Revenence: Dead of Winter: A Zombie Novel (19 page)

     Anthony slid down the cable until his feet touched the propane tank, his hands protected by his leather and kevlar gloves.  He took a deep breath, reaching for his sawed-off shotgun, and loaded first a deer slug, then the dragon's breath into the dual chambers.  He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky, wanting to bask in the warm sunshine for a few final moments.  From the entrance, the chain link finally began to give way, succumbing to the undead force inside the stadium.  The action caused a groaning sound, followed by a jingling that snapped him into the present. 

     "No time left to waste," he muttered, flicking the burning joint well into the stadium, where it began burning the nearby gas sprayed earlier by Anthony.  He fired the deer slug and the incendiary round into the tank upon which he stood.  A fountain of flame sprang from the hole torn by the rounds, engulfing the spot where Anthony had stood.  From afar, the explosion resembled a small, nuclear mushroom cloud.  In a fraction of a second, his body and his consciousness were lost to the massive, fiery blast.  Disembodies pieces of the stadium, undead and Anthony rode the ensuing cloud, raining down around the stadium site and neighboring buildings, in a dramatic completion of the lost settlement's final ambition.

     Shari rode Eva eastward down University Avenue.  Daphne and Hugo rode alongside her in the ATV, the sinewy muscles of Daphne's forearms flexed as she gripped the handle bars.  The Professor and Phoebe were each on bicycles, their backpacks loaded to maximum capacity as they set out into the world as the newest members of the group.  Phoebe rode alongside Shari as she and Hugo talked video games.

     "I'm not as into shooters," Hugo said.  "I've played some of them, but there just isn't enough to do."

     "Too hard for you?" Phoebe asked, her tone antagonistic.

     "No," Hugo said.  "I don't mind shooting being a part of the game, I just don't like it when that's all the game play there is to it.  With shooters, it's just kinda like they're all basically the same game."

     Phoebe scoffed.  "You don't understand good games."

     "I agree with him," Shari piped up, "and keep in mind, I've been gaming since you were a baby."

     "That's right," Phoebe said, "go on and gang up against me."  She snorted.  "I can't help it if ya'all's taste is in your--"

     "Let's just agree to disagree," the Professor interjected. 

     "Don't worry," Phoebe said.  "I know it seems like the discussion was getting a little heated, but we don't really mean anything by it.  It's just nerd stuff."

     "Oh," the Professor said.  "Thanks for explaining nerd stuff to the old man.  It's not like nerds existed back in the Dark Ages that were the 1970s."

     "I can imagine the discussions," Phoebe said.  "The never-ending debates on the complexity and social commentary of such classics as
Pong
or
Frogger
."

     "Me and Anthony talked about video games the other night," Shari uttered, just loudly enough to be heard by the group.  They walked on in silence for several minutes.

     "Was it worth it?" Phoebe finally asked.  She looked around her at her fellow travelers, her eyes imploring a response to her query.

     "Well," the Professor said after a moment of consideration, "from the account you guys gave, there's dozens of thousands fewer of them in town than there were a couple of days ago.  Worth it? Too subjective a question to answer, but I think it's safe to say he made more than a dent in the undead population of the Champaign-Urbana area."

     "Agreed," Daphne said, her tone low and her eyes locked on the road ahead.  University Avenue turned into IL-150 as they reached the outskirts of town.

     "Hey, this could be a death wish for us, too," Phoebe said with a quiet laugh.  "Us going out like this."

     "Yeah," Shari said, "maybe.  But what was your alternative?  Staying in Champaign for the rest of your lives, hoping you keep finding food, and maybe some other people somewhere down the road?"

     "I'm sure it wouldn't have been a ghost town forever," Phoebe said.

     Shari shrugged.  "Maybe, maybe not," she said. "But I would bet that if the two of you had stayed, you'd have regretted it at some point.  Surviving means having numbers and having a purpose."

     "So how far do you think we'll make it today?" Phoebe asked.

     "Depends," Shari said.  "I think our record is forty miles, but that was before we had bicyclists in the group.  How long it takes depends on too many factors.  Sometimes you have to hang out somewhere longer than you wanted to if the weather's bad or there's a big group of undead coming through."

     "What's the next city in this direction?" Daphne asked.

     "Danville," the Professor replied.  "Other than a few blink-and-you-miss-'em villages."  He turned toward Phoebe.  "What would you say, about thirty miles?"
     "Yeah," Phoebe said, "give or take."

     "Is Danville very far from the Indiana border?" Shari asked.

     "Not far," the Professor said.  "Twenty-minute drive, maybe.  How far over the border are we trying to go?"

     "I'm not sure, exactly," Shari said.  "Far enough east to avoid the suburbs when we head north and get closer to Chicago."

     "If we do that, we'll hit the lake to the north, not Chicago ," Phoebe said.  "What are we doing to do, get on a boat and cut across the bottom of the lake to the convention center?"

     Shari considered the question for a moment before she responded.  "Hopefully," she said with a shrug.  "I mean, ideally, yes."

     "Oh," Phoebe said with
faux
cheerfulness, raising her hands to do air quotes.  "Hopefully and ideally.  In other words, we don't have a fuckin' clue."  She threw her hands up to signify her exasperation.  "Great."

     "Hey Phoebe," Daphne said.  "Have you ever heard how life's a journey and not a destination?"

     "I'll assume that's a rhetorical question," Phoebe muttered.

     "Just get used to the idea, that's all," Shari said.  "These days, plans are made to be changed.  You'll see that having one is almost useless anymore.  Either we'll find a way to make it to McCormick Place,or we won't.  Even in the latter case, it's still a success story if we live to tell it."

     "I'm just glad to be out of that radio building, myself," the Professor said, glancing skyward.  "I almost wish it would rain.  I've been showering in a mop sink for the past few months."

     "Maybe if you're lucky, we'll find somewhere to stay for the night that has running water," Shari said.

     "Have you had much luck with that so far?" the Professor asked.

     "More common than you'd think, especially out in the country," Shari replied.  "A lot of the houses were built off the grid, so they'll usually have wells, cisterns, or both."

     "And the ones that have it," the Professor said, "the plumbing all seems to be in order still?"

     Shari nodded.  "So far, anyway."

     "It'll be a different story after the winter," the Professor said.  "Without heating or winterization, most buildings will have plumbing issues come the thaw."

     "Yeah," Phoebe said, "it's gonna be a mess."

     "Think we'll make it to Danville before nighttime?" Hugo asked.

     "Maybe," Shari said, "if luck is on our side."

     "I have a good feeling about this," the Professor said.  "Somewhere outside of Danville, there's a shower with my name on it."

     It was early afternoon when they reached the outlying subdivisions of Oakwood, just outside of Danville.  They stopped ahead of the first of the subdivisions for a short break, noting the wrecks ahead that blocked both lanes of 150 and spilled over into the ditches.

     "Well," Shari said as she lit up a smoke, "we can go north to 74, or we could take a back county road.  I'd suggest the latter."

     Daphne glanced around at the surrounding cornfields, many with tall, healthy,thriving plants.  "I'm gonna climb up," she said, pointing out a conifer, roughly 100 feet tall, in a nearby yard.  "Try and get a vantage point and see what the area's like."

     "Go for it," Shari said.  "I'm just gonna take five."

     "Hey, Shari," Hugo said.  "Let me see your binoculars."

     "They're in the left saddlebag," Shari said.  "Why?  Do you see something?"

     "I don't know," Hugo said as he retrieved the binoculars and raised them to his eyes.  "It looks like there's someone over there...."  He turned the dial to focus on a figure about 50 yards away, near the bank of a stream.

     "You mean a person?" Phoebe asked.  "That would be the first since Champaign."

     "Bummer," Hugo said, still gazing through the lenses.  "I don't think it's a person--just a zombie."

     "Figures," Shari muttered.

     "It's weird, though," Hugo said.  "He's not acting like any zombie I've ever seen."
     "Let me see," Shari said, taking the binoculars to look for herself.  She saw an undead person, naked and badly decomposed, sitting between the stream and a field full of wildflowers that streaked the countryside with a palette of white, orange, yellow and blue.  Near the periphery of the field hovered a sizeable gathering of honeybees, buzzing loudly enough for Shari to make out the sound from where she stood.  She watched the unidentifiable zombie take undeniable interest in the cloud of bees, not with its dead eyes but with its intact sense of hearing.  It cocked its head from side to side, its face turned toward the sound.  Not only was the undead individual lacking in aggression, but in fact, it remained seated on the bank, fascinated but otherwise calm.

     "I see what you mean," Shari told Hugo.  As she continued to gaze through the lenses, she saw a couple of fresher undead exit from a treeline on the side of the creek opposite the honeybees.  They were running toward Shari and the group with a speed that signified that they had spotted living human beings.

     "Guys," Shari said, "I think we've been discovered."  She looked back through the binoculars to see the first zombie clearly regard the other two running past on the hunt, only to refocus its attention on the honeybees hovering nearby.  After a few moments, it finally began to amble after the other two. 

     Shari lowered her binoculars, swinging her bow from its usual position on her back.  She raised the bow, peering through its   scope until she located the two faster targets.  She nocked an arrow and waited until there was less than 100 yards between herself and the pair of undead aggressors.  One of them started toward her head-on, and she took the opportunity to bury one of her arrows into the middle of its forehead.  She nocked a second arrow, aiming at the next one.  As she pulled back the string, she saw the undead woman topple into the shallow, rocky creek.  The undead woman landed on her side, and Shari noticed a sharpened stick protruding from her right temple.  She looked toward the evergreen in the nearby yard, where she saw Daphne, about 75 feet up, lean out and wave at her, a childlike smile lighing up her face.

     The last zombie--the reflective, calm one--ambled closer as Daphne slithered down the tree.  As she crossed the road and joined the group, she saw that it was an undead man, the remains of his short hair slicked and matted down with weeks or perhaps months of filth and rot.  She saw its dead eyes roll around in its skull as it contemplated its surroundings.  As Shari drew an arrow from her quiver, the undead man turned to regard the slight noise.  It set off in Shari's direction, ambling slightly more quickly than before.  Shari drew in a breath, nocked her arrow, and let it loose on the exhale.  It sailed through the air, arcing softly before striking on the descent, and entered the top of the undead man's softened skull.

     "That one was different," Hugo said.  "Why was it just sitting there like that?"

     "I dunno," Shari said, shrugging.  "It looked old, though.  I'm betting you'd never see a fresh one that calm."

     "Probably not," Daphne said.  "First of its kind I've seen, though."

     "Does it matter?" Phoebe said.  "A zombie's a zombie, isn't it?"

     "Ha," Shari said.  "Says someone who hasn't had very many of them running at you full-tilt."

     "So," Daphne said, "what's the plan?  Are we getting any closer to Danville, or staying put for today?"

     "Probably wouldn't be a good idea to go any deeper in here," Shari said.  "We can head north or northeast from here, but we're gonna wanna find shelter within the next few hours or so, one way or another." 

     "Let's get back on the road," the Professor said.  "Maybe we'll find a nice, quiet farmhouse with some running water."

     "Yeah," Phoebe said, "out in the country, far from any more towns.  Christ, I can smell the Oakwood already, and we're not even in town yet."

     "Sometimes a place is preceded by its smell," Shari said.  "Depends how the wind is blowing, that kind of thing."

     "It doesn't even just smell like rotting meat," Phoebe said, struggling to articulate the odor.  "It just smells like--"

     "Like the world's gone to shit, all around," Daphne said, scanning the horizon ahead of her as the group set off down a rural county road that led north.

     "Hmm," Phoebe said, regarding Daphne as a woman might regard an assortment of handbags in a department store display.  "You're a woman of few words, aren't you?  I can respect that."

     Daphne shrugged.  "Okay."

     Phoebe turned to Hugo.  "And you--what's up with you?"  Shari glanced toward Hugo and Phoebe from the corner of her eye, one eyebrow raised.  She realized that Daphne was doing the same.  They had both gotten to be slightly protective of Hugo. 

     "What's up with me?" Hugo repeated.  "What do you mean?"
     "Well...you know," Phoebe said, Shari and Daphne watching her like a pair of hawks.  "The mannerisms, the whole--well, you know.  You autistic or something?"

     "Phoebe," the Professor said gently.  "That's just a little bit too--"

     "No, it's okay," Hugo said.  "It doesn't bother me to talk about it.  Yes, I'm on the autistic spectrum, but it's not as severe for me as it used to be.  I didn't talk much 'til fifth grade, and loud noises and bright lights used to be too much for me to handle."  He paused.  "Even strong smells and flavors.  I had to desensitize myself before I could function enough for normal speech."

     "How did you do that?" Phoebe asked.

     Hugo shrugged.  "Bombard myself with loud noises, spicy flavors, stuff like that.  I still have times where I can't handle it, though.  That's why I always carry a pair of good-quality, noise-cancelling headphones and a good pair of sunglasses."

     "I see," Phoebe said, her expression of vague mockery going unnoticed by Hugo, but not by Shari and Daphne.  "Forgive me for asking, but do we need to be worried?  Do you actually have a normal level of self-control?"

     "Do you?" Shari blurted out before she realized she had opened her mouth, staring Phoebe down with a steel gaze.  "Because you don't seem to understand that there's shit you just don't say to people."  She and Phoebe stared one another in the eye for several more seconds before the younger woman broke her gaze away. 

     "Jeez," she muttered.  "Sorry.  I was just asking.  Don't I have a right to know about the people I'm traveling with?"

     "Getting to know a person is one thing," the Professor said.  "What you were doing was more like interrogation.  Unsubstantiated interrogation."

     "Keep in mind," Daphne said, "we don't know jack shit about you, either."

     "Not much to know," Phoebe said.  "My family life is inconsequential.  I'm a loner--I have associates, not friends.  And I'm the best at what I do.  End of story."

     "Yeah," Shari said, "but where did you pick up the shitty attitude and total lack of manners?"

     Phoebe's face lit up with a sarcastic grin.  "Remember the inconsequential family life I mentioned?  Well, I guess it turns out they were good for something."

     "Sorry to hear that," Shari said.

     They walked on in near silence for the next couple of miles, until Shari pointed out a farmhouse to their left.  It was set about a half mile off the road, nestled between a cornfield and a soyfield, and partially obscured by a tall treeline.

     "That's a candidate right there," she told Phoebe and the Professor.  "There are no power lines running to the property, but that's a good-sized, fairly luxurious place.  They must have some kind of reliable power source."

     "Look at that oversized inground pool and all the outdoor lighting," the Professor pointed out.  "Those people were using some electricity, that's for sure."

     "And you know they're not getting city water," Shari said, starting down the long gravel drive.  She glanced back at the Professor and Phoebe.  "You two got your weapons at the ready?"

     Phoebe smirked.  "I've been around the apocalyptic block a few times," she said, lifting her leather duster away to reveal Anthony's revolver, cradled in its holster.  "And yes, I know how to use this thing."  She uttered a light sigh.  "To be honest, this trip has been a lot more uneventful than I expected it to be."

     The Professor let out a sharp laugh.  "You say that like it's a bad thing."

     Phoebe shrugged.  "Just thought I'd be killing more stuff, is all."

     "She's right," Daphne said.  "There have been fewer of them than usual."

     "Maybe they're dying off," Shari said, "or at least most of them.  Think about it, most of the people on the planet probably died within the first week or so."

     "Maybe even the first few days," the Professor said, "judging by the circumstances."

     "I'm thinking that the bulk of them are dying off," Shari said.  "They may not be alive like you and me, but damn sure enough, they have an expiration date."

     "Yeah," the Professor said, "and wandering Illinois for the past several months, come rain, shine or hail--I'd say that helped push a lot of them closer to that date."

     "So Shari," Phoebe said, "I know this is off-topic, but do you generally come across any drugs besides weed?"

     "Sometimes," Shari said.  "Especially on sadists.  They'll have cocaine, or what I'm pretty sure is crystal meth.  I never touch any of that shit, though--just the green."

     "Shit," Phoebe said, "I'd take the blow, personally.  Don't you want it for bartering, if nothing else?"

     Shari shook her head.  "I wouldn't feel right," she said.  "Anyone who would trade ammo, water, or food for coke has a problem, and I don't want to be the one to encourage that type of addiction in a rare survivor."

     "That's a hell of a call for you to make," Phoebe said.  "Who are you to say what people should do with their own bodies, especially now?  Besides," she said, rolling her eyes at Shari, "cocaine has medicinal applications."

     "That, it does," Shari conceded.  "I'll grant you that.  And yes, grown-ups are free to do what they want, especially nowadays.  That being said, I draw the line at weed and maybe psilocybin mushrooms, the reason being that those two things can't kill you.  That's why I won't put anything else in my own body, nor will I be the one to provide any other substance to anyone else.  If anyone overdoses, at least it won't be my cross to bear.  I don't cross certain lines."

     "I don't believe in lines," Phoebe said with a smirk.  "Except the one kind."

     "And that," Shari said, "is where you and I differ."

     The group had gotten sufficiently close to the farmhouse to hear the rumbling buzz of large numbers of flies.  The sound seemed to be coming from the open garage door, carried across the lawn on the gentle summer breeze.

     They reached the asphalt drive, climbing down from their various mounts.  Shari opened the trunk of the ATV, taking out her titanium drywall hammer with a gleaming hatchet blade at one end.  She stalked toward the garage, hammer in hand.  She signaled to Daphne to hang back, and Daphne responded by slinking into a shadow, throwing stick in her hand.

     Shari crept into the threshold of the garage, raising the neck of her shirt to cover her nose and mouth in response to the odor spilling out the open door and assaulting her senses.  She headed to the back, behind a shining, lumbering F-350 left abandoned, to where the flies were congregated. 

     Lying on its back on the poured concrete floor was the corpse of a woman, roughly forty, lying slack-jawed with a halo of dried blood and gore spread on the floor around her head.  Shari noted powder burns around her mouth.  Although Shari noted that the corpse didn't seem too aged, perhaps a week at best, the face had a pallor and gauntness that suggested the woman had been in the process of turning.  A nine-millimeter pistol lay near her right hand.  She stood and searched the rest of the garage, including the extended-cab interior of the truck, where she noted a child's seat buckled into the back.  She motioned to the rest of the group that it was safe for them to advance.