Zombie Anthology (11 page)

    
Tired, Scott pushed himself to his feet, wiping his hands on what was left of the pair of tattered black jeans he wore, and headed over to where David stood. David didn't notice his approach.

    
"You've got to stop doing this,” Scott warned.

    
David jumped at the sound of his voice. His bloodshot eyes stared at Scott in shock. “Doing what?"

    
"Hoping,” Scott answered with a single word. Then he added, “If you don't, they'll likely have you for dinner soon. It makes them nervous when one of us shows any bit of spirit left. Just be thankful you're not one of them already and get over it."

    
David started to respond but Scott had already turned his back to the newcomer to the pen and was headed towards his spot to sit for a while longer and wait on the cool of the night.

2

    
The dead were getting closer. Riley ducked farther down in the brush on the hill above the gravel road below. Two jeeps, flanked by a number of creatures on foot, crept their way up the mountainside. The whole scene was very troubling to Riley. Just how desperate were the dead getting for food if they were sending hunting parties this far out and did it mean that all the cities had fallen at last? The hunting party seemed to be sticking to the road so far and he doubted that they would stray into the woods as yet but his cabin was only a few miles north of the road. Their presence here put him on edge. He counted eight of the things altogether counting the drivers, all heavily armed. There were simply too many of them for him to face alone and even if he somehow miraculously took them all out more would come in search of their brethren. They would surely find his place then and likely in even greater numbers. Riley kept still and waited on them to pass by. When they were well out of earshot, he began to make his way quietly back the way he'd come.

    
Little Brandon was playing in the tall grass of the cabin's lawn as Riley reached home and emerged from the trees. Brandon's face lit up at the sight of his father. He dropped the stick he'd been hacking at the wild flowers with and ran towards Riley with his tiny arms open. Despite his worries, Riley couldn't help but smile as he swept Brandon up from the ground, clutching him tight to his chest.

    
"Where's Mom?” Riley asked cutting off his son's litany of questions about his scouting trip. Crestfallen, Brandon motioned towards the cabin while keeping one arm propped on his father's wide shoulders. “She's getting ready to cook dinner."

    
Riley frowned and placed Brandon back on the ground doubling his pace for the cabin. The last thing they needed was a cloud of black smoke pouring out of the cabin's chimney today. The dead were too close by and might notice it.

    
Brandon followed as Riley walked up onto the porch and stuck his head inside the kitchen through the cabin's open front door. “Hi honey, I'm home,” he called out trying not to let his concerns show in front of Brandon. Hannah looked up from the vegetables she was chopping to greet Riley with a smile that died on her lips as she saw the fear in his eyes. “It's time isn't it?” she asked.

    
Riley nodded. “We both knew this day would come sooner or later."

    
"How long do we have?” She said moving to Brandon's hand in her own.

    
"I don't know. An hour, a week, there's just no way to know. They may never find this place but they're close enough now for us to be better safe than sorry."

    
Hannah leaned down and kissed her child on his forehead. “Brandon, honey, would you please go play in your room for a few minutes? Mommy and Daddy need to talk, okay?"

    
As Brandon marched off deeper into the cabin, Hannah got back to her feet and turned to face Riley. “Where are we going to go?"

    
Riley shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea.

3

    
It had been a tough decision but ultimately Riley had chosen not to take the truck. It was in great shape, perfect for off road travel, and there was enough fuel stored for it to fill up its tank twice out on the road. The problem with the truck was not the vehicle itself or its ability to function but rather the attention it would attract. The dead controlled the roads everywhere now and it was too risky to even use the truck out here in the isolated wilderness. It was better, Riley knew, to set out on foot. Their rate of travel would be slower and it would greatly lessen what they could carry with them but it would be far safer. On foot, they could stick to the trees, stay clear of the roads entirely, and they would be nowhere near as noticeable should they come across a group of the dead.

    
Hannah prepared them some rations and the family divided the load of food and water between themselves with even little Brandon carrying a canteen of his own. Riley also let Brandon carry a hunting knife though Hannah had protested it. The knife would be of no use against the dead as Brandon didn't have the strength or the skill to drive it into someone's skull but it made the boy feel safer and that was what mattered to Riley.

    
Hannah carried an old-fashioned .30-.06 rifle that once belonged to her father and a .38 revolver strapped to her hip. Riley, himself, wore two holstered .45 automatics, an M-16 he'd bought illegally before the world fell apart, and numerous spare clips for all three weapons in his backpack.

    
Leaving this place wasn't easy for any of them. They'd been up here alone for the full three months which had passed since the dead first began to rise. In a lot of ways, it'd felt more like home than the house they'd lived in for years and left behind when they'd fled for the high country.

    
Riley watched a tear slide down Hannah's cheek as she looked back at the cabin behind them as they made their way into the woods. It cut into his heart like a blade. They still had no idea of where they were headed. There was no logical place to head for so Riley and Hannah had merely decided to set out east for the coast and hope for the best. If nothing else, maybe Brandon could see the ocean once before the dead found them and they all died. Riley swore to himself the dead would never take his family alive even if he had to kill them himself.

4

    
It was feeding time in the pen. The sun had long sunk beneath the surrounding mountains. Two of the dead guards emerged from within the compound carrying a large bucket filled with slop that had the consistency of runny cream corn. With the help of a third guard, the bucket was emptied over the fence onto the ground of the pen. The human prisoners dove onto it like hunger-maddened animals, scraping it up from the dirt with their bare hands. Scott and David were not among the others fighting for their share of the evening meal. David remained at the pen's far side staring at the roadway that led up into the breeding center. Scott sat Indian style on the ground with his arms across his legs; palms open facing up towards the star filled sky. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow and steady. Scott would find food later somehow, whether it was leftovers or by fighting with the flock at the morning meal. He doubted if David had any thoughts in his head about food and he didn't care. Let the newcomer starve if he wanted to. There were worse ways to die.

    
All that mattered to Scott at the moment was finding a shred of peace. Meditation could take him away from this place and the horrors it contained. Earlier in the day, he'd told David to stop hoping. That it was a lost cause. But now he wondered, was he himself not doing the same thing by leaving the pen if only in his mind? He sighed and opened his eyes. The guards were already headed back inside the breeding center and the frenzy among the men for the slop was dying down. Scott slowly got to his feet ignoring the taunts of his fellow inmates that he'd missed the meal and made his way to David once more.

    
This time, David saw him coming. Anger blazed in the young, blonde man's glance at Scott before he turned back to face the fence again. As Scott reached his side, David spoke, “How dare you tell me to stop hoping?” he whispered. “Hope is all that's left to any of us now.

    
Scott accepted the stinging words as if he deserved them. Scott nodded towards the road leading out of the compound. “What exactly is out there that you want so badly? There's no place left to go. The dead are everywhere. In here, we know we're not going to cut open and chewed on."

    
"What's the point of being alive if you can't live?” David shot back.

    
"Hank and Buck, those two rednecks over there, would argue with you that we are living. They get fed, have their friendship, and once every couple of days they get to have the orgy of their wet dreams with the ladies the dead have locked up inside."

    
"But would you argue with me?” David pointed out.

    
"No,” Scott answered, “No, I wouldn't."

    
"Then what are we going to do about that?” David grinned.

    
Scott offered David his hand. “I'm Scott. Scott Burgess."

    
David took the offered hand and shook it. “You can call me David."

    
"I know,” Scott laughed, “Well, David, it looks as if we have a lot to talk about."

5

    
Steven placed the half full bottle of whiskey atop his desk. It called to him as if reaching out for his very soul. All he wanted in the world was the feel its fiery embrace as the whiskey slid down his throat but he couldn't bring himself to open the bottle. Too many people were depending on him. He hadn't asked for this job but
The Queen
was his ship. She was all he ever loved in his life and when the time came he'd go down with her. He knew every inch of her like the back of his hand and yet she'd changed so much over the last months he barely recognized her. Once upon a time, she'd been a gleaming beauty of magnificent white hulls, a floating paradise, where dreams of love and adventure thrived. Now her hull was spotted with makeshift plates of armor and the scars of battle. Gun emplacements lined the length of main deck on all sides. Where once, she'd held hundreds of vacationers she contained a band of barely one hundred tired, frightened, and desperate refugees.

    
A knock sounded outside the open door of the captain's quarters and Steven noticed O'Neil standing outside in the hallway. O'Neil shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry to disturb you sir,” he said in a strained voice, “but I have the completed inventory of our supplies that you asked for."

    
In one fluid motion, Steven swept the bottle off the top of his desk and placed it back in its drawer where it belonged. He motioned for O'Neil to take a seat across the desk from him. “And how do things look? From the report, I mean?"

    
O'Neil slumped into the offered chair. “Not as bad as we thought. The last dock we raided gave us enough fuel for another two weeks or more."

    
"And it only cost us the lives of six men,” Steven added bitterly.

    
O'Neil continued with the report, “Our ammunition stock piles for small arms are holding up remarkably well and Luke assures me that the new torpedo tubes he set up on the forward hull will work if we need them. Our only real pressing concern is food. Even with the reduced number of passengers and crew onboard, with a rationing system in place, we'll be out again in less than a week. The priority of the last raid was fuel for
The Queen
so we didn't have the time to stock up like we needed."

    
"They came crawling out of the woodwork,” Steven chuckled.

    
"I'm sorry, sir?"

    
"The dead, Mr. O'Neil, regardless of where we put into port; they're always there, waiting. We never have enough time."

    
"Yes, sir,” O'Neil agreed, “I don't like the thought of touching land again anytime soon."

    
Silence lingered in the room for a moment before O'Neil finally prompted, “Well, sir, what are we going to do?"

    
"Pray,” Steven answered, “pray our little hearts out ... And while we're at it, being me a map of the area we're in now. Going back ashore is really our only option isn't it, since the damn fish are just as dead as the rest of the world. Besides, you know that even if they weren't, we couldn't catch enough to feed everyone onboard this ship. It's just not possible with our limited equipment and resources."

    
O'Neil left in search of a map leaving Steven alone in the darkness of the room just as he'd been before.

6

    
There were no stars in the sky. Thick, dark clouds let loose what seemed a never-ending shower of rain. Brandon slept peacefully under the small tarp Riley had set up for him. Hannah rested against a tree drenched to the bone. Her long red hair clung heavily to her neck and shoulders. Riley leaned over and put his arm around her. To him, she was beautiful no matter what the circumstances.