World Memorial (10 page)

Park slowly became aware again. He was sitting up, his back against something hard and bumpy. His rear was cold, and everything was still dark.

"Ah," said a woman's voice from somewhere in the dark. "You're stirring. Good." The woman's voice was familiar, but Park couldn't say from where.

His neck hurt and there was pressure on his chin. He realized his head was slumped forward against his chest. He lifted it and opened his eyes.

Everything was a dark grey blur.

"That's right," said the woman's voice, coming from a blurry shape near him. Things became clearer and brighter. The shape was human. With long hair.

"Come on, Mr. Welch. You can do it."

"Fuck me," said Park, his voice thick and hoarse.

"I hope that's an expression and not a suggestion," said the woman.

Park blinked to clear his vision. He was still at the bottom of the hill, the crashed bus about thirty feet to one side. He was sitting against a tree. Snow fell lightly.

A woman in a long white dress stood a few feet away. She knelt and examined him closely. Park guessed she was about 40. She brushed back her long black hair and smiled.

"Pleased to meet you in person, Parker," said the woman. "My name is Beulah."

"What happened?" said Park, lifting a hand to feel his forehead. He had the remnants of a painful headache and was afraid to move too quickly lest he set it off.

"You passed out," said Beulah. "If I had to guess, you ran right up to the edge of a heart attack. Good thing you didn't keep going."

"Wait," said Park. "I know you."

Beulah raised her eyebrows. "Well I should hope so. I've been talking to you almost every night. Not like this, mind you, but still."

Park stared at her, trying to make sense of it. This was the woman who'd shown up in his dreams. It looked like her. It sounded like her. Night after night she told him to stop trying to kill himself. He was sure of it. And he was also sure he'd never seen her in person until this moment.

"It's strange, I know," said Beulah, standing. Her dress wafted in a cold breeze, the hem of it brushing the snow.

"Little more than fucking strange," said Park. He decided to risk the headache and climbed to his feet. His head throbbed but it wasn't unbearable. He looked at her, frowning. "So assuming it is you, why do you give a shit whether or not I kill myself?"

Beulah smiled. "I have something I need you to do."

"And what the fuck would that be?"

"Not yet. Can't just spring everything on you at once," said Beulah.

Park snorted. "You prop me up against the tree?"

"Yes," said Beulah, smiling. "You passed out on your face. Couldn't have you smothering in the snow."

"No," said Park. "Wouldn't want that." He saw his rifle leaning against the tree and picked it up, slinging it over his shoulder.

He sighed. "Don't suppose you saw my pack? Had food in it."

“No,” said Beulah, “I'm sorry."

"Well, that's gonna suck in a few hours."

"We'll think of something," said Beulah.

"If you say so," said Park, scratching his beard and walking to the fallen bus. The dead driver was still moving inside.

"I sent you the dreams, Parker," said Beulah, stepping up behind him.

"I thought we'd established that."

"Not just the ones telling you not to end your own life," she said. "All of them. The town. Angela Land's son. He is still alive. And I need you to get to him before Joel does."

"The preacher?"

"He used to be, yes."

Park turned to look at her. "Ever consider the possibility you're batshit?"

She chuckled. "No, actually."

"Well, look into it."

A snapping sound rang out behind him. He spun around. A line of trees stood about a hundred feet away. He heard voices again. Two men talking to each other, whispering hurriedly like they were arguing while trying to be quiet.

"You hear that too, right, batshit lady?" said Park, slipping his rifle off his shoulder.

"I do," said Beulah, putting a hand on the strap of Park's rifle to stop it. "Let me handle it."

* * *

Maylee knelt in the snow. She was at a far corner of the town, facing the wall. A large flap of metal was bent inward, creating a large enough opening for corpses to walk through. Dalton and Carly stood behind her. It was just the three of them. She'd told the rest of the Guard to search the town, to make sure nothing else had gotten in.

"Damn," said Dalton.

"Yeah," said Maylee.

"Hey, guys," said Carly, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry for my grandpa. He means well."

Maylee ignored her, running her gloved hand along the edge of the metal. "Where are the nails?"

"What?" said Dalton.

"The nails," she repeated. "There should be nails holding this in place."

"Here," said Carly, digging in the snow. She handed two nails to Maylee.

Maylee held them up and looked at them closely. "These are new," she said. "Or as close to new as you can get anymore."

"So it
was
recently fixed," said Dalton.

“Yep,” Maylee said, cupping her hand and rolling the nails back and forth. "So how did they come out?"

Carly shrugged. "Whatever got in first pushed its way through? Stronger than the nails?"

"No," said Dalton, frowning at Maylee's hand then looking at the snow around them. He rubbed his gloved hands together, thinking. "There should be a least six nails in the snow. We only found two and I don't see any others."

Maylee sniffed in the cold. "Someone took the others and dropped these."

Carly looked at both of them like they were crazy. Her cheeks were red from the cold. "You think someone did this on purpose?"

Maylee sighed, dropping the nails back into the snow. "That or the bobcat pocketed the others."

The three of them looked among each other for a moment. Frigid wind rattled the bent metal sheet.

"Covering your ass?" came Elton's voice.

Maylee turned on her heels to see him stepping up, rifle over his shoulder. She stood. Elton noticed Carly standing there. "Sorry you had to see that, Carly. It had to be done. She would have turned."

"Yeah," said Carly, looking down. The exchange made Maylee angry, but what he said was right. Rhia had known she was dead the second she’d been bitten.

Maylee stepped over to Elton, looking him in the eyes. "And where were you when she was getting bit? I was trying to save her."

Elton snorted. "Save her from the mistake you caused?"

"Come to think of it," said Maylee, "how did you know where the opening was so quickly?"

"Maylee..." said Carly. Maylee heard the edge in her voice. She was asking Maylee to tread lightly.

Elton shook his head, chuckling. His breath misted in the cold air. "Because while you were busy running blindly from screw-up to screw-up, I was tracking down the source."

"How convenient you found it first," Maylee said.

"Just what are you saying, little girl?"

"I think that's pretty damned obvious."

"Maylee!" said Carly stepping between the two of them. "This is my grandfather you're talking about."

"I think I can handle myself, Carly," said Elton, putting a hand on her shoulder and slowly pushing her aside.

"Yeah," said Maylee. "I was wondering what else you can handle. What you could handle to prove a stupid point."

"And what point would that be?"

"That I don't know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

There was movement behind Elton. Maylee looked around him to see a second crowd of townsfolk gathering. Some of them were with Rhia when Elton had shot her.

"What was that you were saying?" said Elton. "Something about not knowing what you were doing? Maybe for all these people's safety someone should relieve you of command." He took the gun down from his shoulder.

"Grandpa!" said Carly, stepping back from him.

"Stay out of this, girl," Elton snapped.

"Are we really going here?" said Maylee.

"I don't know, are we? Or are you going to wait for your momma?"

He started to raise the gun.

Dalton rushed over and grabbed the barrel, pushing it back down. "Hey there, dude, I think you better calm down."

Elton jerked the gun away. "And I think you better keep your hands off things that don't belong to you, freak! I don't even know why you need to be here! Those things outside pose no threat to
you
, do they?"

Maylee stepped closer to him. Part of her was mindful of the gun but most of her was too angry to care. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" said Elton, holding his gun in front of him but keeping it pointed at the ground. Dalton stood to one side, keeping his eye on the gun. “All of this is my problem! Your special little brother is my problem!. The fact that our defenses are led by a little girl is my problem! The fact that you two and your mom live in a big old house while we live in boxes is my problem!"

"That house is stuffed full and you know it!" yelled Maylee. She wanted to take her bat from her back and slam his head in.

"You and your crippled mom have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"Grandpa!" yelled Carly, louder this time.

"I said stay out of this!" yelled Elton, pointing at her. His cheeks were red and his eyes wild. Maylee could sense things slipping out of control.

"Listen to me everyone," said Maylee, forcing her voice to sound soothing, "let's all just calm down. The danger is over. We need to wait until my mother returns."

Elton snorted. "What a surprising answer." He shook his head and stepped away. He paused to look at Carly. "Back to the camper."

"Later," she said.

Elton shook his head at her and walked away. Maylee watched him go, aware that Carly was watching her. She looked back. Carly shook her head and walked off. Maylee's eyes moved to the townsfolk who had gathered to watch. Most of them looked awkward. A few looked sympathetic, but some looked angry. Maylee suspected their anger wasn’t directed at Elton.

She suspected they agreed with him.

"Damn," said Dalton.

Maylee looked to him and only just then realized she'd been holding her breath. She let it out, willing herself to relax. He was looking down. She followed his gaze to where she'd thrown the nails.

Someone had pulled them out on purpose. She was sure of it.

* * *

Franklin adjusted his hunting cap and sighed. He pressed his back against the tree and sent up a short prayer they hadn't been seen. It had taken them forever to make their way down the steep hill while remaining out of sight. It would be terrible if they'd blown it now.

"Do you think they saw us?" said Bud, his thick, wild beard bobbing as he spoke. Snow fell from it, replaced quickly by more as it slowly fell around them.

"If you aren’t quiet, Brother, I'm sure they'll
hear
us," said Franklin, hoping it wasn't true. "Brother Joel entrusted us with this mission. We must not fail."

"Oh," said Bud, scratching at his facial hair and adjusting the rifle strapped to his shoulder.

Franklin frowned at him and at the gun. "Why did you have to shoot at the man, Bud?"

"He was threatening us."

"He couldn't
see
us."

"Well how was I to know that, Franklin? I bet you don't even know that for sure."

"And there you go, talking again."

Bud scowled. "You brought it up."

"Will you just be quiet!" said Franklin, trying to yell and whisper at the same time. It came out as a sharp hiss.

"Right, right," said Bud, nodding as though he'd only just now grasped being quiet. He fell silent, thinking. "Say, Franklin, who do you think that woman is with him?"

Franklin sighed and pulled the cap from his head. The wind was cold on his scalp. "Seriously? How should I possibly know?"

"Oh, put your cap back on, Franklin. I was just wondering if you had any theories."

Franklin replaced his hat, more because his head was cold than because Bud had told him to.

He heard movement from the other side of the tree. Footsteps crunching in the snow. Closer than he would have expected.

His back clenched. He put a gloved finger to his lips. Bud nodded. Franklin slowly craned his neck, trying to see around the tree while revealing as little of his head as possible.

The woman they'd seen with Mr. Welch was walking straight toward them, her plain white dress brushing the snow. She had no coat or any other protection from the cold.

She smiled at Franklin. "Peek a boo."

Franklin cursed and whipped his head back out of sight. He hurriedly said a short prayer for forgiveness for swearing.

"I see you," said the woman, drawing closer.

"I think she saw us," said Bud.

"You think?" Franklin stood and stepped from around the tree.

"Hello there," said the woman. Her long dark hair bobbed around her shoulders as she took a few more steps and stopped directly in front of him. "Out hunting?"

Franklin looked back to Bud, then back at the woman. "Um, yes, ma'am. Yes indeed. Food being scarce and all, we're just out—"

The woman shook her head at him. "Don't lie, Franklin."

"How do you know my name?"

"I'll tell you mine if it will make you feel better."

"I asked—"

"Beulah. My name is Beulah. Nice to meet you."

Franklin opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked back to Bud. Bud was frowning at the woman. Franklin looked back.

"Um, nice to meet you, ma'am, but—"

"Which one of you shot at Parker?" she asked, smiling.

Franklin shifted from one foot to the other. He looked past Beulah. Parker was standing with his back to them, looking around for something. Franklin figured it was the backpack he had seen on him earlier. Franklin looked back to Beulah.

"Well," said Franklin. "As far as that goes, ma'am—"