The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented (11 page)

Interrupting
him she said, “I shouldn’t have.” She turned and walked toward him. “I’m
really glad to see you doing okay.”

“Hank
filled me in…thank you. Thanks for everything.”

“Hug?”

With
a smile, Tom stepped over and wrapped his arms around her. They stood embracing
each other for several minutes.

As
the two of them walked into the living room, Hank and Ben turned from the large
window and Danny looked up from the couch.

“Hank
and I were just discussing the best way to go about getting out of here.” Ben
said. Looking at Tom, he continued, “Until you get your strength up, Danny and
I will go get gas and the Unimog. We will come back and pick everyone up.” He
looked back at his brother, who was staring down at his feet. “Right Danny?”

Not
raising his head from the floor, he simply nodded.

“I
think its best we stick together.” Tom replied.

“You
aren’t yet up to it. No offense but you’ll just slow us down.”

“Hank’s
been out in this mess quite a bit. How about you and him go and we’ll stick
here with Danny?”

Ben
chuckled, his long goatee bouncing comically. “What, you don’t trust us to
come back?”

“I
don’t even know you.”

“We
could have ditched you a long time ago.” Ben shouted.

“Well
why didn’t you? Last I saw you, you and your brother were running up the
stairs, leaving the three of us.” Tom shot back.

Tension
filled the room, thick and tangible. The two men staring each other down like
a pair of silverback gorillas.

Rachael
stepped in between the two of them. “Hey now, Danny and Ben came back to help
at the top of the stairs. You got us out of Portland. We need to work
together.”

Tom
took a deep breath, nodded his head, and said, “You’re right.” He looked at
Ben. “What do you know about the demented?”

Ben
turned toward the window, still looking agitated.

Danny
looked up from the couch and said, “All of us have been talking the last few
days and we don’t know much more than you guys. A lot of people got infected
or whatever it is and are super pissed at anything that moves.”

“Some
are really fast.” Ben butted in. “The next day is when we noticed the slow
ones. Some with horrible wounds…mortal wounds. We knew they were coming
back.”

Danny
looked up at his brother, and then continued, “We found the same kinds of
reports on the internet that Hank found. Last news we found said that a few
scientists out of Japan thought that an infection had spread over the last few
weeks. No symptoms showed up initially, and then there was a reaction or
something. They think it interacts with the new stabilizer they are putting in
vaccines. Some formaldehyde replacement.”

“What
about those that come back from the dead, is it everyone?” Tom asked.

“No…I
don’t think so anyway. Any of what you call the demented definitely come back, but from what we found, it is only those that got the initial
infection, whether demented or not.”

“So
we don’t know who is infected, other than those that had a newer type of
vaccine...with the new stabilizer or whatever it is?” Tom said.

“That’s
right…unless they die, then you’ll know in a few hours to a day.”

Tom
looked over at Hank, not quite sure how to say it. “What about those that get
scratched or bitten by the infected?”

Danny
scratched his head, “I don’t know. We didn’t find any confirmations on what
happens.”

Ben
turned around, looked at Hank and then back to Tom. “We have to assume they
are infected. “

“Which
is only a concern if they die, right?” Tom said, looking at Hank.

Hank,
clearly getting tired of everyone looking at him, gingerly touched the large
gash on his neck. “I feel fine.”

Ben
held up his hands. “If the infection and the stabilizer are in blood or saliva
then it seems possible they could go crazy.”

“I’ve
been keeping some of that triple antibiotic ointment on them.” Rachael added.

“That’s
not going to stop this!” Ben shouted.

Tom
had to admit Hank’s older scratches looked really bad, infected at the least,
but he did not want to add fuel to the fire. “Could be transferred, but that
seems highly unlikely, plus it’s been a few days now.”

“I’m
just say’n…you never know, worth keeping an eye on.” Ben said while looking at
Hank.

Not
wanting to get into another argument, Tom just nodded and walked over to the
window. Peeking out through the blinds, he could see several infected
staggering around about a half block down the street. The surrounding houses
were all of similar build, typical colors and designs of a new development.
The wind was blowing hard, sending trash and debris swirling around in the
cul-de-sac. Other than the infected, no living could be seen.

He
turned back to the group. “We need to get to the mog. It has everything we
need and we can be mobile again. If those things get a whiff of us being in here,
we’re dead.”

“Exactly!
Danny and I will go get the gas and bring the Unimog back.” Ben replied.

Ignoring
him, Tom asked, “Has anyone watched the infected, what they do when they’re not
trying to kill us?"

Ben
and Danny shrugged their shoulders. “Not really.” Danny said.

Nodding
his head, Hank said, “I’ve watched them quite a bit. Most just wonder
aimlessly, even bouncing off stuff from time to time. Some of them though are
more…” He looked toward the window, thinking. “More aware. They do things
like peer into car windows as they stumble by, or open mailboxes. Probably the
creepiest I’ve seen, is one of the turds was trying house doors, went in the
green house down the street. Haven’t seen that one since, but makes my toes
curl thinking one like that might come trying to get in here.”

Tom
looked back out the window. “Sun is mostly down. I say we leave once full
dark hits. Biologically they shouldn’t be able to see in the dark any better
than we can.”

Nobody
argued with the plan, even Ben nodded his agreement.

“Okay
then, I’m not sure what all this house has, but let’s gather whatever food,
water, and weapons we can.”

After
grabbing a bit more to eat from the nearly bare cupboards, Tom and Hank headed
for the garage. Opening the door, Tom was surprised to find the expected smell
of gasoline and oil missing, instead he only detected cardboard and dust.
Flipping on the lights he could see why, the garage was piled with junk, the
only vehicle in sight was a battery powered pink jeep. The bulk of the garage
was taken up by stacked moving boxes.

Hank
pointed toward the jeep. “Should we just drive that out of here?”

“You
go ahead, I’ll watch from the window.”

Hank
began looking through the stacks of boxes, while Tom worked his way around the
edges. After several boxes, Hank decided it was a waste of time since they were
filled with all the items that nobody actually needed. It was the stuff people
would put in boxes, move several times, and finally get rid of in a garage
sale. “Nothin’ here, unless we need to make a bloomin onion or have a talking
fish.”

“I
see some gas cans in the back corner there, can you get to them?” Tom asked
while pointing to the far corner. “I found a hatchet and a couple baseball
bats.”

“Not
quite an M4." Hank said while he started climbing over boxes trying to
reach the corner. Once there, he lifted the two cans and said, “Empty.”

“I
see a garden hose over here.” Tom said. Using a knife he cut a section of the
hose. “Here we go.”

Returning
to the darkness of the living room, they found the others huddled around a
burning candle on the coffee table, surveying their gathered items. Hank and
Tom added the items they found in the garage to the inventory. Looking over
the items, in addition to the garage items, they had gathered a little food, a
couple water bottles, and a collection of knives.

Rummaging
through the pile of knives, Hank said, “Why couldn’t we have stayed in a golfer’s
house or better yet a hunter's?”

“The
knives work well on the demented, but when using them on the undead, you have to
make sure to go for the head. Seems to be the only way to finish them.” Tom
added.

Rachael
walked over and carefully peered out the blinds. “It’s getting fairly dark,
I’d say another half hour and it'll be as dark as it's going to get.” Even in
the darkness, she could see a few dark forms shifting around. “Still a few out
there.”

Pointing
to the pile, Tom Said, “Anyone have weapon preferences?”

Danny
immediately grabbed one of the baseball bats. “I don’t want those things near
me.”

Tom
nodded. “Rachael, why don’t you grab a bat as well? I’ll take my Kabar, I’m
comfortable with it.” He reached down and picked his knife out of the pile,
noticing the black blade was shiny clean. It was covered in gore last he had
seen it.

Ben
lifted the hatchet off the table, flicking it around in his hands, testing its
weight. “I’m good with this.”

Hank
reached down and scooped up both his knife and a large meat cleaver, eyeing
them like old friends.

Ben
began tucking the hatchet into his belt. “Why don’t we go house to house until
we can find one with some real weapons? Guns.”

Nodding
his head, Tom said, “I’ve been thinking on that as well. I’m a little worried
that houses are ticking time bombs. Any infected inside that can’t figure out
a door knob are just waiting in there and we wouldn’t know until we went
inside. We probably should minimize entries, only going in if absolutely necessary.”

They
all nodded their heads in agreement.

“What’s
the plan then?” Ben asked.

Tom
sat down on the edge of the couch, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Anyone
know how to hot-wire cars?” When everyone shook their head, he continued,
“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t want to pack full gas cans all the
way to the mog. So let’s go find a diesel truck. If there are no keys, we go
in the house and find them.” When no one said anything, he went on, “We load
up, drive to the mog, and siphon enough fuel to get us to a
station.”

“Quite
the plan, nothin’s gonna go wrong with that.” Ben said sarcastically.

Rachael
stepped over. “If you have a better one then let’s hear it.”

Nobody
said anything.

Fifteen
minutes later, Tom and Ben were shouldering their backpacks, and the group stood
near the door to the garage. They all stood in silence, knowing full well this
could be the end. This was an unforgiving world and they were all about to
roll the dice. Hank, holding a gas can in each hand, looked at Tom and
nodded. Going through the garage, they opened a door that led to the backyard,
the darkness and cool night air enveloping them. The chatter of crickets could
be heard in the distance.

Without
a moon in the sky, the black of night was suffocating, almost a presence pushing
in on them. Tom moved the group to the back corner of the house and raised his
hand to get the group to stop, waiting for everyone’s eyes to adjust. Looking
through the backyard and out to the street that lay beyond the next row of
houses, Tom could just make out the faint yellow glow of street lights.

Leading
the group, Tom stalked out through the overgrown grass, scanning to the sides
for any movement. The quiet noises of night were drowned out by the swishing
of five pairs of feet through the dry grass. Approaching a chain link fence
separating the properties, Tom placed both hands on top and leapt over, the
fence rattling loudly against the metal posts. The sound echoed off the nearby
houses. Crouching down on the other side, he quickly swept the darkness for
threats. An empty metal garbage can clanged on pavement somewhere in the
distance. No movement.

Tom
pressed his butt up against the fence, holding the links tight to the post and
waved the others over. Waiting for everyone, he continued to watch for anything
that might have heard the racket. One at a time with Ben’s assistance, they
climbed up and over the fence.

Motioning
for the group to hold their position, Tom turned and moved up next to the wall
of the nearest house, pressing his back to the siding. The heat of the day
radiated off the cement board siding. Heel to heel, he worked his way along the
wall, keeping his knife out in front of him. Reaching a dark window, he rose up
and peered inside. In the gloom, he could just make out a dining room table
surrounded by chairs. The remains of a meal still sat at the table. Tom
continued to stare into the house for several seconds, watching for any
movement. Not seeing any, he moved on, working toward the front of the house.

Reaching
the corner, he scanned the street, peering over the top of an overgrown shrub.
Not seeing any immediate threats, he signaled for the group to advance to his
position. Surveying the street again, he noticed movement to the right, just out
of the glow of the street lamp. His eyes seemed to play tricks on him as he
tried to focus, the movement blurring in and out of the inky blackness. He
rapidly blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes, more movement, this time on the
sides.

Eyes
beginning to strain and water, he looked down the street in the other direction.
There at the next intersection was the silhouette of an infected staggering
into the yellow glow of another overhead lamp.

Continuing
to watch the figure, he heard the others approach and join up behind him. The
figure stumbled out, stopping almost directly below the lamp, and then just
stood, staring up at the light. Holding his hand up to keep the group quiet,
Tom continued to watch for a couple minutes. The figure swayed slightly, but
never moved, just stared up at the light.