HINDSIGHT
I can’t remember why we thought it would be safe up here.
We fled to Canada before the celebrities came and the “experts” all said that somewhere cold was the best place to escape the outbreak. Pretty soon, the Canadian government had to close off their borders. They shot anyone who tried to come across, but that didn’t stop folks from trying once they had it in their heads that Canada was the place to be. Zombies started cropping up everywhere after that. Even the animals are zombies. In hindsight, I suppose we should have tried to drive someplace else, but it’s hard to fill up a tank of gas when you ain’t got no money and no family to help you out in a pinch. My own family’s not worth finding, and Sarah’s family was my family before the outbreak. But her parents were eaten. I think Sarah still blames herself for that.
Usually, it’s comforting to think that you’re not suffering alone. Everyone’s lost family, friends. Everyone. And not many people have any money, either, when the recession hit a couple years prior. Yeah, it’s not just us. A lot of folks who came up didn’t have a penny to their name. And even if they did, there’s not a lot of housing to go around. Some tried to build their own houses, buying up lumber from the city and cutting away at the forests. If they can survive the first year, they’re usually okay. Not many do, though. BC residents have had a huge escalation in break-ins, robberies, and murders. A lot of people have died for their food and shelter. Of course, the military has been cracking down on this, too, but there’s only enough of them to protect the richer burbs. Can’t trust anyone anymore. We might all be suffering, but we’re suffering alone. For our own protection, I suggested to Sarah that we live in the truck. She agreed.
When Sarah and I first came up here, it was in my ‘04 Silverado. Bought her brand new. Now, she’s all dented up from stray deer and moose attacks. So far we’ve been lucky with ‘em, but you never want a run-in with a moose. Run into one going too fast and your car’s totaled. Unless you’re driving a tank, it’s done. And if you’re stranded out in the wilderness with no car, well, you’re a dead man.
One day, driving down the road, I saw one just standing there, its ribs all exposed and its face torn off its jaw. No eyelid on one eye. Tongue hanging outta where its cheek was. You see something like that, it’s hard for the mind to grip at first. Your reaction times slow a bit. I swerved out of the way, lost traction and almost hit a tree. After that, it was hard to get back on the road, what with all the snow and ice. Lucky for us, the moose was so eaten up, one leg barely had any muscle holding it together. It was limping at us but fast enough. When you start looking at the skeleton of a creature, all the parts underneath that make an animal tick, it’s all the stuff we’re not meant to see unless it’s cooking on a barbecue. Its eyes were filmed over, teeth rotten, ribs scraping at our passenger window. We almost didn’t make it that day. Sarah just kept screaming. I know my wife still has nightmares about it most days, though she likes to hide stuff like that from me.
Sarah keeps me sane. She keeps the night watch because she says she has better eyes ‘n me. She says she likes to go to sleep watching the sun rise, which I’m sure is a relief at the end of each night, but I think she’s just too afraid to sleep at night. She gets nightmares bad. I can’t blame her. I have trouble sleeping sometimes, too, knowing that those creatures are out there. But if I wake up dead, I wake up dead. Man’s gotta sleep. And I trust her to keep me safe, wake me up if anything goes south.
It’s weird we didn’t think about the animals. It’s Hollywood, I guess. We always think of zombies as being people, you know? Then again, who thought zombies would be walking around at all! At least people would never stand the cold, but all the deer and wildlife out here have coats that just shed the snow like it was nothing. I hear people farther up north have to deal zombie polar bears. I don’t envy them, though they’re becoming more frequent down here. Depending on the amount of decay, those sonsabitches can rush you up to 40 clicks. And I’ve only heard rumors about the mosquitoes in the Bayou. They say on the T.V. that it’s just one big dead zone down there. I guess it could be worse for us, but that thought doesn’t make me feel any better.
Sometimes I think to myself that we’re being hunted here, that everyone on Earth is sitting around just waiting to die. People can’t cope with the fear of looking over your shoulder all your life. They off themselves. Some folk stay strong for their families. Then again, some folk decide it’s better that their families die too than face the horror. At least we got this truck, though it doesn’t do us much good with barely any gas. If only we’d been smarter with our money a bit… ah, what’s the use of worryin’ about the past? You know what they say about hindsight? It’s a bitch.
DIRGE
March 7, 2010
Dr. Miller and I have begun our research of the ice worms on the Malaspina Glacier, just a few hundred miles from Juneau. Our encampment is an ideal place, far enough from the lake and tourism but not far enough that we can’t get to civilization within a day in the case of an emergency. Just dig in the ice and you can find dozens crawling around, like little squirming hairs.
March 10, 2010
Counting worm mean density in glaciers is tedious, especially the process of staking off areas. If I wanted to dig holes, I’d have become an archaeologist.
Our survivalist, Eric, entertains Dr. Miller and I with his stories. He has a way of telling them that uses his whole body, like the time he was carrying a dead seal to the butcher (who is a good friend of his) to sell its skin and fat and to get its meat cut into seal steaks. This was actually the normal part for him; apparently, PETA was hanging out, protesting, and they saw him and chased him through the streets. He had to chuck the seal into the crowd just to get away. “What a waste!” he told us and laughed a deep laugh. He keeps us in warm spirits.
March 11, 2010
More worm counting. It’s cold and I’m tired. My fingers are numb. My nose is numb. My ass is numb. I’ve been slacking off to chat with Eric. Dr. Miller keeps eyeing me. I can only guess she disapproves of my slacking off or my flirting with Eric, though probably both.
March 14, 2010
I am writing this the next morning. I’ve always been a lightweight, but the cold is soothing to hangovers.
Eric and I started the day talking about science fiction. He’s a huge fan of Conan the Barbarian. He said that there were two stories about ice worms that he had read, one called “The Lair of the Ice Worm” featured Conan but was not written by Howard. The other, preferred by Eric, was called “Valley of the Worm” and was about a man named Niord who battles a giant ice worm and dies.
Since he offered some of his vodka, I reluctantly admitted that my interest in ice worms had been birthed from science fiction writers like Peter F. Hamilton and Alastair Reynolds. I recalled one story in which ice worms were used to terraform the planet by excreting the bacteria used to birth new life.
It was a strange conversation, but I felt like a connected with Eric a little. Then came the vodka. Dr. Miller will be livid.
March 15, 2010
Dr. Miller was bitten by a man wandering about the glaciers. I’m writing as Eric drives us to Juneau. She’s finally asleep from the anesthetics we gave her, but I’m not so sure about her condition. I can’t tell what’s wrong with her except for the fact that the wound is festering. He seemed to have some form of leprosy, perhaps, his body was so decayed. Eric put the man down. I don’t know how else to describe it since he was acting like a rabid animal. I just have to remind myself that it was mercy; it’s amazing he was still alive. Though it may ruin our research, we’ve left our camp behind. There is a large volume of bears about. Strange. Polar bears never head this far south. I wonder if this is a result of global warming?
March 16, 2010
If anyone is reading this, I am dead. My name is Dr. Hermann Schulz and I have been attacked by diseased polar bears. Like walking corpses. Some of them have their flesh torn right off from the bone, but they still keep coming with a ferocity not of this world. I was here with Eric Nass and Dr. Nancy Miller. They are both dead. God help me, they are. Poor Eric, torn apart by mad polar bears. He was every bit the man, though that means little under the might of a bear. Dr. Miller was bitten and contracted the disease. She attacked us and we left her. I leave nobody behind, save a couple of aunts and an uncle. I don’t want to die.
March 17, 2010
Ice worms come out at night. Must have killed tens of thousands just walking around.
If they had mouths, what songs would they sing for us? Or would it all be drowned out by the screaming?
March 21, 2010
I’ve had a few days to think while I lay in the hospital. Living bear corpses hobbling around the glaciers and tearing into Eric with bloody nails. All still vivid memories. This may sound crazy, but I need to know what killed my partner and my friend. Eric told me about that story and Niord and how his friend sang a dirge for him after his battle with the ice worms and his death. I think I’ll start experiments on the ice worms promptly. Maybe they know something we don’t.
ROAD TRIP
Jerm kept pushing the CD into the Buick’s deck.
“Dammit, Micah! Fuggin’ CD’s all scratched the fuck up. You got anythin’ else?”
“Should work. Just got the CD player installed last year.”
“Yeah, well, it don’t! Looks like sumun’ tried to fuck it with a razor dick.”
“The fuck’s a razor dick?”
“It’s like a dick with a razor… you know?”
“No. I don’t fucking know.”
“Fuck you.”
“Just as long as you don’t whip out your razor dick to do it.”
“Just keep drivin’, Micah. Sick o’ your bullshit.”
“What’s it look like I’m doing? You want to take the wheel? I’ve been drivin’ since Oklahoma.”
Jerm tipped his hat down over his eyes. “Hey. I need my shut eye, boss. Yer doin’ such a good job innyway.”
“Fuck you, man. You’re driving the rest of the way. I gotta take a piss.”
“Ahh, bullshit. We should open a lemonade stand, we got so much stored back there.”
“You know we can’t take any chances, Jerm. Jus’ take the wheel and shut yer trap for a sec.”
“I got it. Just don’t slash apart all our water bottles wit’ yer cock and make a mess.”
“You gonna take the wheel or do you want to hold it for me while I go?”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Jerm sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was never much for taking naps. “Hope we can get to New Mexico soon.”
“Desert’s the place to be, Jerm. Not enough life around there to be zombie food.”
“Speakin’ of, we got ourselves a hitchhiker.”
“Just drive by.”
“But she’s hot.”
“Dammit, Jerm! Just drive!”
“What are you, gay?”
“Motherfucker. At least let me put it back in my pants. Hand me the gun.”
“What? She ain’t a zombie.”
“She still has teeth, don’t she? Just hand me the gun.”
Without opening the windows, Jerm signalled for the woman to crawl into the passenger side.
“You guys are life savers. Name’s Jaclyn.”
“Jeremiah. This one’s my brother, Micah.”
“Kinda queer bein’ stuck all the way out here,” Micah said.
“Yeah, well. My car ran out of gas a few miles back. I’m from Odessa, but I hear North is the way to go right now. The walking dead! I still can’t believe it.”
“Sure ’nuff!” Jerm laughed. “We’re both comin’ outta Little Rock. Damn skeeters are turnin’ people into flesh eaters! Deserts dry enough so they don’t breed at all. That right, Micah?”
“Yeah… so, Jaclyn. You up here all by your lonesome?”
“Well, I have some family headed up to the Northern states, see if they can get into Canada. I took a while getting out ‘cuz my boyfriend wouldn’t leave. I don’t know. Guess I was bein’ dumb wanting to stay with him in zombie country. He’s the type who thinks he can fend ‘em all off with a shotgun and a baseball bat.”
“Sounds like a fuggin’ loser, pardon my French. Well, it’s good that you ran into us. Don’t want to get caught out there with zombie’s lurkin’.”
“Yeah. It’s been pretty hot out too.” Jaclyn pulled her sleeve down.
“Here’s some water,” Micah offered.
“Thank you.”
“That rash on your arm… that’s from the heat?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s nothing much.”
“I can take a look at it.”
“No. Don’t worry about it.”
Micah pulled out his gun. Jerm swerved the car over to the side of the road. “Whoa, Micah! Holy shit! Quit playin’ with that thing!”
“I ain’t playin’. That’s a bug bite.”
Jaclyn shook her head. “No. It’s not–”
“Don’t lie to me, bitch. Our daddy had a bite like that before we found him gnawing on one of ma’s arms.”
“It’s just a little bite! I mean, I’m young! I can probably fight it off, right?”
“Yeah, Micah! Maybe it’s not the end of the world. Just hold off for a sec!”
“Can’t take any chances. Get out the car, Jaclyn. You can keep the water. Here’s a few extra bottles, too. It’s not water, but you’ll thank me when you get thirsty enough.”
“You can’t be serious. Please! Just drop me off in the next town.”
“Micah–”
“Shut up, Jerm. Just step out of the car and there won’t be no trouble. You’re better off than when we found ya. Just be thankful for that.”
Jaclyn removed herself from the car, sobbing and cradling bottles of water and urine. When the door slammed, she dropped the bottles and put her hands on the windows. “Please!” she wailed through the glass.
“That was a pretty shitty thing to do, Micah. You know that?”
“Just drive, Jerm. No more hitchhikers.”
TRADITIONS
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Sarah says over and over to herself, teeth chattering. Her husband’s, Travis’s, old pickup truck didn’t insulate the heat well enough, in spite of the blankets they jammed throughout the interior, covering the windshield entirely. She looked out of the little peephole in the passenger side window, but there was no sign of Travis. Travis said he’d be back by sunrise. By sunrise, everything would be better again.
Her husband took the rifle but they kept a pistol in the glove compartment that he had taught her how to use. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” she repeated, huddled up in the old quilt her mother had made her when she was a child. It had animals painstakingly sewn into the fabric. She shivered. “Travis. Please be okay out there.”
Nights are the worst. Sarah sees creatures in the shadows, ones that are there as often as not. She usually never knows for sure until she can see the creatures well enough to hear their hooves crunch through the snow. One time, a squirrel jumped onto the windshield and tried to gnaw through it to get to them. Sarah thought, in a situation like that, that she would have screamed hysterically. But she just sat there, gun pointed at the squirrel, heart hammering against her ribs. Travis never woke up and she never told him about the incident, either. There’s enough terror in the daytime without Travis hearing about the sound the owls make when they’re dead. When undead birds sing, there’s no music in it. There’s just a low, long whistle. Sarah thinks that the owls sound deeper and sadder than anything she’s ever known. Nights are the worst, but Sarah chooses them. She’d rather stay awake through the horror than never wake up.
“Where are you, Travis?” the warm air leaves her mouth like a ghost. She huddles up in her animal blanket, hiding from the creatures in the night. Sarah feels warm in her mother’s patchwork. If the zombie outbreak had never occurred, she and Travis would be celebrating Christmas at her parents’ house in Michigan. They’d be eating ham and watching the wild turkeys hobble by outside the glass sliding window. One of their family traditions was to roast up chestnuts and eat them by the fireplace. She would always fall asleep there, feet toasty warm. Sarah dreamed sweet dreams back then…
* * *
It’s still night, but Sarah is following a star, almost as bright as the sun. It looks pale and lonely in spite of its light. She finds a barn where she can take refuge. There are people and animals inside. They’re all standing still, looking at something. Sarah has their pistol out; they’re quiet but they all look alive.
“What are you all looking at?” Sarah asks. No answer. She leans forward to see Joseph and Mary sitting over their child, looking every bit like the ones in her parents’ nativity set. “He’s our Lord and savior,” says one of the wise men. They’re all standing still and staring like in a painting. Sarah leans forward to look at the tiny child in the manger. Its jaw hangs loose. Its eyes are gray and dead. It reaches out to touch Sarah and she backs off. Mary’s neck is broken. Joseph’s jaw is missing. His tongue hangs loose onto his robes. One of the wise men, eye holes bleeding, lunges at her and she backs into a llama with filmy eyes and crooked teeth. It hisses and bites her.
* * *
“Sarah! Open up!”
She pulls out the pistol and points it at his head.
“Christ! Sarah!” he ducks. “I’m not a zombie yet! Put the gun down!”
She looks through the peephole. The sunlight is barely grazing over the trees, making the tops look yellow.
“It was a little farther than I remembered. But look!” He holds up the gas can. “It’s a Christmas miracle!
Sarah says nothing. “I think we have as much as three gallons, but the stations just tapped out now. We’re lucky that there was anything at all. People probably just haven’t used this one because of how far away from civilization it is.”
Sarah remembers her parents’ home, walking in and seeing the glass door broken, a corpse strewn out on the kitchen floor. Red entrails stretched out on white linoleum. She couldn’t even recognize it as her mother, or maybe she didn’t want to believe it at the time. Travis looks into Sarah’s glazed over eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah…” she says, shaking her head. Those memories won’t do her any good. She has Travis and that’s all that matters now.
Her husband runs his hand through her hair and puts his lips to her head. “Check me for bite marks,” he whispers to her forhead. She shrinks back from his touch.
“God dammit, Travis! I don’t care if you’re turning or not.”
“Don’t say that.”
“No! No!” she swats away an arm aimed at comforting her. “It’s not like we can help it! I’d rather die too!”
“Sarah. This is important. It would kill me if I…”
“You’d already be dead. Just drop it.”
“All right. I just…”
“Drop it.”
They sit for a minute, looking out at the growing light outside. It’s a silent morning.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah says.
“For what?” Travis asks. Sarah has never apologized after these arguments, but then she wasn’t apologizing about the fight anyway. She made up her mind that she would stick with him when they got married, before she even knew that the dead could get up and walk again.
“I was asleep when you got back. I had… I had a bad dream.”
“Sarah, I’ve been thinking about something,” Travis says, clutching his gas can. “I don’t think we can do this anymore. We need to make good use of this last gasoline that we were given. We may be able to get close to the coast on just a few gallons. I don’t know why I thought we could hide out forever, but maybe immigration has settled down a bit. I mean, the initial scare is over, so I don’t think they’d shoot us unless we were the undead. Sarah?”
“Hmmm?”
“Sarah. What do you think?”
“About what?”
“Civilization.”
Sarah wraps her mother’s quilt around them both. “I think… I want to sleep together without taking shifts. I don’t care what happens today. I just want to sleep her with you.” She rests her head on his stomach.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispers.
“Merry Christmas,” he replies, setting the gas can at his feet.
Outside the window, the sunrise gives the snow a reddish hue. Just this one time, he pulls the quilt over both their heads and they dream sweet dreams.
CONVICTION
January 15, 2011
There are two people who have been making quite a stir in Juneau today, a husband and wife calling themselves “Travis and Sarah Scarborough.” They’ve been living out in the wild in Travis’s truck for over a year now and the papers have eagerly dubbed them “The Scarborough Savages.” There has been speculation on their identities, but it hardly matters now. As long as they’re human, I hardly see cause for concern. They’re no less dangerous than any other settler or squatter who lives in this city.
I’d like to question them for my own personal reasons, but they are difficult to reach. There is a constant mob after them for questioning and I’m just a part of it. I understand through the local papers that they hate other people, though I don’t know how much to trust those rags. If I could, it would be much better to talk with them myself. More than anyone, they probably know more about the zombies. I don’t know if I can reach them, but I have to try.
January 17, 2011
After hitting the streets, as they say, I’ve found from some good doctor friends of mine that Sarah may be pregnant and that they’re staying under the protection of that cult, The Rapturists that believes the zombies feed off sin. It’s amazing how large the congregation’s become. They believe that we are responsible for the zombies, that they are our “children,” in a sense. Basically, we made our bed and now we have to sleep in it. It’s a hopeless idea, but it’s caught on surprisingly well among the city people, basically the polar opposite of the so-called Border Guard. I can’t say I buy either story and I’m not sure if these two newcomers have, either. I just need to interview them to know for sure.
January 18, 2011
I had to give up my identification, paperwork, even some of my publications in order to meet with the Minister of the Rapturists. It’s a pain, but I was able to land an interview with their minister. Mostly, he spat some propoganda at me, wanted to see where I stood. I merely stated that I wished to ask them some questions to further my research on zombie behavior. He said he would talk to them about it and give them time to think. I wish there was more I can do, but I just have to wait here until the Scarboroughs make their decision.
January 19, 2011
I’ve been storming about the place, trying to speak to the Scarborough couple or at least get my paperwork back. Nobody’s heard anything about it. Or they all know about it and are just testing my patience. I’ve been sleeping on a bench in their entryway. I’ll be damned if they ignore me. I have to learn anything I can about these creatures. I only have this memory of Eric, this mission to keep the memory of the only man I ever loved.
January 20, 2011
I am freezing. The lobby’s not the best place for camping out. Every time the door opens, I have to double my efforts to keep warm. Luckily, entry and exiting from the premises is forbidden at night, for warmth but moreso for security reasons. A young woman by the name of Lucia has given me a blanket fresh from the laundry and some bread to eat. I’ve talked to her a bit about the Rapturists. She seems new here and doesn’t know much about it. When she tells me about the faith, there’s little conviction in her voice.
January 21, 2011
Today, Lucia and I talked about movies we used to watch before the infestation. It keeps me from thinking about the cold and the hunger. She named a few romantic comedies that I owned and I told her that she was more than welcome to stop by and watch them. I gave her my address and I thought she wasn’t about to take it at first. She seemed ecstatic to hear that and then sad. I felt she had something weighty on her mind she was about to tell me. However, her less-than-amicable husband, Jesse, came along and yanked her away. He’s a very prickly man and very suspicious. I suppose that one has to be a bit suspicious to survive nowadays, though. It’s sad.
January 22, 2011
I was given back my identification and papers and told to leave. My arguments were only met with large armed men. All this work, only to get swept out the door!
January 25, 2011
A surprise visit! Lucia came to speak with me today. She said that she was, in fact, Sarah Scarborough! She has agreed to be interviewed and recorded, though she said she didn’t know how much help she could be, the undead being dead. I assured her, they’re called undead for a reason. Hopefully, I can gain some understanding of the behavior of these creatures.
Lucia – that is, Sarah – does not believe her husband will agree to come, but I consider myself lucky to at least have her perspective.
January 26, 2011
After listening to the recording several times, Sarah’s perspective on life reminds me much of Eric’s. Eric believed in fate, that events in life were going to happen with or without our permission. It’s our job to meet this obstacles in a way that we would be proud of. Sarah is married to Travis, there is no way out of that bond before God in spite of what she may want or wish. I believe she loves Travis more than anyone, but I also think she is tired. Unfortunately, she had little to say about the zombies, but I wonder about their convictions, whether they are more than just corpses yelling for brains. Maybe they do have a purpose like the Rapturists believe. Then again, maybe it’s our duty to at least try to beat destiny like the Border Guard believes. I am torn on this, but I have scheduled another interview with Sarah.
She lived over a year with minimal contact with human beings, out amongst nature and zombies. Perhaps, if I ask the right questions, I can learn what I need to know about them.
BLOCKADE
“Wake up, shithead.” Jerm punched Micah in the shoulder.
“Ow! Fucker.”
“We’re in New Mexico.”
“So?”
“So, take the wheel. I’ma get sumthin’ to eat.”
“We almost there?”
“Prob’ly.”
“Jerm, you still mad?”
“I dunno, dipshit. Only happened a few hours ago. Don’t know how you get your beauty rest, Micah. She was human.”
Micah clenched his teeth. “Did what I had to. You remember Barbara?”
” ‘course I remember Barb. Nicest fuggin’ lady on the planet.”
“Bit by a fuggin’ little mosquito. Turned into a zombie.”
“You think I don’t remember that, Micah? We killed just about everyone in the God damned town! I don’t care if you’re the prodigal doctor, Mike, but Barbara was an old fuggin’ lady. Maybe Jaclyn–”
“I couldn’t take that risk! It’s done, Jerm! Drop it!”
Jerm bit down on his jerky stick and stared out the window. He wondered for a moment if he was dead and Hell was actually one big road trip with your older brother. Maybe they’d never get where they needed to go.
Micah cleared his throat. “We did what we had to… I think about what we did that day all the time.”
“I know, man. I know. Don’t worry ’bout it. Let’s just get to Albuquerque.”
Everything looks the same on this highway anyway. It’s all shrubs and dust. He and Micah tried turning on the radio but there’s pretty much no reception out here. Place is a shithole. Jerm always thought maybe he’d get into trouble and have to leave the state, but he never thought he’d be running from zombie skeeters.
“Shit!” Micah slammed on the brakes.
Jerm got thrown against the dashboard. He hadn’t buckled up.
“What the fuck, man!” He had been trying to take a nap.
“Blockade.”
“What? Run it.”
“They have guns!”
” ‘swhy we need to run it.”
“Jerm, I ain’t dying for you. I’m sorry. We can talk to these guys.”
“Yeah, and get our asses shot! Give me that!”
Jerm grabbed for the wheel and the car swerved off road. Micah pulled it back again. The car swerved back and forth until a shot rang out. Jerm smashed his head into the windshield. The busted tire made a few thuds before Micah slowed down to a full stop.
“Out of the car!” yelled a man with a rifle. “Let me see your hands!” Neither argued. The man signalled for some of his men to take apart the car. “What’s it look like?”
“Some food, sir! A lot of bottles back here. Looks like piss, sir!”
“Found a gun in the glove compartment,” another said.
“Good work. Confiscate that for now.” He turned to Jerm and Micah. “Mind tellin’ me who you boys are and where you’re going?”
“Dr. Micah Box. My brother, Jeremiah.” Jerm waved his hand. His head felt sticky and he was a little dizzy.
“You went to medical school?”
“Yes. I’m a physician.”
“I’ll be! Guess we lucked out!”
“If it’s not a problem, sir, we’d rather get going to Albuquerque.”
“Not a problem for me, son, if you want to become zombie chow. Albuquerque’s still getting cleaned out by our men. You’re in Moriarty now.”
“And you are?”
“Sergeant Baron Mash.”
“These are privates Richard Hatch and Arnold Ball. I like to call them ‘Dick’ and ‘Ball.’ Our sharpshooter over here is Corporal Mickey Taylor. We’re Border Guard. You stay with us, you’re Border Guard, too. We kill zombies. That’s it. We need more doctors, Micah. Someone gets bit, our policy is to shoot to kill, but people get sick and injured anyway. We’d be happy to have ya. Your brother handy with a gun?”
“Handy enough,” Micah says, looking over at Jerm. “Move your hand, dipshit.” Jerm takes his hand off his head. It’s bloody but his head’s not gushing. “You’ll be fine. There’s disinfectant in that bag your men took.”
Mash signalled for Ball to look through the bag and bring it over. Micah rummaged through it and took out some cottonballs and ethanol.
“See. We’re fine,” Micah whispered into Jerm’s ear.
“Yeah. Just keep your mouth shut and we’ll keep bein’ fine.”
“Hold still, you idjit!” Micah said aloud.
“Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, let’s get to camp. I’ll brief you on what’s been happening of late.”
“Guess we’re Border Guard now,” Micah shrugged.
“Yee-ha,” Jerm said without a hint of enthusiasm.
“Keep puttin’ pressure on that cotton ball.”
“Shut yer face!”
GUM
Some of us were prepared for this. Well, we liked to pretend we were. Before the outbreak, we used to get together, talk about comics and drink. We’d plan out zombie escape plans, brew our own beer so we’d have fuel to light zombies on fire. Of course, that was all a joke, but at least Josh, Theo, and Vera make a good mint off of brewing their own stuff now. The only guy who really took it seriously was Raj, and he’s dead now. The man was certain that the zombie apocalypse was coming. We knew he was a little off, but we all thought he was joking. Now, none of us are certain. Of anything anymore.
I try not to think about it too much. At least, I tried not to. It’s hard to forget. Talking about zombies is like talking about the weather now. And then there’s that doc’s been asking around. Dr. Shulz, though most people call him “Dr. Z” as kind of a joke and a sign of respect (depends on how you say it, I guess. Kinda like a cuss word). Dr. Z’s known to have been asking everyone about the zombies, as if they were some kind of animal that needs studying instead of brainless corpses. It unnerves a man to hear that these things could have an agenda, or even a mind. Some of the guys like talking to him, but I think he’s a bit of a fear-mongerer. Still, I can’t see the man as the kind to kidnap a young woman. Seemed to me to be a bit of a fruitcake, to be honest.
But that’s my job. Let others merchant off beer. I decided I wanted to hunt those fuckers down. I joined the militias when we first cleaned out Juneau. Mapped out the residential areas, went door to door, checking every room and every closet. We’d find zombies, but we’d find other weird shit too. People didn’t want us to see their sex dens or their meth labs or whatever they were doing. We’d force our way in, one way or another. One man had a fridge full of someone’s body parts, said it was an offering if the zombies came. My partner capped him on the basis that he could have been turning, but we both knew he wasn’t. Just another psychopath. I quit soon after that. We were finding less and less zombies anyway. Since I knew every shadow of the city at that point, I decided to become a detective. Still just as goddamn depressing, though usually not as dangerous. Mostly, I take care of missing person reports. Sometimes I find them, usually not alive, but sometimes still walking around. I put one in the brain of a dead little girl. Toddler in little romping shoes and overalls. Not my best moment, but at least she’s at peace now.
I light a cig to help me think: if I were Dr. Z, where would I be? I don’t know why I ask myself that. Seems like the thing to ask, but it never gets me anywhere. The cigarette tastes awful, like ash and urine. I used to chew gum. An addict, pretty much. On my last pack, I saved it for over a month by tucking the gum behind my ear. Body soil flavor. Delicious. Never run out of things to roll up and burn, though, and I needed something to replace the gum. At least nowadays, nobody tells you smoking’s gonna kill you. We all know what’s going to kill us.
If I were me, where would I look for Dr. Z? I roll the cig around in my mouth and bit down. Bad habit. Leftovers from better days.
I spoke with the husband who hired me. Calls himself Jesse. Real name, Travis Scarborough. I do my homework, take notes in case there’s a test. Guess what? There’s always a test. I also spoke with the Rapturists, last place Dr. Z was seen before the disappearance of Jesse’s wife. They didn’t give me much to go on and those people give me the creeps anyway. Zombies were made by God to destroy us. Maybe that’s true but who wants to think that way? There’s no point to it. His apartment was pretty sparse, too, though I don’t know what the cops did to it before I got there. I’m just lucky I got a look at all. Know a few cops from my militia days, so I can pull a few strings.
“Hey, man. Can I bum a smoke?” the voice comes from behind me. It bothers me, having people sneak up on me like that. I reach into my coat where I keep my gun. Guy looks like he’s been through Hell and back, has a deranged look in his eye. I offer him my smoke, never taking my eye off him or my hand off my piece.
“You like to eat your smokes?” he laughs. At first I’m confused, then I remember that I bit down on that one.
“Sorry. Bad habit. I can get you another.”
“Naw! Naw, man. Beggars can’t be chooser, ‘my right?”
“Yeah.”
He takes a puff and passes it back. “You looking for Dr. Z, right?”
“Who wants to know?”
“My bad!” He puts his hand out for me to shake. It’s bony and ice cold. “Name’s Micah.”
“Micah. I’m Tobias. So, what do you know about Dr. Z?”
“Not much about the man. I may know where he’s staying. Need some info from you.”
“What kind?” I don’t trust this guy. Rubs me the wrong way.
“Can I get another hit o’ that cig? Thank ya.” He takes a big hit, blows smoke everywhere. “Well, y’see, organization I’m a part ‘a is interested in the Rapturists. Been casing the place for a while. Seen your man go in and out and back in. Never came out again.”
“He’s still inside the Rapturist building? That doesn’t make any sense. Why would they be keeping them in there? One of their own hired me.”
“Jesse? He’s just as much in the dark as you are.” He hands me the cigarette back. I flick it away.
“Well, excuse me if I find all this hard to believe. Thanks for the information, though.” I turn away and he grabs my shoulder, shoves something hard into my back. Should have know this guy was packing. I let my guard down.
“Listen, Tobias. This is important. The people I work for are very influential. I lost a brother because of those Rapturist fuckers and I’ll be damned if I care if you live or die.”
“Sorry for your loss,” I start to raise my hands in the air in hopes that someone will see the suspicious action.
“Put your hands down!”
No dice. “What does your organization want?”
“Information on the Rapturists.”
“What kind?”
“The incriminatin’ kind. We wanna drag these fuckers’ names through the mud. They’re the scum o’ the earth. Worse than the corpses walkin’ out there. You have an in with these guys. Tell ‘em you’re investigating. Whatever. We just need info.”
“Fair enough. How do you know I’ll do it, though?”
He puts his gun away. “I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to live thinkin’ some bastard was gonna pop me or my friends in the head. Now, I wouldn’t do anything like that. I like you, man. But I’m afraid there’s some people I work with who wouldn’t think twice ’bout endin’ you.”
“You’ll leave us alone if I do this?” Bastard.
“Sure. We’re only concerned with the Rapturists and the brains behind that outfit.” He speaks like a military man sometimes. All I can figure is Border Guard, but this seems to run deeper than that. “You find us information and you can look for your man at once. This is win-win.”
“Fair enough. We done?”
“Almost.” He hands me a playing card, six of spades. “Leave this in your mailbox when you’ve got what we need. We’ll find you.” With that, he walks off down the street, looking every bit like a bum.
“Christ, what a day!” I say, pulling out another cig. I’d kill for a stick of gum right now.
ARMY
“Heard through the grapevine that you were in Iraq,” Hatch said, trying to sound discrete.
“What’s wrong, Hatch?” Jerm asked “Worried I might outrank you and call you by your first name?” Richard Hatch. Everyone around Moriarty called him “Dick”, made funnier because his best friend was Private Arnold Ball. “What should I call you, then?” Jerm had asked him. “Ball. That’s my fuckin’ name, rookie.” Ball was a sensitive guy.
“Naw, man. Ball and I weren’t soldiers before the outbreak. I was just wonderin’ about the war and all.”
“You don’t think this is exciting enough? Bet you got war stories o’ your own.”
“Well…”
“Relax, Hatch. I was a civilian in the United States Army Corps of Engineers. Sent out into Iraq to build some schools is all.”
“Schools, huh?”
“Yeah. So, what’s up? You relieving me?”
“No. Ball. You seen him?”
“Shit break. Been a while now. Check the latrine if you want.” Jerm patted Hatch on the back and went back to his watch.
“Oh shit!” Hatch cried. “Oh Christ! Fuck!”
“What?” Jerm yelled. No answer. He went over to check on them, rifle pointed in the dark. “Hatch! What’s up?”
“He’s dead! Zeds got ‘im!”
“Zombies? Why the fuck?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know!”
“Hatch, move over. Move! Hatch… that looks like a stab wound.”
“I don’t know!”
“Hatch! Calm the fuck down! I’ll watch here. Go tell Sarge.”
“But…”
“Fuckin’ go, man!” Jerm watched him go, sighed deep and turned back to his post. “Fuck!” he cried, not sure what he was looking at. It was a black bag over a man’s head. Before he could raise his rifle, he got popped in the jaw. The man wrestled his gun away and pointed it at Jerm.
“If I wanted to kill you, I could have. Yes?”
“Yes! Yeah!”
“I know who you are, Jeremiah. Dishonorably discharged from the army. That kind of thing follows you, you know?”
“Who..?”
“I’m a messenger. You’ve piqued the interest of a higher power, Jeremiah. You should be proud.”
“Fuckin’ feelin’ great.”
“You have leave in three days. Leave at 0600. Keep walking west of your barracks and we’ll find you. Don’t show and we kill you and your brother. Tell anyone, and we’ll kill you and your brother. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
He walked away and tossed the gun. Aside. The man was gone before he could retrieve his rifle.
“Shit!”
DISHES
“When the stars threw down their spears and watered heaven with their tears, did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb, make thee?”
“Hellboy.”
“What? God, Theo! You scared me.” Vera hadn’t heard him over the clatter of washing dishes. The man was like a little ghost walking around the house.
“I’m sawry,” he said in that baby voice she hated. He pushed up against her. He was already hard.
“Please. I’m trying to do the dishes.” She was hoping that he would take a hint and help out.
“You can do them later,” he purred. Apparently, she would have to be more direct with him. But why did she think otherwise?
“This brewing company is messy and smelly and you and Josh don’t help by leaving your shit all over the place. Either help or get out of the kitchen! Comprenez vous?”
Theo shrank back. “But of course, ma petit tigre.” He rolled back his sleeves.
“So, what do your comic books have to do with Blake?”
“My comics? Oh. Right. That poem is in one of the Hellboy comics.”
“Do you know what it means?” They both stopped swapping dishes for a moment.
“I suppose… I figured it was that God created Hellboy. That he created devils alongside everything else.”
“Tres bon, ma petit agneau! At least, close enough. Blake wrote that poem about a tiger, kind of a musing on why God created this ferocious beast that kills God’s supposedly most precious creatures.”
She hands him a big bowl to dry. “And?”
“And what?”
“What’s your point? You always have a point.”
They stopped again as Vera thought. “I was just wondering if the Rapturists, crazy they may be…”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.”
“What? I’m not allowed to think now? Is that it?”
“No. You can think. I’m okay with thinking. It’s just…”
“Look. I’m not going to run off and join a cult. I was just thinking about… moving?”
“Moving what?” She could hear the increasing fear in his voice.
“I know you haven’t thought about it. You and Josh love this little world you’ve created, but I keep thinking about the rest of the world.”
“What about the rest of the world?”
“Think about it, Theo. We have enough alcohol to pay our way on a fishing boat, I’m sure of it! We could go to France! Or Monaco! Or Guadeloupe!”
“Why would you want to go to Monaco? Or Guadeloupe, for that matter? What’s even there?”
“Something! Something else! Why is everyone so sold that moving up north is the answer? We’ve walled hundreds of thousands of people in here who are afraid to step off their own front porches most days! You want to know what’s in Guadeloupe? Freedom! Freedom from our own damn fears!”
“Say you’re not crazy and you could get to Guadeloupe. Then what? We’ve set up a life here, Vera. We’ve got a steady income. We’ve got friends. We’ve even got a poutine stand down the street!”
“You think this is a joke?” Vera slams the plate she was scrubbing crashing into the others. “You know what’s a joke? You’ve got beer, a deadbeat business partner, a best friend who runs around the streets playing detective, and you can keep your damn poutine!” Having dried off her hands on a dish towel, Vera threw it in Theo’s face.
“She’ll get over it…” Theo mumbled to himself, but he couldn’t shake this feeling like he had air trapped in his lungs that he couldn’t expel. And all he was doing with his life was holding his breath.
CARNAGE
“His brother. He was followed, then.” The man was cleaning off his knife with a white cloth.
Micah couldn’t speak. His mind was too warped with thoughts of murder and disbelief. His feet kept taking him forward, toward the carnage, toward the man with the knife and his brother’s presently lifeless body.
“He would not repent for his actions. A pity. He would have made a fine brother in the Rapturists.”
This was Micah’s only brother. His brother with whom he had shared his childhood. Their entire family, turned to zombies and slaughtered by his and Jerm’s own hands before they left town. His brother was all he had.
“Repent?” Micah croaked, barely sounding human.
“Yes. Raping a fellow officer. How uncouth.”
“It wasn’t…”
“Wasn’t rape? He told me as much. Ask that girl or her family. They’ll tell a different story. Your brother was marked by his sins. I merely carried him forward to his destiny.”
Micah wanted to cry, to laugh, to stain the world with this man’s blood. His feet took him forward.
“Will you repent, Micah? Do you repent for your sins?”
Never.
The man intended to slash Micah’s throat open, quick and clean. Micah’s arm moved in the way. The blade cut deep but Micah did not seem to feel it. He grabbed the man’s wrist with his good arm and bit down on his forearm. He screamed. Micah enjoyed that scream. He bit down through the flesh and the blood and the muscle until bone reached bone. He spit the flesh and the blood and the muscle from his mouth. The man screamed more. Micah enjoyed it too much to notice the fist meeting his temple. Or his brother devouring the chunk of flesh his own mouth had refused.
The man reached down for his knife with his good arm. Having a taste for his flesh, Jerm reached out hungrily and sunk his teeth into the other arm. Crucified by the teeth of the brothers, the man wept.
“God!” Whether he was calling for help or release, Micah decided on the latter. He tackled the man to the ground, his head cracking upon the rocks. Micah brought his boot down until his brains were ground meat.
Micah stepped back, fell back onto a large boulder and slid down. He watched his brother crawl forward, rip open the man’s gut, and feast on his innards. When Jeremiah was done feeding, Micah crushed his skull with a sharp rock.
DETECTIVE
“Lucia… Sarah. I know where she is, but how do I get in? The Rapturists. This has gotten suicidal.” Tobias was talking to himself again, a habit his roommates had gotten used to.
“You need to relax, dude. Want some pou?” Josh offered the gravy fries topped with cheese curds.
“Don’t you ever get tired of going to that stand?”
“No way! My boy Felix hooks me up! Man, you used to be fat and happy too, Toby. What happened?”
“Zombies.”
“Ohyah. Dat,” he said with a mouth full of fries.
“Yeah, that. I’ve had zombies on the brain lately, and if you say ‘you better get them off,’ I will pull your goddamn eyes out with a spork!”
“I didn’t say anything, dude. Cool your jets!”
Tobias sighed, thumbing his temples. “I wish Raj was here. He’s the reason any of us are alive in the first place.”
Josh lowered his food to his lap, his face somber. Theo walked in to grab a drink from the fridge. His eyes were red from crying.
“And here’s our mystery man,” Tobias said. “You ready to tell us about what happened between you and Vera?”
“Don’t be so callous, dude,” Josh glared. Tobias wasn’t sure if he meant about Raj or Vera.
“It’s okay. She left me.”
“We got that much,” Tobias said. Josh cleared his throat. “Sorry. Go on.”
“I don’t know. She just doing dishes and reciting poetry. Then she was all like ‘I want to go to Guadeloupe’ and I was like ‘you a crazy ho’ and then she left.”
“You did call her a ho, bro,” Josh pointed out.
“I didn’t really,” Theo whimpered. “I was just trying to sound tough.”
“Does she usually recite poetry when she’s doing dishes?”
“I never thought she was a fan, but I guess she was really into that one dude.”
“Who?”
Josh rolled his eyes. “Here comes Mr. Detective.”
Tobias held out a hand to silence Josh. “Theo. Who?”
“Uh, it was the one about Tigers. They had it in a Hellboy comic.”
“William Blake?”
Theo punched his beer in Tobias’s direction. “That’s the dude!”
Tobias had worked the beat enough to know the Rapturists’ different code words. That poem was one. This was his in!
“What is it, Tobe?” Josh leaned forward.
“Theo. I got good news and bad news for you. I don’t think your girlfriend’s heading to Guadeloupe.”
“You don’t?”
“I think Vera’s joined a cult.”
THRESHOLD
Travis began to doubt whether Sarah was still alive. He glared at a stranger, daring the man to tell him that she wasn’t alive. He quickly got out of Travis’s way. Why now? For almost two years, neither of them had felt safe, but they were alive and together. Now that they were among people, they had let their guard down.
Before the outbreak, before the zombies, they used to spend nights making love with only the light of her favorite lavender candles. He always thought the scent was overpowering, but he’d grown to love it. What he wouldn’t do to bring back that night, and to bring her back. Even living in the truck for over a year, afraid of everything outside their doors, at least they had each other. There were times during the morning twilight, in that threshold between night and day, when they would cling to each other and never let go. Now he might never see her again. Dr. Z: if he ever found him, he would kill him…
* * *
He’ll never see him again. Jeremiah, his only remaining flesh and blood, in an unmarked grave in the dry plains of Texas. They had grown up together, taking turns on the slide. He and Jerm had done unthinkable things, but they’d done them to corpses. But even telling himself that didn’t make it feel right. They’d massacred their entire family. If there was any blood on their hands, that would be it.
Micah waits at the threshold of the Rapturist building. He could burn this place down, but he wouldn’t know if the heads of the operation would be dead. The gumshoe would find a way in. It was a matter of pride for a man like that.
Ever since that day, Micah had always told Jerm “We did what we had to,” even if he didn’t quite believe it himself. Well, there was just one more thing Micah had to do. This country is a cess pool, all stemming from this booming city of Juneau. He would purge it with a bath of fire…
* * *
“Burn him again.”
“I think he’s reached his threshold, Reverend.”
“Very well.” He laid hands on the hammer and the chain, simple devices of torture, used as an artist would use a paintbrush.
He hung against the wall, like a piece of rotting meat. Reverend Taddeo wanted to dance at the sublime beauty of it all. He had grown up never really believing in God or the afterlife, feeling guilty about it but not knowing why. Now that the dead had come back, Taddeo knew that there was a divine presence passing judgment on us all. The Rapture had come and God had spoken in his ears: “Thou art hath sinned. Convert the masses and thou art shalt be redeemed in the eyes of the Lord.”
“You will thank me later, Dr. Schulz. We are baptizing you, preparing you for the rigors of the new age where only the just are spared from God’s angels! We must all prepare for what is to come…”
* * *
“We have to be prepared. You guys are ready?”
“Hells yeah! That’s my girlfriend getting brainwashed in there!”
“Theo, she could just be there of her own free… never mind.”
“So, what’s the big plan?”
“I have a plan. Josh, we’ll need to borrow your truck. You ready?”
Josh exercised his strange ability to crack every bone in his body. “I was born ready.”
“Good. We make our move tonight…”
* * *
The zombies gathered at the threshold of the forest, seeming to have purpose and direction. They began marching toward the squatter camps set up around Juneau’s walls. They guards rang the warning bells, too late for the huddled masses clawing at the gates to be saved from the flesh-eating masses. The undead horde’s number tripled that night. The victims of poverty and overpopulation now hammered and clawed at the threshold, slavering and dreaming of blood.
OUTSIDE
I waited outside, cig slack in my jaw, glancing above the headlines of the Juneau Empire: “Zombie casualties record low,” it read. The politicians must be getting better at hiding the bodies.
At least the Dr. Z kidnapping story has finally gotten off the front page. The Rapturists have the media diddling their front pockets. Who even knows if that “Micah” is right about Sarah being alive? They’d have no reason to keep her in there as far as Tobias could figure. Then again, why would Dr. Z be alive and kicking? Maybe I’m being used, but I was hired to see this through. Hired by a man who wants to see his wife again and see his first child born. Doesn’t sound so unreasonable to me.
I wasn’t part of the group that cleared out the Rapturist building, so I can’t say where they would likely be held. They say the old Sealaska building used to be a heritage center for the natives Indians. When the outbreak occurred, the big wigs all ended up getting eaten or turned. Like many other buildings in the area, squatters began taking the building as their own. Though it should have belonged to the native tribes by principle, Reverend Taddeo and his church provided a good amount of money to the mayor and the police. Many of the people inside were converted and given a place to live. Others were kicked from the premises. Some rumors say that a few people just vanished, but nobody knows that for sure. A lot of dirty rumors have circulated around that new-age cult, but nobody knows for sure one way or another. But it didn’t matter. He’d never seen the inside. He needed someone who could take him through.
“Toby! What are you doing around here?”
“Oh, you know,” I sniffed, spitting my cig into the gutter. “The whole detective schtick. I’ve gotten good at skulking around. Need some help with those groceries?”
“No. I’m okay. Look, about Theo…”
“Don’t even worry about it.”
“You don’t care that I hurt your friend?”
“I care, Vera. But you’re my friend, too. And Theo’s kind of a whiny cunt sometimes anyway.”
“I’m relieved. I was worried for a second that you were going to try to get me to come back.”
I shrugged. “We miss you, V. You know that. But, no, I’m not here to break your balls are carry you home or anything. Actually, I wanted to ask you what got you so obsessed with these Rapture guys? Thought you were going to Guadeloupe.”
Vera switched her grocery bag to the other arm. “I wish I could. There’s just no money for me to do it, not even with my cut. And what would I do if I got there? I don’t know anybody. The Rapturists support me. Brother Vance tells me there’s a place we can go, a utopia where people can live free from fear.” Must be the guy she’s banging now. “Theo always likes to stay inside where he thinks it’s safe, but maybe it’s not safe in there. Maybe it’s not safe anywhere. So, you know, I always wanted to travel, see the world. I want to go somewhere that’s not… here. You know? Theo would never go for it. He’s okay with the same fear and seclusion. I want to go somewhere and do something. I probably sound crazy.”
“No,” I chuckled. “I remember one time he used to play this old computer game, Warcraft. Sometimes he’d just take the microwave out of the wall, put it in his room, and play for days. The man loved Hot Pockets. See, that’s crazy. You’re just a delusional dreamer. There ain’t no promised land. Wherever you go, there’s gonna be zombies. Death.”
“And people. Life.”
“Exactly. Same thing.”
“When did you get so cynical, Toby? You used to be such a sweetheart.” Vera blew her hair out of her mouth, switching the grocery bag to the first hand.
“Still am,” I argued, snatching the bag from her. “Now, let’s go meet your new family. I’m curious what the appeal is.”
MASS
Vera and I walked to the front doors, plan running smoother than a greased handjob, when my bastard of an informant came cruising toward us. He said he’d find me. Guess I was wishing he was a liar.
“Oh, rapture! Tobias, my friend!”
Micah. I hated the guy since I met him. The gun to the back didn’t help much, either.”Oh, hey! It’s my good buddy…”
“Ebenezer,” Micah jumped in. “Tobias here saved my life, you know? Did he tell you?”
“No,” Vera shook her head. “What happened?”
“When I came here, I was without a home or a penny,” Micah began. Cue the violins. “I sold off my car, my belongings, whatever I had. I had reached my destination, after all, so I didn’t need any of these things. Unfortunately, before good Tobias found me a communal home, I was sleeping on the streets. Some rough characters found me and were ready to murder me just for being an immigrant.”
“What happened?” Vera glanced from Micah to Tobias.
“He beat them up, sent them on their way. The canals can be a dangerous place, but Tobias here is my savior,” he grinned wide. Tobias shivered. There were a few men found dead in the canals the other day. Not that it was an unusual event, but it usually wasn’t rich-boy locals who ended up being the corpses. The murders caught the attention of police and vigilantes alike.
“I’m glad you’re okay, Ebenezer. I knew Tobias was taking up bounty work, but I didn’t know you were a superhero.” She laughed, nudging at my ribs.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t be so modest, Toby! Ebenezer! Where are you from?”
“Little Rock.”
“Arkansas?”
“That’s the one!” Micah smiled. I cringed. Arkansas was a dead zone, from the stories I’d heard. What kind of Hell had this man been through to get to this point? Well, whatever. His little revenge plan was going to get them all killed.
“Here. Take some money, bud. Happy to help.”
Micah Tobias’s palm around the money and pushed it back. “Thank you, but I won’t need money where I’m going.” His eyes were two dying embers. The police have a saying: “suicidal is homicidal.” Basically, it means stay the fuck away from crazy people.
“Where are you going?” Vera asked.
Micah pointed to the Rapturist building.
“There. But I don’t think the Rapturists would let a bum like me inside that fancy building.”
“Nonsense! We’re all equals here. The Rapturists welcome all who need guidance.”
“Well, that sounds mighty nice, Vera.”
Tobias felt like he’d been thrown into The Wizard of Oz. But what did that make him? Tin man? Scarecrow? Maybe he was Todo and just along for the ride. They checked into the Rapturist building, filled out forms, got the grand tour, seeing the chapel and the gallery of Native Alaskan art they inherited. After the tour, they would never again be allowed in these places without cause. Which is another way of saying that they’d never be allowed in these places. They were all ushered into the common room, a teething mass of bodies shuffling around, eating grey slop. Lunch time. The food was a sort of gooey matter. This kind of infiltration was going to be tedious. It was good that Micah was a virtual no-name and Tobias, at least, had a clean slate.
“Where’s Ebenezer?” Vera asked.
Tobias looked around… gone. He must have slipped away in the crowd.
“Zombies!” someone cried.
“What?” Tobias asked, as if being shaken out of a dream.
They all looked outside the window. The streets were flooded with people running away. In pursuit, a writhing mass of corpses, toppling over each other to get to their food. Tobias took Vera’s hand and pulled her up onto the table. The stampede at floor level was fatal for many.
* * *
Micah said a prayer for his brother. The guards were allowed to keep guns, which was a huge mistake. Anywhere the oppressors keep weapons, the oppressed are sure to take them. Trickle down.
“Where’s the reverend?” Micah could hear the screaming masses trying to escape from the blood and from the death. Micah rode a chariot pulled by both beasts.
“I don’t know.”
There’s a hair of a second as the trigger his being pulled when a man knows he is going to die. It’s at that moment that men are their at their purest. Better they die rather than live and become monsters.
Blood and Death carried Micah to the elevators.
BLOOD
Jerm used to be scared of crossing bridges when he was a tyke. Their Ma told them stories about the three billy goats Gruff and Jerm was always afraid there was a troll hiding in the creek, waiting to eat them.
“Hey you troll. I’m the biggest billy goat Gruff!” Micha would cry at the foot of the bridge, imitating the fairy tale. “If you come out, I’ll poke out your eyes an’ shit in your brain!” Micah always liked to give his threats some color. “There! Now the troll won’t bother us. Come on!” And they would cross the bridge together to eat the best peaches and bring home the second best.
Micah felt like the troll now, skulking about in the dark, searching for the reverend. The guards were all leaving to the entrances to block off the incoming zombies and refugees. In spite of it being an emergency, he took the elevator to avoid notice. This was a zombie attack, not a fire, after all. Not yet.
“I have two spears,” the biggest billy goat Gruff would say. Micah was dressed in a guard’s uniform, courtesy of the man on the first floor. Nobody would recognize him, and there was blood on the shirt, but a second’s hesitation was all he needed. The guards were all at the door with their rifles. Like fish in a barrel.
“Hold i–”
“I’m not a zombie!” Micah shouted, raising one hand in the are. He pulled the trigger three times. The last man clipped his shoulder. The blood ran heavy and dark down his arm. Grimacing, he shot them in the head, one by one. He’d heard one of the local boozers call it “buying zombie insurance.” He breathed heavily. Normally, security would be tighter than a hawk’s ass in a nosedive. Perhaps this really was God’s intervention that he was able to get this far. Micah took one of the dead men’s rifles. He kicked at the door, backed up and shot at it. The door began to bust apart. He shot again at the door handle, picked up another gun.
“I have these stones to crush your bones,” said the eldest billy goat Gruff. The door gave way and Micah’s bullets painted the room red. He blinked once, knowing that he should be dead now. These men were all unarmed, shot in the back. They’d probably been praying. Micah tried to swallow down the horrible bile of guilt that threatened to tear apart his guts from the inside out. He closed his eyes and all he saw were corpses. Be strong. This is for Jerm. Cut the beast off at the head.
“Oh, God…” a man breathed, frightened. Did Jerm beg for his life? Did Micah’s brother know the reason why he had to die? This man had been standing at the pulpit, higher up than the others. Micah had only shot out his legs. He must have been preaching. That makes him…
“Father Taddeo. You have sinned.”
“God!” he shrieked. Micah butted the man in the face with the rifle. He surveyed the room, looking for surivors. There was an adjacent room, a kitchen, most likely added by the Rapturists when they moved in. The staff was still there. Micah unloaded his rifle into the room. They were going to die anyway and Micah already had blood on his hands. Better now than in the fire.
“Father, you have sinned,” Micah said with tears his eyes. He reached out, wiping a bloody palm on the man’s face. “Pray for forgiveness.” He dropped his gun, using his good arm to drag the wretch to the kitchen.
“Forgiii-!” he cried in pain.
“What did you say?”
“Forgi-hiv me! It hurts!”
There would be no escape for this wretched man. He would not know why he had to die. He need not know. He would merely suffer and die. The only mercy he would grant him was the gift of not becoming one of the undead.
Micah began by cutting out the reverend’s eyes. “I have two spears,” he said. “To stab out your eyes.” Micah started up the food processor, sticking the reverend’s hand into it. Then the other. “I have two stones,” he said, “to crush your bones.” The troll hiding under the bridge. Micah would have to kill him to protect Jerm. To protect Jerm, so they could cross the bridge together. The bridge, across the creek with the troll. The troll kept screaming. Micah dragged the troll to the meat slicer and slammed his face into it, setting the machine to auto slice. Micah fought with all his might to keep the troll there as the machine sliced him away, a little bit at a time. Finally, the troll stopped struggling. Micah turned on the gas stove and threw him on. He dragged all of the bodies inside the room, corpses to fuel the fire.
Micah walked back into the main room, up to the podium. He looked out the window at the sky.
“The sun is so close, Jerm,” Micah said, tears streaming down his face. “Why’s the sun so close when it’s so damn cold up here? I don’t understand… those peaches tasted good, didn’t they? Bet you’re enjoying one right now, you bastard.” He closed his eyes and put pistol to his temple. Jerm would have to cross the bridge alone.
FIRE
Josh and Theo drove in amidst a shrieking stampede of people and zombies. Given the overwhelming mass of flesh in the streets, it got to the point where they couldn’t tell whether they were running over people or avoiding zombies. A horde of people stood on the car, trying to break their way inside.
“Just step on it!” Theo screamed. Josh closed his eyes and did as he was told.
Vera stumbled out of Tobias’s reach, jumping from the table and running for the car. She was lost in the sea of people. Tobias, his father’s revolver in hand, aimed his sights into the crowd. He inhaled deep to keep from trembling. These were people. Tobias could try to shoot to maim, but then they’d be dead anyway. Zombie chow. Either way, they were going to trample Vera.
“Damn it!” he growled, squeezing the trigger. Something grabbed Tobias’s leg, ‘causing his shot to fire high. He hammered his foot against the creature’s face, not sure if it was among the living or dead. Face bloodied the thing let go of his foot. He stumbled back up to locate Vera in the crowd. No sign of her. Or Theo.
Tobias’s heart seemed to slow. Vera’s body was lost in the stampede. Theo, who had flung his door open to save her, was quickly taken by the crowd, which seeped into Josh’s car. Josh was thrown out and crush under the wheel as the car crushed everyone in its way, driven by a hysterical creature bent on safety. Vera was dead. Josh was dead. Maybe not this second, but it hardly mattered whether they were dead or dying. Tobias fired off a few rounds into the crowd around Theo, but he was too late. A wave of bodies crashed in like the ocean tide. He aimed at Theo’s head to save him the pain of being eaten alive, but a crashed into Tobias, throwing him from his perch, his gun flying from his hands. The wind was crushed out of his lungs out of him, but he managed to keep his footing and keep from being trampled. Somehow, he was able to pick out Theo’s dying cries.
Tobias ran with the crowd to keep himself from being crushed under frantic heels. They were trying to break into the Rapturist compound, a place where they could get cover from the horde. He crouched low and covered his head. Gunfire was spraying the spearhead of this phalanx. The guards were making a futile stand to keep the populace from entering the cathedral. The gunfire quickly died out as the unstoppable wave of people and zombies crashed through the windows and doors like a storm hammering against a crag. Tobias’s clothes were torn, bruises smashed all over his arms and middle. He gained a reprieve when the large lobby fanned out and he was crushed a little less. The crowd dispersed and Tobias went with where his section of the flood carried him.
Tobias remembered Raj saying that zombies could fall down stairs, but they had trouble climbing up. Still, Tobias was just as afraid of the people as he was the zombies. There were fewer people that trickled downstairs. He pushed his way down, following this tributary of lost souls into the basement. The hallway ended in a locked door: “employees only.” The people at the door were ramming into it with their shoulders, trying to push it down.
“Out of the way! You!” Tobias grabbed the arm of the largest man at the door, a man he vaguely recognized from his time in the militia. The man was built like a linebacker, weighted down with almost as much fat as muscle. He’d do fine. “On the count of three, we kick at the same time! Okay?” The man nodded, panting from exertion.
“One. Two~! Three!” They took their rear legs and shoved them into the door. For a second, Tobias thought it was going to give. “Again!” They kicked again and hinges began to give way. A final time and the door cracked partway off its hinges, ready to be tossed down by the mob.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!”
The place they entered was pitch black and reeked of piss and blood. “Light switch! Find it!” The fluorescent lighting flickered on. Tobias almost wished someone would turn it off. People were pinned or chained to the walls, dying or dead. It was some kind of dungeon. The crowd walked through the room, dazed and fearful. Tobias spied a young woman in fair condition, if a little shaken up. Though her hair covered her face, he thought he recognized her.
“Sarah!” She writhed, as if the name gave her pain. “You’re Sarah Scarborough, ain’t you?”
“She won’t talk. She’s been raped too many times to respond to anyone anymore.” Tobias jumped at the croak of a man’s voice; he couldn’t have been sure that the man hanging there on the wall was actually alive or not.
“I was hired by Sarah’s husband…” Tobias started to say. It sounded strange now, as if it had happened to him in another life and he was just remembering. “To find…” His friends were all dead. He paused, staring into space, remembering that sound that could have been Theo. No. It had unmistakably been Theo screaming for death.
“What’s your name?” the man asked.
“Toby.”
“I’m Hermann. Dr. Hermann Schulz.”
This brought Tobias from his more painful memories. “You’re Dr. Z.”
His chuckle sounded like sandpaper. “Not by birth, I assure you.”
“Let me try to get you two out of those chains.”
“It won’t matter,” Hermann said. “The guards will be down here. They’ll kill us all.”
“The guards are dead. The city’s being attacked by zombies.”
“You act like that’s a better way to die.” Sarah began wailing. Dr. Schulz lowered his head.
“Somebody shut her up!” a man yelled and pounced on Sarah’s throat.
“Brady!” Tobias remembered the big man’s name. “Help me out!” Tobias tried to pull the man off Sarah. Brady took his hair and cracked his head against the wall next to Sarah’s head. This didn’t help her screeching. “Help me get them free, Brady!” He wasn’t sure if the man was dead or not, but it didn’t matter, as long as they could control the crowd.
The crowd, suddenly aware of themselves and their safety, began freeing the prisoners as well. Whether they were remembering their humanity or whether they just needed something to do to fight the fear, it didn’t matter. They all tried their best to break or pry the chains from the walls. Some worked on the barricades, stacking shelves and the shattered door up before the zombies arrived. There were many loud and strange noises, but no zombies. Instead, a thick smoke began crawling along the ceiling.
“Stay low!” Tobias yelled. “Stay! Low! The smoke won’t reach us down here!”
“Hell it won’t!” someone yelled.
“You want to run up there and die, go ahead! If you’re gonna stay here, just shut up! We need the air!”
They squatted down, staying silent for a good twenty or thirty minutes before Tobias noticed that the man was right. The smoke was still getting thicker.
“I’m going to go scout it out! Stay low!” He wrapped his coat around his face. Brady helped him clear part of barricade. “Thanks, Brady. I’ll be back.”
“Live and let die, brother.” It was one of the mottoes the militia spouted off to get themselves pumped up for raiding homes.
“Live and let die.” He clasped Brady’s hand and slipped out.
SCARS
May 1, 2011
I was looking at my scars today. For the first time, I felt a sense of detachment rather than horror. I wonder if I am ready to move on. I’d like to tell myself that it was only my flesh that was stripped away, only my bones that were broken–but I would be lying.
Then again, we’ve all suffered our wounds, be they physical or spiritual. No one has come out of this outbreak, apocalypse, rapture–whatever you call it–without their scars.
Sarah and her husband, Travis, made it out safely. Their child, however, did not. Luckily, it died shortly after it was born. If it was a stillbirth, the child may have torn apart her insides while still in the womb. She still hasn’t talked, even to Travis. He tells me that she’s always been afraid of the dark, but now she scratches at the walls and weeps, making animal noises from her throat. He confessed to me once that he thought about just letting her cut her own wrists one night. When they were first reunited, I felt such love and relief brimming from the man. Then, when he saw her, I think it dawned on him rather suddenly that he had lost the wife he knew that day she was kidnapped. I visit him from time to time. It was hard for him to accept my help at first. He’d believed for over a week that I had kidnapped her. But now I visit regularly to check up on him and Sarah. I believe he used to prefer being left alone. When I think of fortitude and perseverance, Travis comes to mind.
I see Toby from time to time, but he’s not doing much better, I’m afraid. The day after he found Sarah and I locked away, he looked for the bodies of his friends and buried them. Sometimes I see him passed out at their graves with a bottle of homemade brew in his hand. I’d give him blankets, food, the shirt off my back. He saved my life, after all. But Toby never accepts any of my gifts. He just wanders about town, completely lost. If he doesn’t find a purpose in his life, I fear he won’t stay alive much longer. I feel responsible in a way.
The zombies left town as quickly as they’d entered. I can’t explain it. They don’t follow any kind of a feeding pattern. Rather, they act somewhat like they did in life. The dog zombies hunt in packs; the people zombies stick to each other. I once told Eric about the novelStranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein. He’d never read it before. It’s about a man raised by Martians. He brings their philosophies to Earth, including a practice/concept called “grokking.” To grok someone is to understand them completely. To the Martians, this includes consuming that person, taking them into your body. I almost think that the zombies feel incomplete, that they want to take humans inside themselves to… become human again, I suppose. Of course, this is all just speculation, barely even a theory. I wonder, but I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll never truly know the answer. The only thing I know for a fact is two truths: (1) nowhere is safe anymore, and (2) we must cling to the living if we hope to brave our dead.
~ Dr. Z
