreat. He didn’t wait for agreement and we followed him.

“You’re the pompous ass,” Doc said to Chef’s back as he shoved the .45 back into his waistband.

We pushed through the trees roughly southwest. We passed a rusted out tractor, a park bench, and a complete set of dining room furniture. Doc acted like he was going to pull a chair out to have a seat, but it broke apart and collapsed.

We spotted a cinderblock structure and a partially collapsed rain cover. Once we were closer, we realized it had been a gas station. There were slots for the pumps, but they were nowhere around. The road and most of the parking lot were obscured by kudzu vines. I kept watching for the leaves to start whipping back and forth to announce the arrival of the dead.