The Ugly Beginning - 01 (15 page)

“Where are we?” she asked. It wasn’t that she cared, it’s just an old habit. You know how it was when you would wake up on a road trip.

“Just passed some place called Heppner Junction,” I said.

“Traffic?”

“Nothing. Haven’t even seen a straggler since The Dalles. Wherever the dead are, they aren’t near the roads out here. No lights anyplace, which means if anybody is alive, they are staying low and don’t care if help comes.”

“We’re out far enough,” Teresa said with a nod. “Most of these folks are farmers. They like outdoors. Likely the best equipped to take care of themselves.”

A gunshot rang out and I heard our lookouts scrambling off the roof.

“And most likely to have guns,” I chuckled. I slammed on the brakes, which caused a jolt, but as slow as we were going it didn’t ruffle anybody too much.

A flash that had to be a gun barrel catching sunlight came from a window on the second floor of the colonial-style farmhouse. Teresa had already grabbed the binoculars from the glove box and was scanning. Like I said, at sixteen she was morphing into a damned Army Ranger. “Two. One in the upstairs window far left. One set up on the roof behind the chimney. Scoped rifles, so I’m guessing that was a warning.”

“I’m getting out,” I announced. “Randi, get behind the wheel. If they shoot me, leave. If I signal to come with both hands, it’s a trap. One means everything is okay.”

I knew there would be arguments, so I simply jumped out of the truck, slammed the door, raised my hands above my head, and started walking. It was a good couple hundred yards, which gave whoever was in that house plenty of time to prepare.

I got to the edge of the field and stood at the outskirts of what was once probably a beautiful yard. The grass, long enough to cover my shoes, was lush and green. A swing sat under a tree that was starting to bloom. A big shed was off to my right, and I glimpsed the corner of a swimming pool around the back of the house. A still well-manicured gravel drive led up to a garage larger than most houses I’ve been in.

Steps led up to the covered porch. It looked like it had been screened, but the screens had been cut or torn out. A man stepped out onto that porch. He was a fairly large black man with a shaved head. He held what I had to guess was some sort of military rifle. I’m only guessing.

“Step on closer so I can see you better.”

I didn’t argue. Keeping my hands up, I took a few steps and did a slow turn. I tried to get a look at everything around me, but really saw nothing useable for cover if this went bad.

“Name’s Dillon Clay. Up in the window’s my partner, Ian Lotherman. The young man on the roof with the quick trigger is Anton Maxwell.”

“Sorry!” a voice spoke from above. “I didn’t know what to do and I guess I kinda freaked.”

“You the owner of this place?” I asked.

“Ain’t nobody ownin’ much of anything the way I figure.” Dillon swung the rifle up over his shoulder. If he really wanted to put me at ease, he’d put the thing down.

“Living or dead.” A head was peering out of the window above. That would be Ian Lotherman. “We tried to check out Pendleton and Hermiston a few miles east, but it was pretty nasty. We decided that our best bet was to get away from any concentration of people.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” I glanced back to my truck still sitting in the field. “Look, can I give my people the ‘all clear,’ or would you rather we moved on?”

“I think it’d be nice to have more bodies to keep an eye out. ‘Specially since somebody went and fired his gun.” That last remark was spoken loud enough to be heard on the roof. Dillon looked at me, smiled, and winked as stumbling apologies and protests came in a flood from above.

I liked this guy. The world was literally in total chaos and confusion and this Dillon still had a sense of humor. I turned, realizing only after it was too late, to give the signal to my little band. I was instantly aware that my back was now completely exposed to men I did not know. Men with guns. Slowly, I raised one hand and waved it. After a deep breath, and a pause to make sure my face was as impassive as I could manage, I turned back.

“Hope one of y’all knows how to cook.” Dillon had leaned the rifle against the column and was sitting on the top step. “There is a grip of food inside, but not a one of us can do much past burn water.”

The truck made its way across the field. Randi pulled around the house, effectively shielding the vehicle from being seen from the highway.

***

The former residents of this place obviously had large meals. A long table that sat everybody comfortably held the remains of one of the best meals I’ve had, even before all of this happened. Having never eaten chicken that didn’t come from a grocery store or, more likely, a drive-through window, the meal was a real treat. There were all sorts of fresh fruit and vegetables in the big walk-in pantry, along with tons of home-canned produce.

Joe, Billy, Aaron, and Jamie helped Barry build a fire pit. There was some concern that the smell of smoke, or more likely, meat cooked over open flame, would draw some unwanted attention. Dave, Ian, and Anton stood watch diligently on the roof all day as Randi and Teresa prepared the meal with Thalia underfoot the entire time. It was almost...normal.

Everybody ate their fill and, by meal’s end, a bit of laughter was heard. Names were exchanged and turns were taken up top as the meal stretched on. I took my turn with Dillon.

“So, where do you guys come from?” I peered through the binoculars, turning slowly, seeing nothing.

“Me and Ian are from Idaho. We picked up Anton heading west. His car had conked out and he was busy trying to get into another.”

I explained how I’d come to care for Thalia, met Teresa, and about the fall of the FEMA center. I told them how we had been headed towards the coast but decided against it. I rambled for ten or twenty minutes. Dillon just sat quietly, watching the horizon, paying most of his attention to the interstate. Yeah, I liked this guy.

The rest of the night was more of the same. The night sky was clear, and the moon was bright. With the area around this house so flat, it was easy to keep a decent watch. Nothing would likely sneak up on us. With so many of us, nobody had to stand more than a two hour watch.

Morning came and the sun rose on what would be another warm day. Everybody drifted in and out, finding something to eat and cleaning up after themselves. A discussion finally arose about the idea of sending out a party to forage for supplies. There was strong disagreement by Dave, Teresa, and the boys about making this house the base.

They had a good point. The house had numerous windows and, while a few zombies would be no problem, a horde could pose a serious threat. That led to questions of where we should look to go. We came up with everything, including heading to the Columbia River and searching for a boat, but David heard that these things had no qualms about just walking into the water. Then Barry came up with what many of us considered to be a great idea. Apparently there were two major prisons not farther than forty or so miles apart.

“Not a good idea,” Ian offered.

I noticed Dillon cast a sideways glance, but I couldn’t read what passed between the two. Whatever it was, Ian kept talking after just a slight pause.

“You gotta figure a place like that turned into a war zone when this shit went down. If the cops won, who knows what sort of power trip is takin’ place. If the convicts won...”

“We wouldn’t be any better off than we are out here on the run,” Anton spoke up.

“Motorcycle.”

It was Melissa! She stood in the middle of the kitchen while we sat in the living room. She’d pretty much just wandered around since our arrival. Nobody really paid her any mind.

“Holy crap!” I sprang up from the couch and went to her. She faced me, her features still expressionless except for her eyes. That dull, glazed look was melting away. I could almost see life.

All of a sudden, Aaron and Jamie were bounding down the stairs, each one brandishing aluminum baseball bats. “Two coming from out back!” Aaron called as he darted past.

I looked out the now open back door as the boys, with practiced ease, moved in on the leather-clad zombie. This one proved to be much more of a challenge. It was still wearing a helmet.

A motorcycle rider!

After taking the thing off its feet, the boys managed to smash the face of the near helpless zombie until it stopped moving. They headed around the pool to apparently take out the other zombie. They had mentioned two after all.

Teresa was beside me now, and took Melissa’s hand in her own. Even Thalia was interested, and walked over to see if Melissa would indeed start talking.

“So many...” her voice trailed off, and her eyes were seeing something that happened days ago. “They won’t let go of him! They’re biting him! Alan, take my hand! Pull yourself up!” Melissa fell to her knees sobbing. “I pulled loose and ran. I left him. Screaming. Begging.”

I wrapped my arms around her and felt her practically sink into me. Her anguished cries shook her entire body. I absolutely don’t know what to do. I’ve never been to a funeral. Hell, until just a couple of weeks ago, I’d never seen a real dead person. So, I stood there. Holding this stranger. Stroking her hair. The only thing I wouldn’t do is lie to her. I would not tell her that everything would be all right.

“We got trouble!” Aaron came running through the open back door. “That little valley ‘bout a half-mile away? Seems a bunch of the damn things have been following it. Couldn’t see ‘em from the roof, but it’s like an anthill that has just been kicked.”

She pulled back, brushing herself off. With a deep breath, she wiped her face and took Thalia by the hand, “I can help.” I guess I didn’t conceal my dubious look in time. “Really, I’ll be okay. Steve was it? I’ll be okay now. Honest.”

I didn’t really want to entrust her with Thalia, but it wasn’t a time to talk things over. I turned and ran upstairs. I’d seen a closet full of sheets, towels, blankets, and comforters. It was summer now, but it would be cold someday.

I passed a window that, in normal times, probably provided a great view of the gently rolling desert plains. Just now, that view was being marred by an enormous horde of undead. Every age, sex, and size was indeed boiling up out of a gulley of some sort. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

***

Just over five minutes later, we were a two truck, one car caravan. This time we followed the long driveway. It led to a dirt access road running parallel to the interstate. Eventually it met with a normal two-lane road which took us to an on-ramp. I pulled up to the center of the overpass and parked.

“You go if you want, but Ian and I aren’t steppin’ foot inside. Those are nasty places, and whatever managed to survive inside, cop or convict, is nothin’ you want to tangle with,” Dillon was speaking quietly. Everybody was frozen. Listening. There was something in his tone.