ZWD: King of an Empty City (9 page)

At the top of the stairs, there was a door to the right that was closed. I tried it only to find it was locked. I dug out the hammer and brought it down. The door swung open to a master bedroom. The bed was to one side, out of sight except for the footboard. There was a big picture window opposite the door with a chair in front of it. Standing next to the chair was a short man with a crossbow pistol in his hand.

I say man; he was dead. He was the most decomposed we’d seen. He stood there with a blue shirt pressed and department-store crisp. Dress slacks with double pleats and socked feet. In his head was a bolt from the crossbow pistol. Unlike all the others we had seen, his eyes didn’t look that silver white milky dead we were used to. He held out his arms. Not up to grab us but wide, with the palms up, the pistol hanging from his index finger. It was as if he were pleading with me to finish him. I had the machete ready to bring down on his head when he moaned. I looked into his eyes again. Whoever he was, he was still in there and I knew what had happened to him.

He’d tried to kill himself and missed. The bolt sticking out of his skull had killed him, but not quickly enough. He’d probably sat in that chair, slowly turning into a zombie for weeks. And there was just enough of him left to plead with me to finish what he couldn’t.

“Godspeed, brother,” I said. He let out a moan that I swear sounded like a muffled “thank you.” I swung my blade with all my might. His head went tumbling to the floor.

             
She tapped my shoulder and pointed to the bed. There on the king-size bed was his family. A woman, a little girl no more than nine, a boy about ten, and another boy, probably fourteen, all lying neatly in each other’s arms. Their bodies were decomposed and each had a bolt in the head. I knew what he’d done; he’d stopped the inevitable. He knew they were going to change sooner or later and he didn’t want that. At least that’s what I told myself. She tapped my shoulder and said, “Let’s clear the rest.” 

The rest of the house held no surprises so I went back to the master bedroom. I found his keys and his wallet. The guy’s name was James Page. I’d just chopped the head off Jimmy Page. I thought there should be some kind of irony in that, but I didn’t see any. I half-hoped his wife was named Betty, but it was Helen and their kids according to the writing on the back of photos in his wallet were Colt, Bart, and Sahara.

I did the same thing I did at Tommy and John’s house. I grabbed sheets and wrapped the bodies, then dragged them downstairs and into the yard next to a basketball hoop that sat on the edge of the parking pad. His keys gave me access to his shed, where I found a full gas can, and I poured the gas over the bodies. I lit the sheets and let them burn.

Inside she’d found food, but most was gone bad. There were canned goods and she was busy stuffing them into her pockets and the backpacks. She handed me an unopened can of honey-roasted nuts, and it was like the greatest Christmas present I’d ever gotten in my life. I ripped the aluminum seal off and shoved a fistful in my mouth. They were still fresh, delicious, and the best thing I’d eaten in a while. In the freezer we found white packages of butcher’s paper with words like venison, lamb, steak T-bone, and pork chops stacked on top of each other. I grabbed about twelve packages and handed them to her to tuck away. We’d have to eat them fast because we didn’t have any fridge on the roof, but they’d keep for only a few days, so for at least a week we were going to eat fresh food.

             
In the trophy room it was clear that Colt, the oldest boy, was the hunter who shared the passion with his dad. Photos and trophy after trophy had his name on them. I took the bows that were on the wall and stacked them in the hall with the other things we were taking. In the closet, there was what looked like hundreds of arrows of all lengths stuffed in four quivers. I searched around for a combination to the gun safe, but didn’t find one. It would have been nice to have a pistol or something in case of emergencies.

Back outside I went to the garage to see if there was any camping gear we could use. The garage was an updated livery stable. It was built for a horse and buggy on the one side, feed and accouterments for saddling up on the other. The garage door was down but there was a door to the side where the tack, harnesses, and feed would have been kept. I looked through the keys I took off James and found one that fit the lock to the door. This room was long and tall with things stuffed into spaces above me. Plastic tubs held who knew what wonders. We’d have to take a closer look later. Immediately to my left was a door that led to the garage. It was unlocked so I slid it open and reached in, feeling for a light along the wall. With a quick flick the fluorescents came on and as the door swung all the way open, there under the flicker of lights sat a brand-new metallic blue Ford F-150 complete with a sticker in the window. I looked down at the keys in my hand and there, bigger than all the other keys, was a plastic-capped key with the Ford logo pressed into it and a remote fob with the same logo. I pointed the fob at the truck and hit the unlock symbol. There was a
Ker-chunk
and the lights flashed on the truck. The inside smelled new still; Jimmy didn’t get a chance to enjoy his new ride—poor bastard. Clipped to the driver’s visor was a garage remote that I pushed and it made the garage door come to life and open. I pulled the truck out and hit the garage button again, then again. I was giddy like a kid with a new toy. I jumped out of the truck and ran into the house. “Don’t get picky, grab everything you want. We have a truck,” I said with a smile and ran back to the garage to load up anything I saw that we might need.

             
She stepped out of the house and looked at the truck, then smiled and went back inside. I started grabbing the obvious—camping equipment, tents, sleeping bags, lanterns, fishing poles. Hey, you never know when you might need some. I grabbed some of the storage bins and threw them in the back of the truck. We could look at them later and see what we could use.

             
In twenty minutes James’s and Helen’s bodies were burning along with their kids in a nice pyre helped by the addition of some tree branches. His truck was filled with an ice chest and meat, camping gear and bows, a deer stand and a heavy wooden boat paddle. You never know what can be handy, just saying.

It was probably three or four in the afternoon, but with the mist and dark skies you’d have sworn it was much later in the day. We sat in the truck, warm from the heater, and just grinned. I felt like a pirate who’d just plundered the queen’s treasury. I was very pleased with myself. She reached out to the radio and pressed the power button. The dash of the radio said “CD” and the speakers came to life, filling the cab of the truck with the sounds of a concert crowd singing along with Hank Williams, Jr. “Tell me, Hank, why do you drink?” The crowd yelling in response, “To get drunk!” We joined in as we drove back to the Safeway.             

              It probably took us the better part of two hours to unload the truck and carry all that stuff to the roof. I added a pulley system to the list of things I needed to install. My back hurt and my legs were on fire from climbing. With a press of the button the gargoyle’s eyes glowed red, telling me the ladder was electrified, and I collapsed on one of the sleeping bags we took from James’s house. I just lay there staring at the stars. It wasn’t long till I was asleep.

ZWD: King of an Empty City Chapter 11

ZWD: Dec. 11.

Four hours’ practice with the bow and I can’t hit a thing. It’s back to the library to learn how to shoot. Not staying this time, all in and out. Oh, web videos.

I woke up to ice pellets stinging my face. It was still dark. I got up and went into the tent. Stripped out of my wet clothes and crawled into the sleeping bag beside her, then went back to sleep for a few hours. When I woke again she was kicking my feet softly. “Breakfast, sleepyhead?”

“Sure; what do we have?”

             
She’d gone through the coolers we carried from James’s place and made us peanut butter and Poptarts. I made a mental note to raid houses with kids’ stuff in the yard and to add that to the fighter manual. This was good.

             
“We have to go back over there,” she said.

             
“To get more stuff?”

             
“Something like that.”

             
“I’ll get dressed.” A few minutes later we were in the truck and driving across the Quapaw to James’s house. The sleet was sticking to the windows but it felt good in the cab with the heater going full blast. I almost hated to get out.

             
Inside the house, I went up to the master bedroom and searched around in the drawers for hunting socks, wool socks. Something for today. I found them but they were too small for my feet. In the closet I found a camo hunting coat that belonged to Helen and I thought it might fit my girl. I found her downstairs in the kitchen with rubber cleaning gloves on, leaning over the sink. The room smelled of bleach and a pot was boiling on the stove. The counter next to her was lined with skulls, members of James’s family. She was scrubbing one of the children’s skulls. I had to stand there quietly and take all this in for a moment. She had tears at the corner of her eyes. This was something she had to do and she knew I was watching her.

             
“This might keep you warmer than what you’ve been wearing,” I said eventually and held up the coat. She looked at it for a long moment then said, “I’ll try it on later. Grab some bleach and that vinegar and pour it into the pot.”

“How clean do you want these?” I asked as I draped the coat on the nearest chair and started to pour in the liquids.

             
“I don’t want squishy bits to be still on them when we take them to the cemetery.”

             
We worked in silence for a long time scrubbing away and boiling loose the flesh and tendons that clung to the skulls.

“What did you do with the brains?” I asked.

In a tired and matter-of-fact voice she said, “Garbage disposal. What was left of them after the fire.”

             
An hour later found us waiting on the dishwasher to finish the final cleansing. I occupied my time by exploring some more. I found a camper porta-potty complete with a few chemicals to help with waste disposal. I was putting it in the back of the truck when I heard the rumble of the black truck. It was speeding through the streets. Voices were yelling with delight. I moved over to the bushes next to the house and watched. Someone was holding on to a rope and skiing behind the truck as it came into view. The truck surged forward and the skier tried to keep his balance as he was pulled behind. He was in booted feet and wasn’t having much luck staying upright. When the truck would stop he’d try to ski past the truck or stop himself from slamming into it. They were all laughing.

             
I moved back to the house and told her to turn off all the lights and do nothing to bring unwanted attention to us. I didn’t know who they were, but everything about them said they were bad people and their actions from a few days ago proved it to me. With the lights off in the living room I stood back from the open blinds and peered out the window watching them. Their voices were muffled through the glass. But I watched motionless, as if at any moment they’d look up and through the blinds, past the dark, look right into the room, and see me staring back at them.

             
I don’t know what it’s called, but you know that moment when you feel eyes upon you and you know you’re being watched? I guess it’s called the sensation of being watched. You see it in movies all the time. Animals can tell when someone is looking at them. That predator-prey instinct that tells you that you might be in danger. That’s what I was trying to avoid. I’d read somewhere that if you look directly at someone’s head, they’ll feel you looking at them, so look either just past them or at their chest or back. I can’t remember what it said exactly. I think it was in a ninja book I read when I was fourteen, so who knows. Anyway, I didn’t do it right or there were more people watching them than just me, because suddenly three of the five all looked up at the same time and started looking around, real interested in their surroundings. It took the other two a moment to realize what was going on, or maybe they were just slow on feeling eyes upon them. Without a word they all got into the truck and drove off.

My mind locked onto the thought predator/prey. It turned in my mind several times before I could get another thought to come forward. Predator/prey, predator/prey, predator/prey.

    She came into the living room. “They’re gone?”

              “For now.”

“What were the kids’ names?”

              “Colt, Bart, and
Sahara
,” I said without taking my eyes away from the window, the thought predator/prey still rattling around in my head.

              “I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Are you worried about them?”

              “Something bothers me, yes.”

              “Perhaps we should stay put for a while.”

              “Something tells me no. The faster we leave, the better.”

              “As soon as I get the names on the skulls I’ll be ready.”

She went back into the kitchen and I went to the back door. I stood there listening intently. I was trying to draw any sound I could to me. It was quiet and I could hear the truck rumbling somewhere in the distance. I reached into the cab of the F-150 and pressed the button on the garage door opener. As it went up I started up the truck and backed it into the garage, then lowered the door again. She came out the back door with a Hello Kitty pink and black backpack bulging with the Page family’s skulls. We both heard the truck get closer and then the engine went quiet. A moment later a truck door slammed shut and we could hear the muffled voices of an argument starting. Someone made too much noise in their group. I was watching her as we listened and she turned her ear to the sounds of the argument. Fear washed over her face as she whispered, “They’re hunting us!” I nodded.

              “How did they know?” she asked.

              “I don’t know,” I admitted as we started trotting down the driveway to the street. The black truck guys were to our west and we were headed east, back to the Safeway or somewhere else to hide. The going was a little slow because the sleet had turned into a thin patch of ice on the ground.

Mental note for the ZWD Fighter’s Manual: plan for rabbit holes to hide in around your area.

               In this part of town, alleys run north and south, so we had to stick to main roads and hug the bushes and trees of the yards as we moved. We’d both learned a long time ago that whatever you do, don’t look back! Just move and keep moving.

             
We were about to cross the first street. We were going one at a time. Spaced out by a few minutes. We’d been crouched behind a couple of garbage cans when she started across. She hadn’t made it to the sidewalk when a shot rang out. She dropped to the ground with a groan. I stared in terror. Her head was facing away from me. My eyes scanned her body, looking for the blood pool. Another shot and we heard yelling and shouting at the other end of the block. She spun around on her belly to look at me. A quick thumbs up let me know she was alright. Quick as a rabbit she was up and across the street, hidden away in an azalea bush. From behind me I heard the different voices of the men. “Come out, come out.” “I see you.” “Come on out.”  And another shot was fired. They were beating the bushes, trying to flush us out. We were the rabbits.

             
Since we were at the end of the block and they were moving up the street I moved a little north up the block so I wasn’t in their line of sight. Then I crossed the street and joined her in the bush. Predator/prey ran through my mind again, predator/prey. “Let’s get to the alley,” I said, still feeling uneasy. I knew something was wrong, I just couldn’t tell what.

We went as quickly as we could east up the street, keeping to the houses and bushes. Predator/prey. At a house with a clump of huge magnolia trees that rose above the roofline, we stopped. The old trees formed a small room where all their branches met. You could tell children used it often as a clubhouse or playroom. Toys were scattered here and there. The limbs formed an almost perfect ladder up. From the east up the street I heard a noise that shouldn’t have been there. The crunching of ice slowly cracking as someone tried to move unheard towards us from that direction. My mind raced again. Predator/prey, we were the rabbits! Crap! I pointed up the tree and started to climb as fast as I could without disturbing the branches too much. On the roof I waited for her, then helped her up. We crept over the peak of the gable and lay low. I dared not look at them again.

             
Below, after a few minutes, we heard the two groups of men meet. They were in front of the house we were on but not near enough for us to hear them clearly from our spot on the other side of the roof. My heart pounded so hard I knew they’d be able to hear it. She tapped me and pulled her scarf over her face to keep her breath from being seen. I pulled my shirt up and tried to control my breathing with slow breaths.

             
Moments stretched into what felt like days. A group of men stood there in the sleet talking about our fate, us on the roof trying to keep that fate in our own hands. At times like this I wished I had a gun instead of a pipe, a machete, and a shovel. Zombies were one thing to kill, but people were another thing altogether, and I as yet hadn’t had to kill anyone. But these guys had me thinking I might have to just to stay alive.

They walked around the house and back. They tried the doors, then moved to the east again to the house next door. One of them stayed out front while the rest looked. The truck came rumbling back and stopped at the curb. I could hear one of them say, “Once they hit the grass they disappeared.”

              “I thought you were supposed to be a great tracker.”

              “When there are no tracks you can’t track.”

              “Well, we know they got to this point over here.” I heard them walk around the house to the point where I’d stepped onto the sidewalk. “And he hit the grass here. Now he’s gone.”

              “He didn’t get past you?”

Another voice answered, “I didn’t see anyone.”

             
I started looking around at the sky and realized that this area was filled with big old trees whose limbs stretched over the roof and street. The sleet hadn’t made it to the ground to cover it. “So they could have gone that way up the street. Or they could have skirted around the houses here and gone right past you.”

              “Nobody got past me!” the other man insisted.

              “Ok, let’s go up the street and see if we can shake them out.” I heard the group move to the truck and drive north up the street. Before they left, I heard one of the men shout from the truck, “I will find you!”

             
We didn’t relax, although we did breathe a little easier. We stayed on the roof for almost a half hour before moving. My butt was cold and I had to pee. Under the watery gray light of the noon sun that tried to break through the clouds, we made our way over the roof and again into the trees, then worked our way down. I stepped out from the cluster of trees next to the house and glanced up at the window in front of me. Staring out the window were three faces. A gray-haired woman and two children, probably her grandchildren. The woman withdrew a little into the shadows as I looked back at her. When my girl came out of the clump of trees, she looked up at the kids and waved. The little boy waved back, then they all disappeared into the shadows of the house.

We made our way to the Safeway cautiously. That was the moment I relaxed, when we were on the roof and the ladder was hot again. After a quick lunch we went back down and over to the base house, where we set up a practice range for the bows.

             
Practice range, yeah right. It was really us marching off a few paces in the alley and aiming at the shed that blocked off the far end that kept traffic off the street from driving through. We were a good distance away when I notched my arrow to the string. I pulled back and aimed, held my breath for a moment, and let go. I waited for the eventual
thwack
as the arrow hit the shed, but it never came. I looked for the arrow but couldn’t find it. “Great,” I thought. “Just great, I really can’t even hit the broadside of a barn.” On the second shot, the string slapped my forearm and stung like hell. The arrow flew off to the side and hit another shed that backed up to the alley.