Unrest (16 page)

              “Shelter?” Lupe said. “Did they say shelter?”

              “Yes,” Jomo smiled, “I believe so.”

              The radio went dead again.

              “Damn it!” Lupe said.

              Jomo tried to change the channels but wasn’t picking up anything. “Nothing!”

              “Leave it where it was,” Lupe said, “Maybe we’ll pick up the frequency again.”

              “All right.”

              “If we keep moving north it will probably get stronger.”

              Jomo nodded. He hoped so, and didn’t want to

seem negative so he did not voice his doubt.

              It was soon dark. Lupe saw the neon sign for Freeland’s Whole Foods from the highway. They turned off the exit ramp into the supermarket parking lot.

              “Gotta be better than all the rest stops we’ve tried,” she said.

              “Agreed,” Jomo replied.

              The lights weren’t completely off but most of the market seemed dark, as if only every thirty or so of the overhead fluorescent lights was on. They were probably only on because of an emergency back up generator.
              The parking lot was empty, all the front display windows smashed as expected. Jomo led with his spear, Lupe following close behind with the Bo Staff. There were two doors, one intact, and one not, that could be opened in opposite directions. The one on the right with the shattered glass was unlocked and swung open easily. If the doors had been auto-matic then their electronic sensors were disabled.

              Stepping over broken glass and debris they went in.              

***

              The man and woman appeared to be husband and wife. They quickly untied her.

              “Who are you?” the man said, “What’s happened?”

              “Are you all right?” the woman asked.

              Xinga nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you. There’s a man. He kidnapped me, took me away from my friends, and tied me up here. He’ll be coming back soon!”

              “That’s terrible!” the woman exclaimed.

              “Well, he’s not coming back to a welcoming party that’s for sure,” the man said, indignant.

              “You live here?” Xinga asked.

              “Yes, we’re groundskeepers for the park. I’m George, this is my wife Lana.”

              “I’m Xinga.”

              “Do you want some water, food?” Lana asked.

              “No, I just want to get away from here.”

              George shook his head vehemently. “No, that’s no good; you might run into him again out there. You need to stay put until he comes back. We’ll have to deal with him.”

              Lana smiled kindly. “It will be safer for you here sweetheart.”

              George looked around. “He didn’t find my gun did he?”

              “Your gun?” Xinga asked.

              “My shotgun?”

              “No, I don’t think so. He would have set it on the table with the rest of my stuff.”

              George looked at the table. “This is yours?”

              “Yes, there were supplies in our car, my friend Samir’s vehicle. I was in it when he stole it.” Xinga looked at them worriedly. “You do know what’s out there?”

              George coughed a laugh. “The meat eaters, fucking zombie fucks,” he said, spitting out the words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth.

              “Meat eaters? We started calling them shamblers,” Xinga said.

              “Yeah, that’s appropriate.”

              “Where did you get the groceries?”

              “There’s a small food mart in the campgrounds further up. Crazy Joe is still running it like it isn’t the end of the world. They haven’t gotten in here yet. We’re hoping they don’t. ”

              George hurried over to the wall, to the right of the bed and pulled out one of the wooden wall panels. Therein sat the shotgun he’d been anxious about. It was a double barreled Colt.

              “Now what?” Xinga asked.

              George turned one of the chairs around so that he sat with his back to the table, facing the doorway. He snapped open the breakaway barrel, sliding a round into each chamber, and placing the shotgun gingerly on his lap. “Now we wait for the bastard to step through that door.”

Rise up, warriors, take your stand at one another's sides, our feet set wide and rooted like oaks in the ground.

- Tyrtaeus

War would end if the dead could return.
 

- Stanley Baldwin

Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war,
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.
 

- William Shakespeare

            
 
A bronze statue of Washington on horseback atop a granite pedestal surrounded by other men of note, also in bronze, stood outside the courtyard. Inside, entering through the capital extension on Bank Street, a bronze of Thomas Jefferson holding parchment in both hands stood; on the base his signature inscribed, and underneath that the words Architect of Liberty. As they moved through the halls and chambers the vastness of the space with its statues, portraits, marble and black limestone tiles, terrazzo, and granite, emptied of people gave them a chill. But along with that a sense of history and turbulence; of importance.

              Kamara observed a fleeting shadow moving at the end of one of the halls. “I just saw something,” she whispered, in case it was one of them.

              “Shambler?” Marina asked.

              “Not sure. It seemed to be moving fast so I’m doubtful. But can’t be too cautious.”

              “Right,” Samir said. He motioned them to silence as they crept toward the end of the hall where it closed off on one end and then veered into another passage on the left.

              As they approached with weapons raised, what they had at first mistaken for a sigh was actually the panting of a four legged creature. The dog, which looked like a German Shepherd/Border Collie Mix looked back at them distrustfully but also with a degree of curiosity, stopping before rounding another corner. Its fur was caked with dirt, overgrown and matted, so it was hard to tell what color it was.     

              “Hey boy! Hey boy!” Ian said.

              “Be careful,” Samir said, placing his palm on Ian’s chest as he tried to advance. They followed the dog quietly, trying not to scare it off.

              It stood at the end of the hall, fully facing them now, its eyes challenging them.

              “We’re not here to hurt you boy,” Samir said. “It’s okay.”

              The dog panted, tongue lolling from its mouth as it observed them again. Samir got down on one knee.

              “You going to propose?” Marina chuckled.

              “Hey, the dog looks better than some of the women my parents have tried to hook me up with.”

              “Ouch,” Ian said.

              “Come on boy,” Kamara said, extending out her hand.

              The dog cocked its head to one side, and then slowly, guardedly approached her.

              “I’ll be damned,” Ian said.

              The dog padded along right up to her hand, getting bolder the closer it got. Kamara stayed bent forward with her outstretched palm. She tried not to make any sudden moves. But the dog still hesitated and backed away a moment.

              “It’s okay,” Kamara smiled and nodded.

              The dog moved forward and carefully sniffed her hand. It decided she was all right and licked her palm. Kamara ruffled its head. “Good boy.”

              The dog seemed to smile happily, mouth open in a toothy tongue wagging grin. A layer of dust flew from its head as she brushed through its topcoat with her hand.

              “Boy has been through some stuff,” Ian said.

              Kamara noticed a heart shaped faux gold dog tag around the animal’s neck. There was a name engraved on it. “Well, I think it’s a girl, and it

belongs, or belonged to somebody. Her name’s Ariel.”              

***

              The market was either a treasure trove of goods or a dimly lit deathtrap where every shadow could mean potential danger. There was litter strewn throughout the aisles, and Lupe and Jomo navigated these with an excess of caution. The lights were out in the cases, so anything cold was out of the question. There was an especially rancid odor coming from the dairy aisle and meat section. ¾ of those sections had been ransacked; the rest left to rot. Likewise with the produce section which had a moldy vegetable stench. Some of the remaining overhead fluorescent lights were flickering, so there was not much life left in them. They moved into the next aisle where the dry goods section began. It consisted of mostly salad dressing and condiments. Most of that aisle had been left untouched. Not much good there.

              They found an empty shopping cart at the end of that aisle and Jomo grabbed it, swerving it into the next aisle, filled with mostly all natural, gluten free and organic cereal. Half of those shelves were empty.

              “Cereal without milk?” Jomo asked.

              “Pass,” Lupe said.

              “We can’t afford to be picky now. It may serve as a late night snack if we get particularly hungry.”

              “Fine, grab a couple. Let’s just make sure we can fit everything in the car.” They moved on to the canned goods aisle, where there were only a few scattered cans of tomato, mushroom soup, and green beans.

              “Crap, they got all the good stuff,” Lupe said, “Foiled again.”

              A heavy bang made them swivel their heads

toward the back of the supermarket.

              Jomo said, “What was that?”

              “I’m not sure I want to know.”

             
Bang. Bang.
It was as if someone was pounding on metal, likely with their fists.

              Jomo set the cart aside leading with his spear, as they approached the back of the store. Lupe followed but questioned him. “Are we really going to check it out?”

              “There could be someone alive in here.”

              She grumbled, “All right. But I think we should just grab up what we can and go.”

              “Noted,” Jomo said. “I need to know.”

              “Fine,” Lupe said.

              The back of the store was where the naturally sourced ice cream and Skinny Cow frozen treats were. They slowly went around the glass cases to the back stockroom where the sound seemed to be originating from, and quickly found its source.

              Behind the square inset window in the freezer was one of the zombies. He was the one making a racket pounding on the metal door, trying to get out. He became quickly agitated when he saw them, pounding on the thick glass now, and he didn’t seem to be the only one locked in there, as other fists began to pound on the metal door.

              They could hear them growling behind it. There was no telling how many of them there were, but it seemed to be quite a few.

              “Well, someone got out of here just in time, and was quick enough to trap them in there,” Jomo said.

              What Lupe said next sent a chill through him as if he were in the freezer himself. “Or someone wasn’t brave enough to kill them after they were bit and locked them inside before they turned.”

***

              Morris Beckel drove up the highway with new supplies in the trunk. He was within a mile of the trail back to the cabin, when hugging a curve he came upon a line of undead blocking the road. He squealed the brakes to a halt. Before he could think to simply plow through them, they thickened into a cloud, more of them coming out of the adjacent woods from both sides.

              “Ah shit!” Morris said. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!!”

              He could have backed up, found another road, maybe even driven the other way on the road itself or on the shoulder until he hit another exit ramp and taken a detour around them, but he wanted through now! He had to get to the girl, and these fucking rotting corpses weren’t going to get in his way! He stomped down on the accelerator. The car jolted, lifting off the ground, as zombies flew through the air. Several fell back on to the car, on top of the hood, on top of the trunk, on top of the windshield. Wheels spun over one of them, suddenly stuck before he could manage to climb over it, crushing bone, turning another’s brains to mush. Others clung to the sides of the car. At one point it seemed like he had five or six of them on the car but he was able to keep going. One of them eventually fell off.

              The pesky one on his windshield clung on, stupidly trying to claw through the window. He turned the wipers on as if it were only a bug. It snagged his fingers and irritated him but he clung on, until Morris decided to put the wipers on full blast and simultaneously squirt some of the windshield fluid. It had the desired effect. The rapidly moving wipers caught its fingers between the blades and the glass, drawing blood, while some of the fluid sprayed on the creature’s face and got in its eyes, temporarily blinding it. The rotting man fell off, creating a satisfying crunch as he rolled under the vehicle.

              He kept stamping on the accelerator, and swerving the car from side to side to try to shake the others off, but he almost immediately steadied the car, noting that it was in danger of tipping or rolling over, and if that happened he would be as good as gone. It would be nearly impossible to exit the vehicle. 

              “God damn it!” Morris cursed, pounding his fists on the steering wheel, which caused the horn to blast in a series of angry honks, as the car continued

to barrel down the highway.

***

              Finding only empty rooms on the first floor they took the stairs to the second. A white marble statue of George Washington, with a cane in one hand, and an overcoat draped on the other arm stood in the large rotunda, protected by a circle of metal spikes, and flanked by equally well coifed figures in half-dome inserts in the orange cream colored walls. Above this a white railing bordered the mezzanine level in which numerous historical oil portraits were visible; beyond that the domed ceiling from which a cascade of natural illumination passed through the inset skylight onto Washington’s form. Behind Washington was the entrance to the Old House Chamber.

              They looked inside. One man sat on a dark mahogany chair facing the podium, the only man amongst dozens of empty seats. His head was cocked to one side. He had taken off his suit jacket, and his white dress shirt and blue tie were stained with blood. In his open hand rested a pistol. Walking around to see him clearly, his eyes looked out blindly, lifeless. Marina lifted his head slightly off his shoulder. Blood had pooled and dried there from the gunshot wound. He had shot himself in the head, taken his own life. Who he was and why he chose this as his final place of rest none of them knew.

              Ian winced. “Poor bastard.”

              Marina looked at Samir. “Still think we’ll find anyone alive here?”

              He didn’t say anything but they still left the chamber, out into the branching halls in search.

              The dog walked alongside them as they explored the rooms and corridors. To their left was the Senate Chamber. The heavy bronze double doors were closed. Samir and Kamara each opened one side.

              There were people seated sporadically through the great curved chamber looking forward though no one was at the platform. They seemed unnervingly still. There had to be close to a hundred of them. As the four of them slowly entered the chamber the whiff of rot assaulted their nostrils, and the dog Ariel whined beside them.

              The people turned, both men and women dressed in suits and business skirts, dresses and jackets. The dead-eyed stared at them through faces of decaying flesh and teeth that no longer had lips to cover their gums, stringy matted hair that hadn’t seen a comb or brush in months, and mouths that opened slowly into a deafening moan of need.  

***

              “What do we do with them?” Jomo asked.

              “Do?” Lupe said. “We leave them in there.”

              “Isn’t that a tad inhumane?”

              Lupe laughed. “Inhumane Jomo? They’re

already dead. They can’t feel anything. If they could the cold would have already killed them.”

              “Yes, I suppose you’re right. And if we let them out we’d have to kill them before they kill us.” He shook his head. “Still seems wrong somehow.”

              “That’s because some part of you believes they’re still human,” Lupe said. “I watched these things tear my family apart in front of me. Trust me, there’s nothing human about them.”

              “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” Jomo said.

“It’s so odd to be speaking of killing the dead. Still I wonder how long they’ve been in there. Can’t have been long. Even if they can’t feel anything they would still have eventually frozen.”

              The pounding at the metal freezer door steadily grew louder, the undead inside more frantic.

One of the zombies began viciously pounding his head on the thick glass, forming a substantial pool of blood that trickled down, in danger of actually braining himself.

              “Maybe we should step away from the door,” Jomo said.

              “Yeah,” Lupe said, as they both began backing away.

              The door assembly was unfortunate for them. The inside didn’t have either a sliding or a pulling mechanism built in. It was a simple metal push bar. Though the zombies had no clue how to actually get out, the pressure of their hammering fists and the sheer weight of their numbers pressing against the door caused the simple mechanism to engage and eventually unlock the door. The man with the dented, bloodied forehead was first to slide through, and as the door opened wide, releasing them, the rest of the congregation of dead followed.      

***

              “What is that?” Xinga asked first, raising her head at the distant sound. George still sat watching the front door with the shotgun in his lap. Lana looked up from the bedroom where she’d tried to read at the bed but had sat there reading the same sentence over and over, unable to concentrate due to the stress of waiting. While she was sure the man deserved whatever he got for what he did and would have likely done to the girl Xinga, she had never seen a man get shot and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to.

              She listened. The sound was steady, strident and appeared to increase in intensity the longer she listened, until she could make it out. “It sounds like a- horn.”

              “Yeah,” George said. He got up and strode toward the door, with the shotgun in one arm.

              “George!” Lana cried out, “What are you doing?! Don’t go out there!”

              Xinga stood up from her chair grabbing her Sai off the table. She instantly felt better and more in control with the weapons in her hands.

              Lana shakily grabbed the hammer from the table and stood next to Xinga.