Revelations - 02 (19 page)

Mackenzie turned and bolted for the house. She only briefly considered the idea that, before all this, she’d never let any man tell her what to do except her dad. She found her mom in the kitchen, canning tomatoes and mixing brine for her special homemade pickles. They’d been putting away food nonstop for a few weeks. Three of the five bedrooms had been converted to pantries and the basement was already packed full of boxes, every inch of floor and shelf space taken.

“Got a couple down at the fence,” Mackenzie said, realizing that her heart was racing just a bit. “Juan wants us to take the bikes, I think he wants to go check the area around the bridge.”

“I…” Margaret sighed, “I can’t just leave all this now. Can’t you two take care of it?”

“Probably,” Mackenzie nodded, “but you know the rule. We don’t leave anybody alone. That’s—”

“—how people die,” Margaret sing-songed. “Fine, tell the emperor that I will do as he bids, just give me five minutes to shut things off.”

Ten minutes later, the trio were biking down the road to the ruins of the bridge. Rounding an easy bow in the road, they saw another
deader
stumbling along. A tell-tale trail of water lay in its wake.

“Don’t tell me they can swim,” Margaret whimpered as she pulled up beside Juan who had come to a stop.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Juan said. He set the kickstand and walked towards the lone intruder, stopping several feet short and giving it a good once-over.

It wasn’t as nasty smelling, that was a plus. This one was missing its left arm and had been ripped open where the belly-button used to be. Bits and pieces hung from the hole along with some slimy green stuff that looked like seaweed or something. It was definitely some kind of plant. Looking at the feet, he noticed fine gray mud that caked on the skin in places to about mid-shin.

“Huh,” he huffed. Then, taking the bat, he swung, burying three of the spikes into the top of its head. He walked back to the two women and his bike. “They’re walking across.”

“Those things don’t normally go into the water.” Juan looked back at Margaret and Mackenzie, who were both staring at the ground, heads hung in resignation. “I’ve seen them come to the edge, but they don’t usually go in unless they’re pushed by others behind them.”

“But that still means we aren’t safe.” Mackenzie looked up with those big, brown eyes that made Juan feel just a little bit awkward.

“You can’t ever just think we’re safe,” Juan climbed back off the bike and went to her, “and these
deaders
are the least of our problems. We need to be on the lookout for people like I told you about.”

“Like Travis?” Margaret spat.

“Yeah,” Juan nodded, “but at the same time, we need to think about others like ourselves. We have to try and bring folks here and build our numbers. Three ain’t gonna hold out long if a serious gang rolls up on us.”

“So what do we do about those things getting across?” Mackenzie asked.

“Make a couple patrols every day.” Juan patted her shoulder and went back to his bicycle. “If we see any groups building, we thin them out. Also, it wouldn’t hurt to build a fence.”

Juan pedaled in silence for a moment, considering the question. Then, an idea came; it seemed logical and simple. Those were really the only type of ideas he came up with.

“Children,” he said simply.

“We look for children?” Mackenzie scoffed.

“No,” Juan shook his head, “we look for people
with
children.”

They pedaled on the rest of the way in silence, each of them considering the possibilities. When they reached the open area just before the bridge, it was easy to see why they’d had company. A couple hundred of those things were packed onto the far end of the ruined bridge.

“The explosion brought them,” Juan said.

“So,” Mackenzie unslung her .22 rifle, “let’s get busy.”



Backing up, but moving away from the doorway that would lead to the gymnasium, Chad fished out more shells and began feeding them into the shotgun. Holding the weapon away from his body with his right hand, he jerked his arm once, pumping a round into the chamber.

“C’mon, you bastards!” he taunted the five undead that moved towards him with slow, unsteady steps. They moaned and groaned, making noises that sounded inhuman. The closest had most of its chest cavity torn open and Chad was fairly certain he could see shriveled, pinkish-grey flaps of meat that looked like lungs hanging uselessly from strands of gristle. They didn’t inflate, or so much as twitch. He found himself puzzling over how zombies produced sound.

Shaking his head to clear it of such useless garbage, he brought the stock of the weapon to his shoulder and fired. One head vanished in a chunky mist, another seemed to break open like a melon dropped from a roof.

“And he scores a double!” Brett crowed from off to the left.

Chad smiled, pumped the shotgun again and considered his next shot. One was closing a bit faster than the others and at the last minute, he lowered the shotgun and drew a heavy-duty Philips-head screwdriver from his belt. The handle itself was about five inches long, the thick metal shaft was over a foot and had been filed to a point. The boy had been about the age of his daughter, somehow that made it a little easier to drive the point into the temple. He let go as the body fell, making a mental note to return for his weapon later. The other two remaining looked like a pair of Mexican gang bangers. He’d had a couple run-ins with those types during his time in prison. Deciding against wasting any more shells, he brought the butt of the shotgun around and slammed it into the face of the first one, its blood-caked goatee dripping with fresh wetness. That meant somebody he knew was either dead, or infected. Its head snapped back and it fell awkwardly. Stepping in, he brought the butt of the shotgun down on the side of its head. The third stroke was the one that broke open the skull. The second was just reaching out for him. It was short and pudgy with a tattoo of a rosary around its neck, the cross sitting between hairless, sagging pectorals. A nasty bite on the back of its arm was the only mark, however, it was covered in old, dried up blood as well as some fresh splatters. Both hands were crimson and slick. It opened its mouth wide in anticipation of the bite it thought it would be taking out of him.

Chad stepped back, pulled a small hatchet from his utility belt and buried it in the thing’s forehead, “Fuck you, Chico!” he spat and turned searching for the next target.

There were plenty to choose from, and he worked methodically to put them down. Sometimes one of his fellow FEMA camp members fought at his side. On other occasions, he looked into those hideous eyes and whispered an apology as he put down one of those fellow FEMA camp members. He lost track of time, all that mattered was pushing those things back.

At some point, he reached the section of the fence that had fallen. A dozen of them fought off zombies while protecting the handful trying desperately to repair the breach. At last, it was done, now all they had were those still inside to deal with.

There were yells, calls of warning, and screams of agony. A hand clutched his shoulder at one point and he spun, staring into the dead eyes of Vanessa Henson. Pushing her back, he’d used one of his precious shells. He was reloading when he heard a scream that froze him. It was Ronni!

Fighting past a small cluster, not wasting the time to put any of them down, he ran for the gymnasium. Somehow the door had been opened. It was one of those kinds that, if you opened it far enough, would lock in place. The trail of blood leading in told the story. Somebody had been injured and ran inside to safety. They’d probably thrown the door open carelessly.

He stepped inside, his eyes struggling to see in the much darker space. Another scream came from his right, this one had the distinct tone of pain. He saw a half-dozen of those things wandering amongst the cubicles, people running in every direction. Over in his cubicle he saw his daughter backing away, arms out in front of her as if to ward something off. Then, the makeshift wall toppled. Donna was on her back, one of those things was on top of her, pawing at her. His eyes were drawn to Donna’s left arm. A jagged rip down the forearm bled freely.

Bringing up the shotgun, Chad wanted to fire. He lowered it, knowing he’d hit them both. Rushing in, he arrived just as two of Donna’s fingers disappeared into the zombie’s mouth.

Another scream of pain echoed in the tumult of the chaos-filled gym. It was followed by a wail of anguish.



Thad, Keith, and JoJo each stared through his own pair of binoculars. They scanned the shore looking for signs of life. Living, breathing people. It didn’t look encouraging. However, there was an abundance of the
other
type.

“Why are we doing this again?” Thad asked, still scanning.

“Because,” Keith said, “my uncle has a place. It’s an island. I used to go out and pick berries when I was a kid during the summer.”

“You want to risk riding out another storm like that one last week?” Keith asked, bringing his binoculars down. He was tired of looking at clusters of walking dead people wander around the town of Astoria.

All of them reflected on their own personal nightmares from that storm. It had almost caused their vessel to capsize. The rain had been brutal and the wind seemed to roar endlessly. None of them thought they would live to see the next day. Each pondered the irony of what they’d survived and how it looked in regards to how they would now die.

The storm blew itself out at some point in the middle of the night. After they’d walked through to check for any serious damage—which they’d miraculously avoided—Keith had mentioned the idea of taking a trip inland to his uncle’s farm. After what they’d just survived, it seemed as good of a choice as any other. Besides, they couldn’t stay at sea forever.

The three went into action. They could make the turn to starboard and begin the journey up the river. The only concern was how far they could go. Fuel would be a real issue in the next day or two. They’d spotted a Coast Guard base, but it was thick with undead. It looked like a lot of the city of Astoria had tried to hold up there. Hopefully upriver they would have better luck. By midday, they were passing under a fairly large bridge. The Columbia River stretched out to the east. If things went well, they’d be at Keith’s uncle’s place
before
they ran out of fuel. They were using a weighted piece of knotted rope for depth soundings.

8

A Geek’s Bad Luck

Cary sat against the wall enjoying the sounds of the three people sleeping just a few feet away. The moonlight shone through the window of the bedroom shading the room in soft, blue relief. Looking through the open door, he could see out a window facing towards Heath. A dull orange glow came in from that one. Heath continued to burn in places. Also, the fire had jumped one road and found new fuel in an enormous field.

He rubbed his belly, relishing the full feeling that almost threatened to split him open a few hours ago. He hadn’t eaten that much since last Thanksgiving at his aunt’s house. He’d eaten so much food that day that he actually got sick. Then the pecan pie had been brought out with homemade vanilla ice cream.

Everybody had been ready for bed before it was even dark, but he’d insisted on first watch. He had been alone for so long, he wanted to truly enjoy the feeling of being with others. He looked at Heather, Kevin, and Mike and smiled.

Heather had it bad for Kevin. And, as usual, Kevin was completely clueless about the people around him. He couldn’t see Mike’s jealousy. And there was something else in Mike’s eyes that lurked below the surface that Cary couldn’t figure out. Kevin was having a hard time accepting that he, Cary, didn’t hold any ill will towards him for what happened back at that fill-up. He was carrying some serious guilt, and not just about the fact that he’d left him at that truck stop. There’d been a lot going on since they’d split up. Now they were getting ready to go to war with a gang of thugs. Cary smiled. No matter how many times they told themselves that this wasn’t the movies, things continued to line up exactly like one.

Climbing to his feet, he tiptoed out of the room. He went from one window to the next, gazing outside. There was a warm breeze blowing in, but it was coming from the south, from the direction of Heath. He could smell all the burning. It wasn’t pleasant, like a campfire. This was rubber and fuel and bodies. Lots and lots of bodies.

The moon was full, hanging heavy in the sky. It wasn’t bright, though, more a dull yellow. Scanning the horizon of every single window, he could see
them.
Some walked alone. Others in pairs or small groups. His eyes came to rest on a lone figure moving down the center of the road. It had that slow, deliberate, jerky step. Sometimes it would stop, the entire body would turn one way or the other, usually seeking the source of a sound made by one of its brethren. It was uncanny how it just seemed to know.