The Reanimates (Book 2): The Highway (7 page)

Scipio

Trent nudged the open door further open with his dirty brown hiking boot. Beige paint flaked off the corner exposing the old wood underneath it, and the hinges issued a loud creak on its path as the door swung open. I cringed at the sound, the silence of the night acted as an amplifier. As we crept through the opening, I heard the front door knob click and a similar squeak erupted from its worn hinges. We walked softly over linoleum flooring in the mud/laundry room, the first room from the outside. As we continued on, the linoleum transitioned to the hardwood floors of an old, dark kitchen. We stayed close to the walls and found ourselves directed into a large living area where we met up with Tyreese. We tried to move as quietly as possible, stepping softly where ever we went. The occasional floor board betrayed our position when it squealed with protest of the weight we put on it as we crept along. I jumped over each sound, just knowing that at any second I could be face to face with the dead or a very angry homeowner. We walked through a long hallway. We peered into each room for signs of life or signs of the dead. I almost shot a coat stand with a hat. Room after room came up empty. We made sure that the front door was locked and went to tell everyone the coast was clear, but to use the back door only to help keep the entrances more secured.

Lucas had double checked the surrounding area. "We'll have to look in the barn when we have more light." He seemed tense not knowing what could be lurking. I was too, but there is only so much that could be done. As long as our sleeping area was secure the rest would wait.

"Alright, everyone, grab some bedding and take it inside." I called out. A collection of car doors being closed and soft chatter began. "There are a few bedrooms and an awesome fireplace in the living room. We can probably warm up some wash water, too." Some of the girls let out a slight whoop at that idea.

In only a few moments, we had gathered wood from the woodpile near the back door, started a decent fire in a large stone fireplace, and we warmed up some cans of stew that were in the pantry. The bread in an oak bread box had turned into a science project gone bad. Some fruit had mostly rotted to nothing in the refrigerator.

Once we were warm and full, we poked around our new hiding spot. It was a beautiful home decorated in an old Americana style. Trent's mom, Louise, would have loved it. Muted blue couches with a slight floral print set the perimeter of the living room. A faded beige and maroon oval braided rug covered the hardwood floor in front of the fireplace. On an oak mantle, framed photos sat importantly. The photo paper in the frames ranged from very recent to very old as did the styles of clothes the subjects of the photographs wore. The largest one was placed in the center and looked to be at least 60 years old. A young man and a young woman stood side by side, hands clasped and clearly in love. I stared at the photo and wondered if they lived here. I wondered if they were alive someplace hiding out, if they had died, or if they were among the many of the living impaired.

I walked back into the kitchen, taking in the style now that I wasn't focusing on the task of feeding everyone. I loved the cupboards; whitewashed wood with glass panes showed the cream colored dishes. The stove was run by gas and looked as though it had been transposed from an episode of "Leave it to Beaver," as did the refrigerator.  A window hung right above a large metal sink and looked out on the large backyard. I watched as the dense snow fell. I could imagine the couple in the oldest picture standing side by side washing dishes together, one scrubbing, the other rinsing and drying, while they looked outside and watched the kids play.

I walked along the hall, shining a flashlight into each room. The bathroom, the first door on the right, was my first room discovery. It had to be a woman that had put this room together, with the mixture of pink and off white tiles and fixtures. In the corner was an old claw foot tub that I looked at longingly. I missed bubble baths and I always wanted to take a bubble bath in a tub like this. I peeked into the medicine shelf and found a razor, shaving cream, 2 tooth brushes, toothpaste and an arthritis cream rub. The sink was pedestal style so there were no cupboards to rifle through there. In the soap rest was a dried out bar of soap, the edges were cracked and curling from lack of use. Porcelain knobs with an H and a C were part of a chrome faucet and I absently reached for them to test to see if there was water pressure, expecting nothing. I was stunned to find water coming out, and that there was some force behind it. The water initially ran brown but recovered quickly as the pipes were flushed out. It occurred to me that if there was water at the sink, then there would likely be water at the toilet. I walked over to the pink toilet and pushed down on the flush lever. The water that came out of the fill tank was rusty brown from sitting unused for a while but on flush two, the water was clean. It almost seemed like a dream that all this worked. I was truly surprised. My final bathroom test was the tub. I turned on the water using the hot knob only, waited for the rust to be cycled through and after a few minutes placed my hand into the flow of near freezing water. No hot water was working its way through the pipes, but I was okay with that. We had running water.

The next room was a sewing room. Partial projects were strewn across a dining room table that had been re-purposed as a craft table. On a dress form in a corner was a mostly completed dress, waiting on the placement of the collar and the final hemming on the skirt. A sewing machine sat on a desk with a comfortable office chair tucked into the leg space. I walked over to the project table, being nosy for sure, and noticed that with these piles of fabric were dolls waiting for their stuffing. The yarn hair was already placed; the embroidered faces were already stitched. There were eight dolls in this stage. We had four girls in the group. Next to the pile of dolls was a pile of five bears also just needing to be stuffed. We had four boys including the baby. I decided if this place was found to be totally abandoned I could do a group activity. I wondered if Jody and Mercedes would like to help teach.

The last room on the right was clearly a guest room. Twin beds were pushed on opposite walls and were covered in matching quilts. In between the beds was an antique oak dresser with an oak framed mirror above it. A well worn Teddy bear sat on one side of the dresser top, an antique porcelain doll on the other, and a metal toy pick up truck with flaked green paint and rust sat in the middle. Just inside the closet was a toy chest with the toys of multiple generations inside. Wood toys older than me sat next to battery operated ones. On the shelves, many more folded blankets and quilts sat alongside guest towels, just waiting for someone to come to visit. Everything had a coat of dust over it from being unused.

I went to the room across the hall which was the master bedroom.  Flannel sheets covered the full sized bed, the comforter was fan folded at the foot, waiting for the cold nights to come. A woman's dresser sat against the wall. Artifacts from her were laid out on the top; a string of pearls, a Virginia Woolf book with the spot she had left off on carefully bookmarked, a hand mirror, and a tube of lipstick sat as reminders that she had been there, that she existed. The man's chest of drawers had a pile of loose change on its surface, next to a pipe stand and a tin that still smelled of pipe tobacco. The walls were decorated with a faded floral wallpaper and more family photos were displayed, carefully hung in a planned mosaic. The people were forever caught in smiles in the museum of the owners home.

I loved the last room I came across, directly across from the sewing room. It was simply decorated, two recliners that shared an end table were the only pieces of furniture. The walls were made of recessed bookshelves, filled to the point of nearly overflowing. I scanned the shelves and saw that there was a great number of mixed age group reading materials. On the bottom shelves books like Curious George and Dr. Seuss collections were ready to be pulled out by little hands. The next higher shelf had more difficult reading for the older kids, like Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia. The more grown up books included authors like Stephen King, George R. R. Martin, Ray Bradbury, John Steinbeck, and James Patterson. There were books on how to farm, how to raise chickens, and an assortment of other how-to books. It was very cool.

It finally hit me that I was tired. I just wanted sleep more than anything. No one felt comfortable sleeping in the bedrooms so we all piled into groups in the living room. I changed the dressing on DaWayne's shoulder and asked him if he took his antibiotics and pain meds. He had taken the antibiotic but didn't want the pain med. He didn't like how it made his brain fuzzy, but he promised to take it if it got too painful.

We assigned watch for the night with a series of drawing straws. Trent and I got lucky and had the night off. I know I needed it. I joined Trent and Drew on the floor and fell asleep quickly in the light of the dying fire.

The next morning came but it was still dark from the clouds that hung in the sky. The snow had stopped for the moment but I wasn't sure how long it would last. Trent stirred as I sat up, and he gave me my favorite good morning smile.

"Hey sweetie," Trent whispered, "how did you sleep?"

"Pretty good. Was nice sleeping inside real walls." I replied, also in a whisper. "Figured I might as well get up and see if they left behind anything that sounds like breakfast and then poke around and see if we can find anything useful."

Lucas, who was on last watch, stopped sharpening his sword and offered to come along. "I still really want to go check out that barn. My spidey sense is tingling on that place." I knew what he meant because I was feeling the same way. The Spider-man reference brought a smile to my face.

"Let's go after we eat." I suggested.

We found stale cereal in the cupboard and decided to just deal with it. While we ate I had to ask about the sword that Lucas carried.

"When I was younger," he began, "I used to act in dinner theater. I had a sword as part of my costume. When the zombies started coming I didn't have anything to use as a weapon. We didn't have guns or anything in the house, so this was the closest thing I had to a weapon. I started carrying it since it was better than nothing. One day I was poking around a store that sells cheap tools and found a sharpening stone. I figured I didn't have much to lose so I took it home and sharpened the sword with it. Took me a bit, but I finally got it sharp enough that it takes hair off my arm. I have to keep sharpening it because the metal doesn't hold an edge well, but it has saved my life more than once." We finished the rest of our breakfast and layered up to cross the yard.

I didn't know snow could come down so much in one night. It came up to the patio edge. I was so grateful all over again that we weren't on the road for this. I looked at Trent in disbelief that it was this deep. He shrugged his shoulders.

I sighed. "Well, let's get going."

The Barn

We made our way over to the barn at a snail's pace. Snow is hard to walk in. When we got to the door we realized that we had to clear space in the snow so the door could swing open. As the air stirred with the opening of the door, a foul smell collided with my nose. I prepared myself for a zombie attack but that was not the case here.

Hanging from the rafters of the barn was a body. The light filtered in from the east, cracks in the wood let it in, and it streamed through and fell on the still dangling man. I shook my head sadly. Trent walked into the barn with his gun drawn, and crossed the open space to where there were closed doors on the opposite side. When he tried to open it, he was met with the resistance of the snow. He kept pushing it until he created enough of a space that more light flooded in. The barn was silent. Confident that there were no surprise zombies hiding, I turned my attention to the hanged man.

There was very little left of him. He was mostly nothing but bones with scattered patches of thick, leathery skin. I could only identify that he was a man based on his clothes. He wore denim overalls and a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up a bit. A baseball cap with a tractor patch stitched on it sat crookedly on his head. Gray hair tufted out from being trapped under the cap. On the barn floor there were a pair of glasses with wire rims.

There was a piece of paper peeking out from a pocket of his bib overalls. I knew it was likely a suicide note. Part of me really didn't want to know his story about what made him decide that this was a good idea, but another part of me wanted to know what was so bad that he couldn't live through it. Maybe it would say what the breaking point was. A ladder stood close by, probably the ladder he used to set up this project.

"Do we cut him down?" Lucas asked, breaking the silence. Dust motes in the light stream danced around the man as we looked at the body.

"Yeah. I think we should." Trent responded. He slid the ladder closer to the man and climbed up. When he got close to the top he unsheathed his large hunting knife. The blade caught the light for a second and it reflected off brightly. He reached over to the rope and began to cut.

"Wait!" Lucas called out. "I don't want him to fall." He stood close to the man and reached up to where his waist was. When he was sure he had a good hold he called up to Trent to go ahead. I looked at Lucas and started thinking about how interesting it was that he cared about a body hitting the ground. The body was mostly bones and connective tissues. I would be surprised if he made it to the ground in one piece, and I think Lucas expected it as well, but he wanted to at least try.

Trent finally got all the way through the rope and the body was in Lucas' hands. Lucas gently laid the body on the ground, intact after all. "He was lighter than I thought he would be." Lucas whispered.

"He has a note in his pocket." I pointed out in a lowered voice, almost church quiet. Trent squatted down next to the man and gently removed it. He unfolded the paper and began to read it.

"I'm sorry for what I'm doing. I know suicide is not the way. I hope God can forgive me for what I'm doing. I can't do this anymore. I miss my wife and I can't live with the dreams I have about when she turned. I can't keep waking up with the memory of putting her down. Oh, Becca. Please forgive me from heaven. Tom"

I felt heavy after the letter was done. Lucas had tears filling his eyes. Trent was silent and looked like he was deep in thought. He put the letter down next to the body.

"That's my worst fear, ya know? That I'd have to put down Lacey or Raine. I'm not a fan of suicide but I don't blame this guy at all for this. If there is a God looking down on us, I really hope he takes these cases into account." Lucas said quietly.

I remembered having a similar talk with Tyreese about this. I think a lot of people were thinking about the emergency escape plan from this life. If I were to actually admit it, I did too. I thought about if Tom's situation were my own how would I respond? Right now, making the choice to keep going made all this a thing that I could live with, but if I were to lose my family would I be able to make the same choice?

"What are we going to do with his body?" I asked, mostly as a way to get out of my head.

"Ground is frozen. We can't bury him." Trent replied, grabbing on the distraction as well.

Lucas cleared his throat and quickly wiped his face before he stood up. He poked around the barn a bit until he came across the tool storage closet. It was surprisingly deep, made to fit a ride on mower and a couple other large items. He peered inside and called out, "Hey I think this might work." Trent and I walked over to where he stood. "If we clear these tools out we could put him in here. We could put a sign up on the door." Lucas added. I nodded in agreement. It was as close as we could come to a respectful burial at this point. We got busy clearing out the closet.

When we had finished emptying the closet Trent and Lucas gently lifted Tom's body and placed it inside. I picked up the note, walked over to the work bench, found a jar with nails in it and pulled a hammer off the peg board on the wall. I grabbed a nail out of the jar and went to the closed door of Tom's burial closet. I put the note up on the door so if another group comes, they'd know who Tom was. We stood together in front of the door in silence for a moment then left the barn and went back into the house. I had a new feeling of respect for where we were squatting.