The Great Wreck (36 page)

I
looked at the monitors and saw, far off on the horizon a tiny moving black line
distorted by the heat waves. The tiny figures that made up that black line
stretched from east to west all wobbled and blurred together.

I
didn’t have to ask what it was. I knew: the dead. A vast wall of dead were
moving our direction. They would swamp the compound, knock down the walls, and
break into the buildings where we were hiding. I remember reading a story when
I was younger of a south African farm that was overrun by ants. The farmers had
seen the ants come over the horizon in a black line just like this. Or was it
locus? Maybe vacuum cleaner sales men? I couldn’t remember. Probably not
salesmen though.

So
much for a safe haven.

The
woman, whose name was Harriet, was petite and athletic with short brown hair
and dressed in SWAT coveralls, military boots, and a vest stuffed with
ammunition. She wrapped her arms around herself in fear and asked, “Maybe if we
shut down the generator? Kept inside and quiet? Maybe they’ll just go around.”
Looking around at the faces of those near her, I could see that no one actually
believed that.

“Maybe,”
another man named Cartwright said, “But with that many, they’ll start bumping
up against that south wall until the ones behind them bump into them, and so on
until the pressure takes the gate down. Then they do the same to the doors
around the buildings or one of those freaky fast dead would catch wind of us if
we were to hunker down inside.”

Doc
nodded as did the others and said, “We’ll need to get to the warehouse.”

“When
do we leave?”

Doc
looked at the screen again, “It’ll take them a day or two to get here, I think.
Let’s get all the extra vehicles, especially the armored police carriers up
against the southern gate. See if that won’t hold them or at least keep as many
out as we can. That way we can clear out the compound again when we come back.

“Pack
up all the food and water we can carry, shut down the generator, and get ready
to leave in the morning.”

The
adults all moved quickly out of the conference room to the their assigned
duties leaving Marti and I alone, “Don’t worry,” she said, “We’ll get out in
plenty of time. We set up a completely sealed off police armory and warehouse
about ten miles from here. The doors are made of thick concrete and every
window has been sealed. We’ve stockpiled food and water there as well. It’s not
as nice as this place but it’s safe. No way the dead can get in.”

I
thought about the warehouse I had raided outside of Phoenix and knew what she was
talking about, “I’ve seen this all across the desert,” I said pointing to the
screens, “Thousands upon thousands of dead moving north. Where are they going?”

Marti
shrugged, “Marti Gras? Heading north for the summer? Brotherhood of the Dead
convention? March of Dimes? Who knows. I don’t think the dead even know,” then
turned to me, “You want a shower? A change of clothes? We won’t be leaving
until the morning, so I can show you where the showers are and get you a room
for tonight.”

A
shower. Those were like magic words to me, “Oh my god, yes!” I said feeling
like it was Christmas, “I haven’t showered since…I can’t even remember how long
it’s been since I’ve showered!”

Marti
smiled and led me down to the second floor where there was a locker room,
“Leave you dirty clothes in this bag and I’ll…well…I’ll probably burn them.
I’ll leave you some clean cloths outside where you can get them,” she said
eyeing me critically, “I’d say a medium shirt and, say, a size 29 waist. What
size shoes do you wear or do you want to keep those?” she said pointing to my
tattered boots.

“Size
nine,” I said and walked into the brightly lit locker room. There was a stack
of towels on a nearby shelf and rows of lockers. I started to peel off my
filthy cloths then turned to see Marti still standing there with a sly smile on
her face, “Do you need to inspect me for bite marks?” I asked.

“Maybe.
Maybe I just want to see you naked,” she replied then turned slowly to leave
the locker room as I blushed furiously.

Marti
left giving me another one of her feral little smiles and I finished
undressing. I tossed my filthy cloths outside the locker room door hoping Marti
didn’t inspect them too closely when she threw them away. They were covered
with all manner of filthy, gore, blood, and gunk better left undescribed. I
walked to the first shower stall and flipped on the water. It shot out in a
strong stream and I wondered where they got the water pressure form. A few
seconds later the water heated up and I stepped into the luxurious spray.

Ahhh!
Hot water! I thought as I let the spray and heat soak into my muscles and
bones. Toilets and showers. I could see why Doc wanted to reclaim this place
after the wave of dead passed through.

The
shower had an old, dried bar of soap in the soap dish. I grabbed it and
lathered up marveling as the water turned brown with all the dirt and grime
washing off of me. I lathered up over and over again scrubbing every crack and
crevice until I felt raw and my skin began to prune up. I wondered if Sandia
had this. I wondered if it might be best to stay. I knew I couldn’t, not with
James but maybe I could ditch James and come back.

I
finished rinsing myself for the third time and turned the water off. I reached
for the towel and dried myself seeing that Marti had retuned and left a large
piled of new cloths on a bench. Had she stopped to watch me shower? I thought
so as I grabbed a pair of boxer-briefs and slipped them on. Oh the feel of
clean underwear!

I
spotted a bar of deodorant, a
 
tooth
brush, and toothpaste next to the cloths. I had almost forgotten about
deodorant. God how I must have stunk! I slapped the bar into my armpits, then
pulled on a long sleeve shirt, cargo pants, and then the boots. I felt human
again! I then went and brushed my teeth, then made my way out of the locker
room.

Marti
was at the door leaning against the wall, smiling, “I’ll show you to your
room,” she said. We went up to the third floor where most of the offices had
been converted into bedrooms. I liked that. I don’t think I could have slept on
the first floor, walls or no without bars on the windows or something else to
convince me the dead couldn’t get in.

“This
is your room,” she said, “We have dinner in the kitchen on the second floor
around six. Doc kills the lights at nine or so and shuts down the generator.
Most of us go to bed then,” she said leaning against the door frame, “I might
be awake, though.”

I
turned around the small room with the tiny desk and singled bed, “I will
probably be up,” I replied, “It might be a bit tight in here though,” I said as
I sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I
can make it work,” she said and slipped out of the room. I felt a little burst
of heat as she spun and left the room.

A
few minutes later, Birch dropped by and knocked, “Here’s your gear,” he said
and dropped my pack at the door, “Marti tell you dinner at six?”

I
nodded.

“Good.
Harriet is a mean cook but watch out for her salsa, it’s as spicy as fuck and
will hurt you badly in the morning, if you know what I mean,” he said with a
smile and left.

I
grabbed my pack and went through the things that had survived my trip across
the dessert. I carefully cleaned my guns, found a sink in a small kitchen
nearby and topped off my water pack and bottles. Later, I’d see if I could
scavenge some food and another set of clean cloths. Then I’d be set to start
heading head north again.

I
packed up all my gear, then found Birch sitting at the bank of monitors, “Hi.
Can I get a few cans of food from your stock? And another set of cloths?”

Birch
nodded absently watching the dead slowly filling up the streets and pouring
onto the highway many miles to the south, “Sure thing, kiddo. Ask Harriet,
she’s in the kitchen now.”

I
made my way down to the second floor kitchen marveling at the lights, feeling
as close to normal as I had since the outbreak began. I popped my head into the
kitchen area and saw Harriet working over an amazing array of pots and pans.
The smell was intoxicating. I had been eating out of a can and hadn’t had
cooked food for months.

“Hi
Harriet, I’m Thomas,” I said sticking out my hand.

Harriet
wiped her hands off on a kitchen towel and tossed it over her shoulder, then
took my hand and pumped it up and down, “Hello Thomas. Welcome! Dinner will be
ready in a bit. Do you want a snack?”

My
stomach roared so loud that the dead must have heard it and I said, “Oh, yes,
ma’am,” I replied.

“Handsome
and so polite! I can see why Marti likes you,” she said with a smile and
whipped up a sandwich. The bread was a bit stale but the tuna salad was just
fine. She handed me a bag of chips and a Coke to go with it. The chips were a
stale but my body craved the salt so I ate two bags. I washed it all down with
a Coke that was like a bubbly ambrosia. I had forgotten how much I missed the
little things we had lost.

Harriet
watched me devour my small lunch and nodded seeing the look on my face, “I know
how you feel. All the things we took for granted, gone. But things will get
better, Thomas. Trust me.”

“Because
they can’t get any worse?” I asked looked forlornly at my empty can of Coke.

“Yes and no,”
she said stirred a huge pot of beans then dumped in a can of tomatoes, “Things
can always get worse but the people up in the Sandia mountains are doing more
than just surviving, they are rebuilding. And someday we’ll reclaim the things
we have lost.”

I
hopped so or everything I had been through to survive would be for nothing,
“Birch said I could get a few supplies from you. Would that be OK?”

Harriet
nodded and began pulling out cans and dried foods from a panty that seemed to
stretch back forever. I caught a glimpse of thousands of cans, dried meets,
soups, and other dry goods that would last a long time. Harriet pulled out cans
of stew, more tuna, dried eggs, and packages of beef jerky until the counter in
front of me was overflowing, “Think that will be enough?” she asked.

“Yes
and thank you.”

“Thank
me again when we see each other in Sandia. Now scoot so I can finish my
cooking,” she said with a smile.

I
gathered up my goods and made my way back to my room. I packed up all the food
and now my pack was nearly full to bursting. I hefted it and pulled in the arm
straps. It felt good. Solid and not too heavy. I figured James and I would stay
with these folks a few more days, then start heading north again.
 

Which
lead me to wonder what the Doc was going to do with James when everyone left in
the morning. I imagined they’d cuff him up again and transfer him with us to
the warehouse shelter. But what then? Did they have a cell over there? Probably
not. They probably had a plan so I put it out of my mind and lay back on my
bed.

An
hour later, there was a small knock on my door. Marti stood outside and said,
“Dinner’s ready, but let me warn you,” she said with a big smile, “Don’t eat
too much of Harriet’s cooking. One, it’s spicy, and two, it’s fatty.”

“Sounds
great,” I said.

“Oh,
it is until about an hour later, then the pain hits followed by, well let’s
just say the results are explosive. And by ‘explosive’ I mean the diarrhea will
explode out of your ass,” she said laughing.

I
laughed too, “I will ensure that I eat a lot of fiber,” and made our way down
to the kitchen.

The
group gathered at the back was subdued and talk centered around the approaching
dead but the food was magnificent. Harriet had created a gourmet meal out of
canned goods and dried beef that tasted like nothing I had ever had before. She
had cooked fajita, tacos, a type of bean soup, tortillas, and a spicy salsa
that, after one tiny taste that nearly burned off the tip of my tongue, I
avoided.

It
was so hard to stop eating, to slow down, to not overdue it. The food was so
good, but I listed to Marti’s advice and ate small portions, filled up on the
freshly made bread and tried to avoid the ultra-spicy foods that were laid out.

I
meet the others of the group as they came in and sat down. Everyone introduced
themselves and we swapped stories. I would find that whenever I met a new group
of people, a similar pattern would emerge: introductions and then questions;
where you going, where you coming from, what happened? The stories of where we
were when the event began that started to all sound the same. Each one sounding
much like the other. A normal life of earning a living somewhere, watching as
the outbreak went form a local story to as national one, seeing the first dead,
seeing their family consumed, running, and finally, surviving.

First
there was Dan Birch who had a wife a three kids and worked at a local garage
here in Las Cruces. One of his kids had been bit at school by an infected
teacher. They had brought her back home where she died then came back and ate
her little brother and other little sister. She was about half way through her
sister when her mother walked in and was bitten. Dan came home, found the
carnage and barely escaped. He returned after a few weeks and found them still
locked inside their shitty little house on the west side of Las Cruces and put
them all down. He said he had to, that he couldn’t just leave them to wander
around for eternity trapped inside that house.

Bill
Reid said he woke up with his live-in girlfriend standing in the doorway. He
asked her if she was OK and she screamed like nothing he had ever heard and
lunged at him. He was able to beat her head in with the night table lamp and
get out of the trailer they shared.

Allen
Stover went to get his parents from the old folks home when the shit was really
picking up speed. He was nearly consumed by thirty of the residents as he ran
around the deserted facility searching for his folks. He walked into the
cafeteria and found them all finishing off what was left of the staff. They
rushed him but he was able to jam the doors to the cafeteria closed and make it
out of the facility unscathed. The last thing he saw was his dad’s half eaten
face as he banged on the window trying to get at Allen.