The Swamp (7 page)

             
“Thank you for stopping! I don’t know what I would have done… I am Paul and my Brother is Named Ken.

             
“I’m Sam and her name is Carol, where are you headed?”

             
“We didn’t know. I only just found him a few days ago. I’ve spent the last several weeks working my way up here after the Inverness station fell. My brother is…was a ranger for the division of forestry and has been living in a cabin just north of Pensacola, we had been staying in touch by Ham radio. But then we were over run and I barely got out of there. We were headed towards Jacksonville when all this happened…” he waved a hand to indicate the van.

             
“Jacksonville is gone, the radio referred to it as a city of the dead before the radios went dead.” I told him about the news I had heard from the radio and mom, “as far as I know, there are no safe settlements left.”

             
He looked crestfallen and his shoulders sagged. I thought back to moms words as she climbed out of the Fleetwood, “I raised you better than that…,” and with a nod from mom, I said “we have a place and plenty of food…”

             
Paul grabbed my hands and pumped them enthusiastically, “Thank you, thank you!

             
An hour later, our convoy reached the end of the pavement. There was no way the RV was going to make it all the way down the sandy roads to the tower, so we had decided to leave it here and proceed on the ATV. Surprisingly the van managed to keep up all the 9 miles to the tower, but I bet it couldn’t have been a comfortable ride for the injured man.

Sam
opened the gate and allowed the vehicles in, his mother drove around to the generator, and a few seconds later the house lights came on. Sam walked to the van to help Paul get his brother inside and into the unclaimed bed. Mom had been right, the shoulder wound was nothing serious, but it looked like it hurt. She brought in a duffle bag Sam had pilfered off an ambulance a few weeks ago and started to work. Sam left the room when she pulled a syringe with a long needle from the bag. He hated shots.

             
Paul was on the couch, looking exhausted. “I don’t mean to be a pest, but you mentioned food?”

             
“Sure thing, Mom will ground me if I forget my manners.” They shared a chuckle while Sam moved to the kitchen. He found a few cans of spam and some spaghetti and went to work. The generator had been off all day so he opened the window to air out the house, while he waited on the water to boil.

             
By the time he was finished; mom had come back out and announced that Ken was resting comfortably, and that he would be fine. Paul let out a sigh of relief and took the offered plate. “Smells good, what is it?”

             
“I have no idea.” Sam replied, and they all dug in.

             
They ate and talked about what they knew and the things they had seen. Sam was again reminded of how easy his trip to the relative safety of the swamp as Paul recounted a tale of the suffering and heartbreak he had endured in his travels across the state.

             
He had been living a quiet life in retirement before this had all happened; He spent his days fulfilling his lifelong passion of being an artist.

             
The day of the president’s address, he had been working on a found art piece as he listened in shock. Before the commander in chief’s words were even done, he heard someone pounding on his door.

             
It had been the army going door to door instituting a mandatory evacuation of the area. He was made to leave his house on a moment’s notice, and taken by bus to a train station, where he and hundreds of others were loaded up into box cars and sent to a heavily fortified prison complex outside of Inverness, Florida. Eventually A nearby gated community and a commercial area was connected by a hastily built wall to give them more room.

             
He and several thousand others stayed there guarded by a mixed group of soldiers and law enforcement until the inevitable had happened and the place was over run.

             
He had gotten out and stolen a vehicle he found and started north with some others. They had to fight their way across Florida, and had eventually split up to go their own ways.

             
Paul had been lucky after that, he had traveled the states panhandle and had been able to avoid most of the major cities and their hordes of infected, and eventually found his brother.

             
They had stayed at his cabin for a couple of weeks, but lack of food had flushed them out and they were working their way back when they had encountered the kid and the met Sam.

             
Sam quickly told his story, and then Mom gave a condensed version of her own and about the situation her other son was in back at the farm. Sam could see how much it hurt her to discuss it, and wasn’t surprised at some of the details she left out.

             
They eventually went to bed, and Sam again laid there unable to sleep at first, his mind a buzz of activity, eventually exhaustion took him and he fell asleep.

             
He found himself still at the ranger’s house when he dreamed that night, but he was again all alone. Outside he could hear the angry clicking of teeth and moaning that meant the presence of the undead.

             
He rushed outside to find the world dark, not even a moon to light the way and the sky was black in the absence of even the stars. All around him he could hear the dead moving around inside the fence, but none attacked him, in fact they didn’t even seem to notice he was there. He could see them moving in the scant light that spilled through the windows from inside

             
He listened for a few minutes as his eyes adjusted, then turned to go inside. The closed door puzzled him, He looked at the door knob, but even as he stared, he couldn’t quite remember what it was. He pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t open, it was latched securely.

             
He made his way over to the large front window and peered in, nothing moved in the dimly lit house, but on the far wall he could see himself in the mirror that hung there.

             
The face that stared back at him had hollow, sunken eyes. His skin was the green of bad pork, and a black fluid leaked from the corners of his mouth. He tried to scream but all that came out was a long moan.

             
He awoke and reached for his gun on the nightstand as he sprang to his feet to rush outside and fight the undead.

             
As he reached for the door, he heard his mother’s voice call out from the other side, “Sam, are you all right? I heard a scream.”

             
Her voice pushed back the terror of the dream and his stupor cleared. “Yes Mom, I am fine, It was just a dream.” He told her as much as himself. She knocked again, and this time he heard other voices in the house as doors opened and the others assembled to find out what was going on.

             
He felt guilty and stupid for letting his dream get the best of him and scaring the others. He placed the gun back on the table and opened the door.

             
“I am sorry, it was just a nightmare, but I am fine now, please go back to sleep.” Sam explained. The two men nodded and turned to go, but his mother stayed.

             
“I can give you something to help you sleep…” she offered.

             
“No, thank you. I am really ok, it’s just one of those things that happens.”

             
“How often?” she asked, back in nurse mode.

             
“Not very often,” he lied, “I am sorry I woke you up.” He could tell that she didn’t believe him.

             
“Bull,” She said, “come with me.” and led him to the kitchen table. She brought him a glass of water and told him to drink. He took a big drink, and coughed as it burned its way down his throat.

             
“Be careful,” she said belatedly, “it’s vodka. Finish it and go back to bed. It always helps me.” With that she went back to her room.

             
He finished it and felt better. When he went back and crawled back into bed, sleep took him almost immediately. The rest of the night passed without dreams.

Chapter 7

             
The next day started early and everyone was tired. They had stayed up late into the night telling their stories and misadventures.  Today would be very busy.

             
Paul and Sam headed into a nearby town that Sam knew was clear. The evacuation order had come early enough here that everyone but a few stragglers had been sent to what was called safer areas, never to return. Sam knew that those heavily fortified safe zones were anything but, as they infection had followed the people in and ravaged the survivors inside, leaving thousands of the walking dead trapped inside. If humanity ever recovered, those would be the most dangerous area to clear.

             
The towns grocery store was almost empty, and even the stock room was well cleared out. They ended up having to go door to door through the houses to find the necessary supplies, but in the end it worked out for the best as the found several weapons to add to their arsenal, as well as camping equipment, food, bottled water and even a few pairs of really nice binoculars they knew would come in handy. By the time they had finished the eleventh house, Paul’s van was full of almost everything they needed, and they started the drive home.

             
They dropped necessary supplies at the RV and got everything stowed away. Every available storage area was filled, and organized. They locked the RV up tight and headed down the long sandy road to the tower.

             
Mom was standing in the door of the house when they pulled in, and waved as Sam got out letting the van through the gate.

             
“Your brother is awake.” She told Paul as he stepped from the van. “He was wondering where you got off to.”

             
“How is he doing?” Paul asked.

             
“He should be fine, we will need to watch him for signs of infection, but the wound wasn’t all that severe, he was lucky.” She explained and then urged Paul to go visit.

             
By this time Sam had joined them. “I am glad you were able to patch him up”, He said as he hugged her. “He was lucky to have you.”

             
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” she asked as they went inside.

             
“Yes we did, having Paul there was a big help, we were able to check out some houses.” He explained as he sat down at the table. “It wasn’t really safe to do that kind of thing alone.”

             
She went into the kitchen and started to pull things from the cabinets. “I will make you something to eat, and we can discuss the next step.”

             
Sam wasn’t especially hungry, but he knew better than to try to stop Mom from feeding someone, so he just chatted with her while she cooked. In just a few minutes, she had produced a wonderful smelling stew and sat the table with four place settings.

             
“PAUL, KEN.” She yelled, “Come eat!” she ladled the stew onto the plates and brought a water pitcher to the table.

             
Paul appeared a minute later, “Ken says he doesn’t feel like getting up, I will just take him his food in there.” Sam saw it coming but didn’t say anything.

             
“No sir,” Mom started, “He was shot in the shoulder, there is no reason he can’t walk to the table.” She hustled off to the bedroom.

             
Paul started to object, but Sam cut him off. “Just have a seat, Paul. He will be out here in a minute.”

             
Sam proved to be right as shortly a shocked looking Ken was escorted out of the bedroom, his arm in a sling. Mom stayed right behind him, urging him along until he was seated at the table, spoon in hand.

             
“How do you feel?” Sam asked, once Ken was settled in to a chair.

             
“Fine enough to join you guys in a meal, I guess.” Ken replied.

             
Mom sat down, and encouraged everyone to eat, and they did. The stew was amazing, and Sam found another reason to be thankful he wasn’t alone anymore. His own cooking sucked, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.