Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Spring has come, and things are bad. It was about two weeks ago that the snow melt kicked into overdrive as the days started getting up into the sixties and seventies. When that started to happen, and given that we found active (once we found them anyway) zeds in that house last month we decided that we needed to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. To that end we loaded a lot of the things that we don't use everyday into the Excursions, and Maria pulled them each right up to the garage to make sure they would be road ready if we needed them.
The car that Gerry used to pull that tree limb out of the dining room was our biggest concern, not only did it spend the rest of that night with water from the lake splashing up on the front of it, but it got hit by a boat, that's right a boat. The boat that had been floating in the middle of the lake all winter long apparently broke free from its anchor (or whatever was holding it in place), and was blown to shore where it crashed into the front of the Excursion. The damage to the car wasn't bad, although we did have to go into town for a new headlight since the boat broke the one of the passenger side.
Luckily it was a small boat, just a basic motorboat that had probably once upon a time been used primarily for fishing. In the boat was the body of a woman; it looked like she had once been dark skinned, but the winter weather had not been kind to her. The most interesting thing about her was that she was dead. Somehow she got to the middle of the lake, anchored the boat, died, and not did come back as a zombie. It's either that or direct exposure to subfreezing temperatures really does destroy them, but anything less than that just makes them go dormant?
Sometimes I really wish I had been a scientist instead of a retail clerk. This new world really makes me feel dumb sometimes. Of course the old world used to make me feel dumb sometimes too; maybe it's not the world that is the issue.
Maria and Beth also spent one entire day going through our guns to make sure that they were all still usable. I was finally corrected that the Browning that I have been calling a rifle for the last year is actually a shotgun. I found this out by referring to it as a rifle when trying to strike up a conversation with Maria (I do try occasionally). Not only did she correct me for mis-identifying the weapon, but she informed me that I am an idiot for not knowing better. Clearly things are improving between us.
It was last week when everything fell apart for us; it was mid-morning when I awoke to the sound of something hitting the window. I scrambled out of the sleeping bags that Sharon and I share and crossed the room to the window.
I threw back the curtains to find a dark skinned man staring back at me. His right cheek was gone, revealing yellowed teeth in a grim grin. A lot of his skin looked discolored and leathery, like a piece of meat let too long in the freezer. His right hand was pressed against the glass, and had smeared the accumulated grime on the window with fresh grime.
I jumped back in shock, and must have made a noise of some sort, as I woke Sharon up, “Whuzzit?” she asked.
“Get up! There's one outside,” I said as I hurriedly tried to put my right shoe on.
“Wuzowside?” she asked groggily.
“A zed,“ I said, putting on my left shoe.
That got her attention. Sharon sat bolt upright, and looked over to the window where the grim grinning ghoul pulled its right hand back, and them slapped the window again, making it rattle in its frame.
“We need to tell the others, “Sharon said, going for her shoes.
Out in the living room, I could hear glass shatter, and Pippa scream.
“I think they know,“ I said grabbing my sword and hatchet from the chair next to the door where I usually kept them at night next to my satchel. I slipped the hatchet into its holster on my belt so I could wield the sword with both hands.
I opened the door, and almost ran into Maria as she charged past with a shotgun in her hand.
“No guns!” I heard Beth yelling from further down the hall, her voice coming through the door to the garage, “We don't need to attract more of them!”
“It's a bit late for that!” Maria called back.
I wanted to find out what exactly was going on, and when someone was planning to wake us up and let us know about it, but it didn't seem like the right time. I followed Maria to the living room, sword in my right hand, and found that one of the windows at the side of the house was broken, and a zed with a puffy maroon and yellow ski jacket and a black knit cap on his head was trying to crawl in. Pippa was fighting the creature with the rounded end of her crowbar.
Judging from the living room, we were pretty well surrounded. I could see three more zeds coming up behind the one Pippa was fighting. Maria was using her shotgun to cover two more on the deck who were trying to pound their way through the sliding glass door. I could not see them, but I could hear at least one more pounding on the plywood covering the dining room window.
A few feet to Pippa's right was another window where two more zeds, an Asian woman, and a man who may have been Native American (or he may just have had his flesh dried out like the one outside the bedroom) seemed transfixed by the oil lamp that had been left burning in front of them. A few feet to the right of that window, a person with the tattered remains of a full ski mask was pounding on that window.
Pippa dealt her ski zombie a blow to the head with her crowbar, and must have finally caused enough damage to its brain, because it collapsed like a marionette with his strings cut. Unfortunately another two were right there to take its place. Pippa, feeling outmatched, backed away from that window over towards the window with the oil lamp.
Gerry and Beth came shuffling into the room, each holding the end of a sheet of plywood, and headed for the broken window with it, “A little help!” cried Gerry.
I saw what he meant, two zeds, both men in winter clothes, were trying to crawl through the window. They could not put the board in place with the two monsters sticking their arms through the hole. One of them was actually trying to pull itself up through the window.
I raised my sword (there was clearance in the high ceilinged living room of the cabin), and went towards the broken window. I brought the sword down as hard as I could on zed the window sill's arms. I could feel the crunch of its arm bones break up the length of the sword. I did not cut off the monster's arms, but it did make him fall backwards away from the window, his arms hanging from strips of flesh that the sword did not quite cut through.
I drew the sword back towards me, and then drove the flat end of the sword straight out and down into the face of the other zed at the window. The edge caught the thing right in the nose, and must have scored a critical hit because the thing stumbled backwards and fell to the ground.
Gerry and Beth came up, barely giving me time to move, and slammed the plywood up against the broken hole.
“The nails and hammers are still in the dining room!” Gerry yelled.
I started in that direction, but saw a flash of Sharon's red hair as she disappeared through the door. She returned a few seconds later with a hammer and a box of nails. Gerry and Beth held the plywood up to the broken window while started nailing it in place.
From the back of the house I heard glass break. One of the zeds had just broken into the study or one of the bedrooms. I started in that direction when the sound of breaking glass came from somewhere much closer.
I turned in the direction of the noise to see Pippa backing away from the window she had moved to. The Native American looking zombie was reaching through the now open window for her, but instead grabbed the burning oil lamp. The lamp fell over and shattered, splashing oil over the top of the shot bookcase it had been sitting on, and into the face of the zombie. The oil caught fire before it could douse the burning wick, and the top of the bookshelf burst into flames, as did the zombie's face.
The flaming zombie backed away, not seeming to be so much in pain, as just surprised to find most of its senses suddenly overridden by the fire. The Asian zombie did not seem to care, and still tried to reach in, its hands splashing in the flaming oil, setting both its arms and the window curtains on fire.
“There's an extinguisher in the garage!” Gerry yelled to me, still holding his end of the plywood up while Sharon drove nails through it and into the window frame.
I took off down the hall towards the garage. As I passed the master bedroom, I saw that the leather skinned ghoul had broken through the window, and was trying to pull itself up and into the cabin. I briefly debated whether or not to try and stop it from entering, but decided that it would not make a difference if the cabin burnt down.
The door to the garage was sitting open, and I could see light shining from an electric lantern sitting by the pile of plywood boards. I looked around, for the fire extinguisher. No, I never bothered to look for it before, why would I? I mean, it was only a house full of candles, oil lamps, and a fireplace that was lit twenty-four hours a day.
After about a half a minute I spotted the small red cylinder mounted on the wall over a dusty, but otherwise immaculate, workbench. I pulled it from its brackets, and headed back into the house.
I passed Beth and Gerry as they were coming back down the hall for more wood to block up the windows with. As I passed the master bedroom I saw that the leather zombie was still stuck halfway in and halfway out of the window.
Entering the living room I found that the fire had completely engulfed the bookshelf thanks to the Asian zombie's spreading the lamp oil around, and was spreading out onto the think carpeting which apparently had been made from something highly flammable.
“There's one in the bedroom!” I called to Sharon, who, hammer in hand, took off down the hallway
In what should have been a heroic movie, I leaned my sword up against the couch, strode up to the fire, raised the extinguisher in my right hand, pulled the pin with my left aimed, and squeezed the trigger. There was a little puff of white, and nothing else.
I looked at the red canister in my hand stupidly for a moment. I raised the little gauge up to my face and saw the little yellow needle was not in the small green section which read “FULL”, but in the larger red section that read “EMPTY” and “VACIO”, which I assume means empty in Spanish. The big white section between the red and green sections read “DISCARD OR REPLACE extinguisher if pointer shows red”
“Shit!” I cursed, and threw the extinguisher aside in anger.
“What?” asked Maria, who was still watching the sliding glass door. Strangely, the zeds at it seemed to be edging their way along the window towards the side of the house, towards the fire.
“It's empty, or needs to be recharged or something,” I yelled, “It doesn't fucking work!”
There was a blanket on the couch, I grabbed it and started trying to beat out the flames with it. I may as well have tried to use a handkerchief for all the good it did. The fire continued it's march out onto the carpet, and up the wall to the high ceiling.
“What do we do?” Pippa yelled.
Gerry and Beth came back into the room, carrying another piece of plywood, but when they saw that I was trying to put out the growing fire with a blanket that was smoldering from its repeated dips into the flame, Gerry let go of the board.
The plywood thumped against the carpet, and then again a half a second later as the side that Beth had been holding slipped out of her hands. She cursed as the rough edge of the board scraped across her fingers.
We looked at each other, we looked at the spreading fire, we looked at the now half a dozen zeds reaching into the fire as the smell of burnt pork filled the cabin, and I think it was at that point we all came to the conclusion that we had just lost our sanctuary. The only thing left for us now was to salvage as much as we could before being overwhelmed by fire or the undead, or indeed flaming undead.
Beth and Maria went out front to make sure the area around the Excursions were clear. They were still going to try and be stealthy, not wasting ammo, or attracting any more zeds than necessary by firing guns. While they did that, the rest of us started running around the house trying to grab anything we could and run it out to the cars.
Gerry and I concentrated on the kitchen, being wary with each pass through the living room that the fire was spreading more and more. We threw as much of the canned food as we could into boxes, and lugged out the big bottles of drinking water.
Pippa and Sharon worked on a lot of the rest of the house, grabbing our sleeping bags, clothes, weapons, tools; it was pretty haphazard what they took, but then we really did not have a lot of time to decide what should and shouldn't go.
On one trip back in, the fire had now spread so far that tongues of flame were licking at the back of the couch, I passed Pippa carrying a box of records, “The record player!” she yelled at me.
I looked, and the record player was still sitting on the table next to the couch. It couldn't possibly be more than a couple of minutes before the flames enveloped the couch and spread over to the record player.
“What about it?” I asked, breathing heavily, the smoke burning my lungs and throat. My eyes were streaming water, and felt like they have been on fire themselves.
“Save it!” she pleaded, adjusting the box in her arms.
“Pippa, we need to save the food!” I said, realizing that I was wasting time arguing with her. As if to punctuate this, there was a loud crack and a crash as the section of wall above the burning hole that had been a window only a few minutes ago collapsed on the the flaming undead hoard forming below it.
“Save it!” Pippa half begged, half demanded in the way that only teenage girls can really pull off effectively.
Rather than argue about it any further, I detoured away from the doorway to the dining room, and went back to the table next to the couch. I could feel the heat from the fire, and was slightly amazed that the disc currently on the player didn't seem to be warping or melting at all. I could see that the back of the couch was catching now. We only had another couple of minutes before the fire would block our pathway to the kitchen.
I slammed the lid of the record player shut, disc still on the turntable, and grabbed it by its handle. The player was heavier than it looked, not quite it's-called-“portable”-because-they-stuck-a-handle-on-it heavy, but heavy for its size.
I ran down the hallway, out into the garage, and outside to where the Excursions were sitting with their doors open. The backs of both cars were completely full, and the back seat of the brown excursion was almost full, certainly too full for anyone to ride in.
It seems that not all of the zeds were attracted to the fire. I looked over just in time to see Maria strike a female zombie in the face with the butt of her shotgun. In front of the excursions Sharon had apparently just slain a zed with her Uruk-Hai sword, and I saw Beth charging a fat bald zombie with a hatchet raised high above her head.
“One more trip, “Maria yelled as I headed back inside, “We're going to be overwhelmed in a minute here!” she drove the butt of the shotgun into the forehead of the zed that she had knocked to the ground with her previous blow.
I ran back to the living room where Pippa and Gerry were standing just past the edge of the hall. They were staring at the fire, which had now crossed the entire room, and had met up with the much smaller blaze in the fireplace.
“That's it,” Gerry said.
The fire must have absolutely have engulfed the roof outside, because, as if to punctuate Gerry's sentence, one of the beams holding up the roof collapsed in a splintery crash and a spray of sparks that made us retreat back into the hallway. A large chunk of the roof followed it.
Though I did not hear it, something in the collapse had shattered the sliding glass doors, and four zeds who had been on the back deck were now shambling into the house, seemingly still more interested in the fire than in us. It's too bad that their friends out front did not have the same pyromaniacal interests.
No words were exchanged, we all simply turned and headed back for the garage. As we passed the now smoke filled master bedroom, I noticed that my coat was sitting on the floor. It looked like Sharon had probably grabbed it, but dropped it on her way out. I grabbed it now.
As I entered the garage, I heard a gunshot. Maria had held back as long as she was going to, and now started shooting the zeds closest to her. I don't blame her, there were a lot of them now. It was like a whole cemetery of them had been roaming the shore of the lake, and we just happened to be unfortunate enough to be in their path.
Black smoke trailed up into the air, and I could see tongues of flame licking skyward. Some of the trees on that side of the house looked like they may have caught fire, but I don't know if that is from the burning cabin or the flaming zombies which were, presumably, still wandering around over there.
“Let's move!” ordered Maria before shotting a shirtless zombie in the face.
Maria and Gerry got into the brown Excursion with Maria behind the wheel. The rest of us piled into the black car, Beth behind the wheel, Pippa in the front seat, and Sharon and I in back.
We started slowly rolling down the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. We did not want to stay around to watch yet another home burn down. We also did not want to be overwhelmed by the seemingly increasing number of zeds in the woods, nor did we want to be trapped in what was probably going to become a forest fire.
We were almost to the road when Pippa gasped, “Your bag!”
“What?” I asked.
“Your bag! The one with your book in it!”
I looked at Sharon, “Didn't you grab my satchel?” I asked.
Sharon's eyes were wide, looking like a combination of fear and shock, “No, “she said, “No, I didn't! Oh God, I'm sorry.”
I was angry and sad. I was doing my best not to show it though. I knew that Sharon didn't do it on purpose, but the thought of losing my journal, and Tara's gifts was hard to accept. I would have though, my friends are more important than this book.
“It's okay, “I said, looking down at the floor and trying not to sound as hurt as I felt.
“I'll get it!” Pippa declared, and threw open her door.
“What? No!” Yelled Beth.
Without letting Beth stop, Pippa leaped down out of the vehicle, and started running back towards the burning cabin. She had her crowbar clutched in her right hand, and as she ran by a zed, she swung it upside the thing's skull, knocking it over.
Beth hit the brakes, and the wheels ground against the gravel. I threw my door open, and climbed out, “Phillipa Webster, get back here! It's too dangerous!” I yelled.
“I'll be right back!” She yelled back to me.
“Fuck!” I yelled, not wanting her to get killed for my stupid journal.
I reached back into the car, and grabbed one of the swords from behind the backseat, where they had been thrown, and took off after her.
The zed that Pippa had crowbarred was on its hands and knees, trying to get back up. I swung my sword down at it, and caught it in the back of the neck. The force of the heavy blade tore threw the rotten flesh of the undead monster, and the head actually came off. My first one swing decapitation; achievement unlocked! I did not have time to be proud of my accomplishment though, I kept running for the house.
Pippa disappeared into the garage; smoke was now pouring out from the door to the hallway As I approached the garage, which actually had a pretty good sized assortment of bodies lying off to the right of it where Beth and Maria had been slaughtering them while we salvaged what we could. There were more shambling up now, but none close enough to be worth taking a swing at until I knew that Pippa was safe.
I bounded through the garage, and into the house. The smoke was thicker now, and it had a funny smell that I can best describe as toxic. I don't know what else had caught fire, but it was awful.
“Pippa!” I tried to yell, but what came out was a strangled gargling thing that I'm sure didn't carry far over the noise of the fire.
I couldn't see more than a couple of feet in front of me, although I could see a faint glow at the end of the hallway. That glow was the fire, and it was getting brighter, getting closer.
I moved as fast as I dared towards the living room, and towards the door to the master bedroom. The heat was horrible. I heard something popping; I don't know if we left some ammo in the living room, or maybe there were some of the stove's butane canisters left in the kitchen that were exploding. Whatever it is, I know that I did not want to get any closer to it than I had to.
I faintly heard coughing, and saw a slender silhouette stagger out into the smoke. I raised my sword, thinking at first that it might be a zed, but then realized that it had something large hanging from it, and that it was the source off the coughing. It was Pippa.
Pippa crossed the hallway, rebounded off of the opposite wall, and then collapsed to the floor. I rushed towards her, into the heat. The fire was now at the end of the hall, the entire living room was cut off from us here. Something crashed loud in the flames, probably more of the house coming down.
I knelt down next to her, “Pippa, you okay?” I asked, and then coughed.
Pippa coughed a reply, “I got it,” she was succumbing to the smoke; I had to get us out of here, “It's heavy, how do you carry that?”
I took my bag's shoulder strap, and pulled it from around Pippa's neck, and then slung it over my own, “Come on, young lady, “I said in my best dad voice, which can't have been too great since I was choking in the smoke, “Let's get you out of here. You are in for such a spanking,”
“Pervert,” she said weakly.
I put my left arm around Pippa, and pulled her up, using my sword as a cane for leverage. Pippa is not a heavy girl, but between her, my satchel, and the smoke making my lungs feel like they were full of burning steel wool I was having trouble.
Moving back down the hallway to the garage and fresher air was a slow process. Pippa was barely helping at all, and it was a half walk half drag sort of affair. I could feel the heat at my back as we went, it felt like the fire was keeping pace with me even though I know that probably is not true. I didn't look back to verify it one way or the other.
Out into the garage, and even though it was smoky too, it still felt like fresh alpine air to me compared to the toxic gas that made up the air inside the house. I did not have time to enjoy the air though, as I saw two figures at the garage door. An adult and what appeared to be a child.
Crap, a kid zed. I've only come across a couple of these, but I don't like them. Not only are they children, but they seem to be faster that the adults. The kid charged us, and with Pippa in my left arm, and my satchel under my right I was not going to be able to swing the sword effectively, which is to say that my swing would be even more awkward than normal.
I kicked out at the approaching zombie child, it was a girl with filthy blond hair, and hit her in the face. I must kick harder than I realize, as the little sprat went tumbling backwards onto the ass of her dirty brown corduroys. Not even stunned she was back on her feet before I had gone three steps.
I heard four pops, two followed by a half second pause, and then two more. The little zed girl's charge towards me turned into a face plant on the concrete of the garage. I looked at a the doorway of the garage and saw a new silhouette, a short slender one that had to be Beth O'Hara. There was a heaped silhouette on the ground that was the other zombie that had been coming my way.
“Hurry up!” Beth called to me, and turned and fired the rest of her clip into the zeds coming at her from in front of the house. I saw her shadow eject the spent clip, and stuff it in her pants pocket before pulling a fresh one out of her waistband.
I pushed forward, out of the garage and onto the gravel driveway. Beth put her right arm around Pippa to help me hold her up, and together we rushed her to the waiting Excursions where Sharon and Gerry were standing. Sharon had her sword, and Gerry the baseball bat that he has taken a liking to (“I like the feel of it, you know?” he told me). There was one dead ghoul by the side of the driveway, but most of them still seemed to be more interested in the burning house than in us.
I loaded Pippa int the backseat of the SUV, and then got in myself, trapping her between myself, and Sharon once she climbed back in. Gerry jogged back to the other Excursion, and got in while Beth slid back behind the wheel of ours.
“Are you two okay?” Beth asked as we started to roll forward again
I looked at my satchel sitting heavily on my lap, and then over at Pippa; her face was stained with soot. She had her eyes half open, and smiled at me. She took a deep but raspy breath, “Yeah, I'm fine.”
“That was a stupid thing to do!” I told her harshly, and then started coughing.
“I didn't want you to lose your book,“ Pippa replied, still smiling, “It seems important to you.”
She's right of course. I don't know what I would have done if I lost everything I've written here. I mean, I guess I would start another one, but to lose all of this and our home in the same day would have been really hard. To lose Pippa would have been a lot harder though.
We all kept an eye on Pippa for the next day. If the smoke had any lasting effects on her they are not apparent, and I don't know what we would do about them anyway. We haven't the equipment or know-how to deal with some sort of respiratory issue.
It was decided that we would get back on the interstate and keep heading generally north. We no longer had a goal, we didn't know where we are going, All we really know is that it is has been really lonely out here until now.
We have spent the last week on the road, spending the nights in roadside motels, a gas station garage, and one night in a rest area (where the vending machines were infested with bugs). We're all trying to stay in good spirits (except for Maria, who is being worse than ever), and Sharon and Pippa have formed a real connection; they're like sisters now.
That first night we could see a cloud of smoke rising into the sky. I think we have turned Daisy Lake into the black smudge that we were afraid that we would find.
It has been really slow going through the mountains. Most of the snow is gone, even up there, but there's less room to maneuver around obstacles, and we have had a couple of close calls trying to get around some small rock slides and places where the road has washed out.
For the first couple of days there was a river running alongside the highway, so water was not an issue. We were getting that fresh mountain spring water that used to be three dollars a bottle for free. Of course we are still boiling it just in case.
It was today that we came across the first signs of there being other survivors out here since Pippa came into our lives. We are in Oregon now, a week of driving to go as far as would have taken us a day of really hard driving before the end of the world.
We were driving along Five, just following the interstate like we have been; we had the windows rolled down because it was a nice day, and the air up here doesn't stink as much of the dead as it did back in Covenant. Pippa was sitting in the front seat, and letting her hand lazily play in the air currents when she suddenly perked up.
“Do you hear that?” Pippa asked.
“What?” asked Beth.
“I think I hear engines or something,” Pippa looked out the car window and pointed, “Look! Smoke!”
I could see the smoke she was pointed at; off in the distance, maybe a mile off the road there was a thin trail of smoke rising off of something. Engines and smoke would certainly seem to indicate life alright, after all it was a plume of smoke that had led Pippa to us.
“What do you think?” I asked Beth and Sharon.
“I think we should check it out. There may be more survivors,” said Sharon, smiling.
“They may not be friendly though,” Beth cautioned.
Beth flashed the headlights of the Black Excursion to get the attention of Gerry and Maria who were driving the brown one in front of us, and then she pulled off to the side of the road.
Maria was against investigating, in fact she almost seemed afraid of it. I don't suppose I can blame her, I felt apprehensive about it too; the memories of dealing with the Hell's Postmen may be coming up on a year old, but they are still fresh to me.
In the end, we decided to investigate. We were going to run out of fuel eventually, so we were going to have to settle down sometime. Of course it almost seemed like Maria and Beth were right, and that it was a bad idea.
The town we were in was little more than a wide spot in the road by odd the name of Palma; this was really the kind of place that you would miss if you happened to blink while driving by it. It looks like the kind off place urban dwellers think they want to escape to, and local teenagers want to escape from.
One of the things that first struck me about the town, and I realized that this had applied to the highway going by it, was that it was clear of debris. I don;t just mean that the roads were clear of abandoned or wrecked cars, but that it was clean. There was not even any of the usual wrappers and bits of newspaper in the gutter that defined some parts of Covenant.
As we headed towards the trail of smoke a chorus of motors sounded. From behind a laundromat at the corner ahead of us a column of ten motorcycles pulled out, and headed right towards us.
“Oh shit,” Beth cursed quietly.
Gerry slowed his Excursion in front of us, and Beth followed his lead to prevent rear-ending him. The bikes separated into two columns, and sped towards us, passing us five on each side. As they flew past I could see that they had flaming swords painted on the sides of their shiny black helmets, and they also all had swords on their backs.
I only had a momentary glance at them as the bikers flew past, but these swords did not look like the crude cleaver-like affairs that I had picked up at that comic shop, but more like proper broadswords; similar in style to the ones painted on their helmets.
“They have guns on their bikes!” Pippa yelped, “like shotguns.” They did too, each biker had a lever-action rifle in a makeshift holster on the right side of their cycles where they could grab it easily.
The sound of the motorcycle engines quieted down a bit as the bikes continued past us, and then surged again as they turned around and came back. Once again five bikes came up each side of us, but the front of each column pulled in front of Gerry, and they slowed to match our speed.
“Stop the car!” ordered the biker rolling along even with Beth's window.
“What do we do?” asked Pippa, her eyes wide with fear.
“We do what they say,” Beth said, her face stony, as she slowed the car.
One of the bikers must have said the same thing to Gerry, because we could see the taillights of the brown Excursion in front of us flare as he slowed it to a stop. When we had stopped, the same biker who had told Beth to stop told her to turn off the engine, and throw the keys out the window. Since the bikers were now all holding their rifles Beth again complied.
The bikers had surrounded us all but from behind; forming a near circle about eight feet away from us, far enough to stay out of our reach, but still close enough to not miss with their guns.
“I'm scared, “ whispered Pippa.
“It's going to be okay, hon, “Sharon tried to sound reassuring, but sounded terrified herself, “If they wanted to kill us they could have just attacked us.”
“Unless they want our supplies undamaged, “said Beth quietly.
“Step out of the car slowly!” The biker even with Beth's window ordered, “Keep your hands in plain sight!”
Again we complied, except for Maria, who jumped out of the passenger side of the brown excursion with a Glock in her hand.
“Drop the gun!” yelled a couple of the bikers, as the four nearest Maria trained their rifles on her.
“Fuck you/!” Maria replied loudly, “I have not come all this way to be executed by a bunch of fucking punk gangbangers! I didn't let the fucking Postmen do it, and I'll be Goddamned if I'm going to let whoever the hell you are do it!”
“Maria!” Pippa screamed. That one word was all the pleading she needed to do to get her point across. Maria looked back at her, glared at her, and then a look of resignation spread over her face.
Maria took her finger off of the trigger, pointed the barrel skyward, and very slowly placed the handgun on the ground, and kicked it towards one of the bikers with her boot clad foot.
“Thank you, “said one of the biker's towards the front, a large man of African descent with a deep booming voice, “Please come to the front of the vehicles. If no one does anything stupid then no one has to get hurt.”
We complied. Sharon grabbed my left hand as we assembled in front of the brown Excursion, and Pippa grabbed my right. They both squeezed my hands hard enough to hurt, and Pippa was trembling like she had been dumped in the antarctic with only a windbreaker on.
Fury burned on Maria's face as she stared down the bikers. Beth did her best to show no emotion at all, remaining stony faced with her jaw clenched. Gerry was more like the rest of us; maybe not actually scared, but he definitely looked uncertain as to how events would unfold.
After the noise of the motorcycles it seemed eerie for it to be so quiet now, but then I realized that it wasn't exactly silent. In the distance I could barely hear a couple of noises. One was a rhythmic pinging, like two pieces of metal being struck together repeatedly. The other noise sounded like it may have been music. I looked and realized the smoke trail must only be a few blocks away from where we were and realized that the source of the smoke must also be the source of the noise.
The large black biker reached into his leather jacket, and pulled out a small radio, “They are secured, it's safe to approach,” he said into the front of the device.
I could hear a motorcycle rumble to life not too far away. The noise grew louder as it grew closer, coming up from behind us. A shining silver and black motorcycle roared up along the driver's side of the two cars, and pulled to a stop a short distance in front of us.
The driver dismounted. He was clad in all black leather, and had a different helmet than the standard brain buckets all of his friends were wearing. His helmet covered his whole head, and had a piece that ran up over his nose and between his eyes, making his helmet look like a motorcycle helmet crossed with something a knight might wear. On the sides of the helmet were painted the same flaming swords as the other bikers.
The leader of the bikers approached us, and two of the other bikers parted to allow him to pass. He stood before out group, looking each of us up and down, he walked from Gerry and one end down to Pippa at the other, and then back to center, not speaking the whole time.
Finally, after a few more moments contemplation, he approached me. I stared into the dark eye sockets of his helmet as he finally spoke to me, “Tell me son, have you accepted Jesus into your heart?” His voice was smooth and gentle; it totally jarred with his appearance.
I was stunned. Of all the questions I would expect to be asked by the leader of a motorcycle gang, that was probably somewhere down around “What's your favorite cereal?”.
“This should not be a difficult question, son, “ the helmeted man asked again, “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?”
I looked from the dark pits of his helmet's eyes holes to the handle of the sword sticking up over her left shoulder, and back.
“Yes...?” I finally answered, more of a question than a statement.
The helmeted man stared at me, or at least I assume he was staring at me, I couldn't actually see his eyes, for a moment. After a seemingly infinite silence, he slowly reached up and removed his helmet, revealing a youngish man (maybe mid-thirties) with short neat blond hair that was only slightly matted by his helmet. A short beard covered his cheeks and chin.
The blond man smiled at us, “Good. Welcome to Palma. I am Reverend Alisdair Thomas of The Church of Christ's Light.”
“Wait a second, “ Gerry said, still sounding a bit nervous, “You're a preacher? What about all this?” Gerry motioned with his hands to the other bikers and their bikes.
“Christ accepts all who accept him. You should not judge people based solely on their appearance.”
“No offense, Reverend, “Sharon began, “But the last people we met up with who looked like you tried to kill us a few times.”
“You have no fear of that here. You are welcome to join us for as long as you like, all we ask is that you abide by our rules, share what supplies you may have, and do your fair share of work.”
“And if we refuse?” asked Maria, still looking angry and distrustful.
“Then you may leave with our blessings and prayers,” said Reverend Thomas, “Please, talk it over amongst yourselves, there is no rush.”
With a wave of his hands, the bikers that had surrounded our cars left their bikes to join their leader. They looked to be praying.
As a group, we moved in between the two Excursions to talk. Our discussion was short and heated. Maria was totally against staying, Beth and Gerry both felt uncertain, but were willing to try it. Pippa was all for checking them out, as was Sharon, but not with as much exuberance.
For the record, I've never been much of a religious person. I obviously believe in God, I pray occasionally, and frequently my prayers seem to fall on deaf ears. Reverend Thomas seemed like a nice person, but how nice could he be if he runs a biker gang? Still, I didn't want to be on the same side as Maria, so I agreed with everyone else that we should at least check it out.
Reverend Thomas, Alisdair as he insisted we call him, was pleased when we told him of our decision, “I am glad. God has sent you to me for a reason, and I hope that I can live up to it.”
Alisdair and his followers remounted their bikes while we got back into our cars. They led us through the small, and pretty immaculate town (still no litter, no abandoned cars, not even any broken windows) to their church and sanctuary.
The Church of Christ's Light was one of those mega churches before the end of everything. It seemed a bit odd to me that a little town like Palma should need a church that could seat over a thousand people. Aside from the size of the building itself there was the property it was on; the church sits at the center of a huge piece of land, a good portion of it has been paved over for parking, but a lot of it was probably still kept green and covered with grass.
I don't think I'm describing the building well, it's more like the size of an elementary school than a church. The only way you can really tell it is a church, aside from the signage, is the large bell tower that towers a good extra three stories above the two story structure. There is a large metal tower, likely a radio antenna, running up the side of the bell tower. I guessed that the view from up there is stunning.
The grassy areas around the church, no doubt freshly uncovered from their blanket of snow by the same spring warmth that cost us our winter home, is being plowed up and crops are being planted to feed to survivors. It's basically what was going to happen with Mallville's Center Park. As we drove up I could see people out in what were becoming fields muscling a plow through the earth.
Around the edge of the church property is a tall black iron fence, it is about ten feet tall, and makes the place look a little creepier than it really needs to. Still, I'm sure that fence has come in handy for them. The gate was being watched over by a man in blue jeans and a denim shirt, and a woman in black leather pants and a white t-shirt. Next to the gate sat a motorcycle with a leather jacket draped over the seat and a flaming sword adorned helmet hanging from the handlebars. As we approached, they rolled back the gate and allowed us in; they both waved at us as we went past.
The big sign proclaiming this to be:
The Church of Christ's Light
All God's Children Are Welcome
Sunday Services at 8am and 10am
Alisdair Thomas, Reverend
next to the gate is one of those kind that have a changeable message board on it. It is the kind of message board that you pop the letters into and out of; I am kind of surprised that it wasn't the digital kind that could display moving images. The message on the board is:
WE ARE NOT FORSAKEN
THIS TOO SHALL PASS
TOGETHER WE SHALL OVERCOME
We were led to the church parking lot. The lot looks big enough to hold maybe three hundred cars, but is nowhere near full. Aside from out cars, there are a couple dozen motorcycles, three RVs, a bright white school bus with “Church of Christ's Light” painted under an image of what I think is supposed to be Jesus on a motorcycle.
There are towers erected all around the church property, with guy wires running down from the tops of them. Each one had a bladed spinning cylinder on them. There are probably ten of them in total, but I haven't walked all the way around the church to make a total count of them yet.
I must have looked awestruck as I looked at the immense church building, because the large black man who had summoned Alisdair to us approached me, “Impressive isn't it?” he asked.
“Huh?” I asked, “Um, yeah.”
“People tried to stop this place from being built, said Palma did'nt need something so large, and that it was not a good use of the land. They even accused Alisdair of being a fraud because he rode a motorcycle; said that this was going to be a biker club, but God answered the Rev's prayers and it was built after all.” He said, pulling off his helmet and tucking it under his arm. His head was stubbly, like it hadn't been shaved in a few days. I'm not judging mind you, I've not done more than trim my beard with scissors in months.
“Did a lot of people come here when...” I trailed off. I'm never sure how to mention the end of the world in conversation.
“Some did, “said the biker, “but not as many as Al had hoped. Many people packed up and left, some killed themselves. Still, for awhile there there were about a hundred of us, now it's more like seventy.”
“What happened to the rest?” I asked.
“Some left, some fell in battle with the unholy.”
“It's what the Rev calls the zombies; says they're soulless abominations, affronts to God, and it is up to us to cleanse them from the Earth. We've been seeing more of them since spring came. I think a lot of survivors didn't make it through the winter,“ the big man said sadly.
It was then that Sharon came over and put her arm around my shoulders, “Are you making friends?” she asked.
“I'm sorry, I'm being rude, “ said the biker, “My name is Peter Atreyus, and you are?”
I introduced myself and Sharon to Peter, and then pointed out who each of the others were. He asked us where we were from, and how we ended up here. We told him briefly about Mallville, and how Pippa had joined us.
Peter seems very nice, and he answered a number of questions for us. The name of their motorcycle group is The Sword of Gabriel (hence the flaming swords on their helmets), and that they were founded by Alisdair as a fellowship group, but have now changed their focus to destroying the “unholy” (not a bad name really), and protecting his flock (the other survivors here). The towers with the spinning cylinders on them are VAWTs, Vertical Axis Wind Turbines, they provide enough power to the church to keep some lights going, to cook by, and to run the stereo I could hear playing music somewhere on the other side of the building. He also explained that the pinging noise I kept hearing in the distance was Marty Wagner, their blacksmith.
While Sharon and I were talking to Peter, Alisdair came over and offered to give us a quick tour of the place, saying that he would have someone give us a more thorough one after dinner. Those VAWTs must work pretty well (despite what Alisdair says), this place is a lot like Mallville was; it has lights and running water (even hot water), and that helps to create a sense of normalcy that all of the fireplace cooked foods and oldies music on the record player just could not do.
“How did you build those windmills?” I asked Alisdair as he showed us his office, and told us this is where he could usually be found when he was not out with the other Sword members.
“The church already had solar panels, it seems wasteful to let the sun's energy that God gives to us go to waste, but that wasn't enough to power everything all of the time, “Alisdair explained as we looked out the large window behind his desk. Through that window we could see the mountains, some woods, and a beautiful blue sky tinged with the oncoming sunset.
“So you made the windmills?” Sharon asked.
“We were told about them,” Alisdair explained, almost hesitantly, “There's another group of survivors up North, in a town called Lovelock.
Lovelock? Now why does that sound familiar to me? I've heard that name before.
“We talk to them by radio, they're a lot bigger than we are, and they talked us through how to build them. I am thankful that God provided us with their assistance, we might not have made it through the winter so easily without them.”
“If they are doing so well, why not just join up with them?” Maria asked.
“This is where God wants me to be,” Maria made a disbelieving half-cough when Alisdair said this, but he ignored it, ”This is where God sends lost sheep who need me. Sadly, some of them leave for Lovelock rather than stay here, but we pray for the safety of all who come through here, whether they stay or not.”
“Do you know if they make it or not?” asked Gerry.
“We do contact Lovelock by radio a few times a week, and yes, many of them do make it safely, although it is a weight on my heart that some do not. If, in your own time, you decide to leave, we will pray for you as well.”
The tour did not go on much longer than that. He showed us the back side of the church where we did see Marty Wagner, a caricature of a blacksmith if there ever was one with his leather apron and moustache, pounding away on a sword. The rock music I had been hearing was coming from a boombox near him, the one piece of electronic equipment in his little tented area, it's cord snaking back to a power outlet on the outside wall of the church.
I'm not familiar with the band he was listening to, but I liked it. The chorus went something like “You decide, who will you run to? Wrong or right, there is no reason for you to hide. Only love can change your life.” It's not death-metal or anything, but it was pretty hard rock to hear at a church. I found it strangely uplifting.
Everyone here seems very nice, no one has even tried to go through our cars yet, which tells me one of two things. One, they're not wanting for supplies. Two, they don't want us to get suspicious until it's too late.
Yes, I know, I shouldn't be so distrusting, but this is my family here. Sharon, Pippa, Beth, Gerry, and even Maria are like my brother and sisters (Well, Sharon's not like my sister anymore, that would be a bit squicky). They are all that I have, and even though we may not get along all the time, I still love them all, and would risk my life for any of them.
I'm going to stop for now, and go wash up with some soap and hot water before dinner. Maybe God has delivered us somewhere we can settle again now. Somewhere we can try and be happy. Wouldn't that be nice?
>>> [ WARNING ::: DATABASE ERROR ::: CONTENT OVERRIDE ::: SOURCE: EXTERNAL ] <<<
> source terminal location: UNKNOWN
> source terminal identity: UNAVAILABLE
> source login information: ENCRYPTED
> message begins
the post you are now reading is designed to dull your senses to THE TRUTH. do not live the life of the worker bee, the cog, the well-oiled piston in the MACHINE OF DECEIT!
there is a grand CONSPIRACY afoot. you have been taught to believe that you are UNIQUE, one of a kind. THIS IS NOT TRUE. long ago, a cabal of scientists created technologies to ensure that ANYONE'S MIND AND BODY can be duplicated.
human cloning isn't NEAR. it's already HERE. discover the truth at http://JCHutchins.net
you are being DECEIVED. break free from the cogs, flee the hive, become A PROPHET OF THE TRUTH!
kilroy2. was here ... kilroy2.0 is everywhere
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Ah, but you're reading this, which means that you've likely already read all of this online, so what's in it for you? Well, it's true that this is not a rewrite (although there are some mistakes being corrected in it), but there are going to be some extras:
1. There will be a sort of "deleted scenes" section of stuff that I wrote, didn't use, but couldn't bear to actually delete for reasons that are no longer clear to me.
2. The text of the original "Mallville" that was submitted to, and read on, "Air Out My Shorts", as well a second "Mallville" short that I never sent in, opting to just write a book instead.
3. The bit that I'm going to need your help with. I want to write a Question and Answers section. If you have questions about "Mallville - A Journal of the Zombie Apocalypse" this is your chance to get them answered. Wondering about a character's motivations? Did you spot a potential continuity error? Did something just not make sense to you? I'll answer pretty much anything you ask provided it's something that I can answer, and it does not spoil the events of what will eventually make up volume two.
You can submit your questions in whatever way is easiest for you; Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, Geeks, XBox Live, or even leave them here on this post. Also, please tell me how you would like to be credited in the the Q&A sections (first name only, first and last name, username, gamertag, etc). I have received a few questions already, but as this will be the definitive version of the first draft I would like as many questions as possible (these will also help me in the rewriting process to produce a better final story for you all)
It is unlikely that I will be able to get "Mallville - A Journal of the Zombie Apocalypse: The Collected Volume 1" done before going into NaNoWriMo mode, but I do hope to get it out to you all in December (burnt to disc, it will make a nice stocking stuffer). Thanks for reading!
It's so nice to not have too much to write about here. With a few exceptions and reminders that we are living in a dead world, things have been quite nice really.
Things with Sharon and I have not really changed that much from the way they were before, which makes me glad. I'm not saying that we don't have the occasional awkward moments, but I think it's because we have been comfortable with each other for so long that we are able to get through those.
I feel happy again with Sharon, even if, like me, she's changed. She's not the bouncy happy person I used to know. I'm not saying that she's a misery to be around or anything, just that the bouncy exuberance she used to have is completely gone. I suppose it had been gone since we fled from Mallville, but it has only been seeing her side-by-side with Pippa that has made me notice..
I suppose to least critical way to put it would be that Sharon has matured. She still re-reads the graphic novels and mangas we got from “The Geek Shall Inherit” and all, she just doesn't seem as full of energy as she once was.
Don't get me wrong though; I love her every bit as much as I ever did. I just mourn the person she used to be in the same way I mourn the person I used to be. Those versions of us are the couple that never got their chance before the world killed them off.
I have dreamed of Tara once since Sharon and I finally got together. This dream was different than the other ones. We weren't in the shopping area for one, we were in Tara's apartment instead. It was Christmas Eve before the knock on the door, and Tara's blue Christmas tree was sitting unassembled on the floor.
“So you finally did it, eh?” Tara asked me.
“Slept with Sharon, of course.”
I could feel the blood drain out of my face, “Wh-what?”
“It's okay, my love,” Tara said, coming over to where I stood by the couch and putting her hand on my cheek, “I know it's what you wanted all along.”
“But I want you, too,” I said.
“You know you couldn't have us both, “ Tara patted my face gently and laughed, “Well, maybe that one night when we'd both had too much to drink, eh?”
“The thought hadn't crossed my mind,” I said in mock defensiveness.
“Of course we'd have had to have Alex there too,” she shrugged her eyebrows suggestivley.
“Ew! Enough!” I said.
Tara laughed, “Well, who's a little insecure?”
“I miss you,” I told her.
“I know, and I miss you too, but come on, you two were always meant to be together. If you two had hooked up earlier, you and I never would have had each other.”
“You might still be alive if that had happened,” I explained.
“Maybe, but I wouldn't trade what we had for that. Would you give up what we had to save the life of a stranger? That's what I would have been, you know?” the humor drained out of her, and she became her frosty self
“That's not a fair.”
“Neither is the fact that you keep beating yourself up about it. I want you to stop it. I want you to enjoy your time with Sharon, because you don't know when it will end. You could die tomorrow, next week, next month; I don't want you to waste one more second feeling sorry for yourself.”
The room was getting colder, I could see my breath in the air
“I feel like I am cheating on you,” I explained.
Anger crossed Tara's face, and frost started to form at her temples. I looked around the apartment, and frost was forming on everything, as if the room was inside of a freezer. After a moment the anger dissipated, but the cold remained.
“Honey, you can't cheat on me; I'm dead. I made my choices, and I'm sorry that it's you that has to live with them, but it's not your fault. Please let me go, and try and be happy. There is so little left in this world to be happy about, please don't fuck this up.”
I heard the door behind me open, and warmth radiated from that direction. I turned to see Sharon standing in the doorway. She smiled and waved at me; she beckoned me to go to her.
I felt Tara's hand on my shoulder; it was cold as ice. I turned back to face her; her skin was a pale icy blue. A tear ran down her left cheek, and froze on her skin before it got halfway down.
“Go to her,” Tara told me.
“I love you, “ I told Tara.
“I know you do, my silly boy, and I love you. Sharon loves you too, and she's alive. You can't be with me anymore, not as you are, and I don't want you any other way. Please let me go, and know that wherever I am that I love you, and hope you are happy, okay?' A tear rolled down her right cheek, freezing less than an inch out of her eye.
Tara smiled at me, and the tears on her cheeks broke, and fell away from her face, “But nothing, “she poked me in the chest, over my heart, “I'll always be right here with you, wherever you are, no matter what happens, I'll be with you. Now go!”
Tara pushed me away from her hard enough to make me stumble. My foot slipped on the ice that had formed on the carpet, but I didn't fall. I backed away from Tara, towards the door, towards the warmth, towards Sharon. Suddenly Tara's living room seemed as big as a football field.
“Don't make me come back!” Tara called to me, “I won't be happy if I need to come set you straight again! I love you.”
I was outside the apartment door, standing next to Sharon. It was so nice and warm out here, unlike the icebox that had been Tara's apartment. Sharon put her warm arms around me.
“Goodbye, my love!” Tara called, and the apartment door slammed shut.
My eyes jerked open, and I was in the cabin, in the master bedroom, the fireplace was burning low, and I was lying in my half of the two sleeping bags that Sharon and I had zipped together and put on top of the large bed. Her arms were around me, and I felt warm all over.
My chest hitched involuntarily as I tried to stifle a tear-less sob. Sharon must not have been fully asleep, because she responded sleepily, “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine, go back to sleep, Sharon.” I answered softly.
“Okay,” she replied, and kisses my cheek, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
By the next morning, a lot of my feelings seemed to have solidified. I know deep down that that isn't really Tara in my dreams, it can't be, but maybe she's right all the same. I do need to move on, and focus on the here and now. I still can't bring myself to get rid of the mangas or the Vader helmet though. Not yet, anyway.
We've been making trips into town more regularly now. We finished clearing out the Bianco's of anything useful. We left behind the novelty lawn gnomes, but I did get Sharon a Snuggie, since it was one of the things she was thinking of giving me on Valentine's day.
We never go into town all at once, we always leave two people at the cabin for a number of reasons. The biggest reason is that we don't want to come back to find the place in flames, and all of our supplies destroyed. The only person who goes on every run in Gerry since he knows how to open the locks (although he is a lot slower at it in the cold)
To my and Sharon's dismay, we have discovered that this town does not seem to have a comic book shop. This is of course proof that this was never civilization to begin with. We did come across a used book store that had a pretty good selection of used mangas and graphic novels, so we did load up on books there. It s good to have new things to read, especially with Pippa being a big reader too (although she doesn't care for manga).
Sitting on the couch in front of the fire, looking out the back windows over the lake with some Sinatra on the record player, and good book in my hands is probably one of the best things in life right now. It almost makes things feel normal. Sharon of course is the best thing in my life, but I think that would still be true even if things were normal.
Another useful place we have scavenged was Lakeside Hardware. We were a little worried at first when we found that someone had broken into the propane cage outside of it and taken all of the canisters, but for some reason that person never went into the store. We were able to load up on some lumber and tools, batteries, and a bunch of the little butane canisters that our little stoves use.
Things have not been all peace and relaxation though. Aside from our daily routine, we have had our share of excitement.
We tried cutting down a tree for firewood; it took me, Gerry, a fully recovered Maria, and Beth all taking turns with the ax to finally cut it down. Luckily it fell down away from the house. We risked the noise of using a gas powered chainsaw to cut some of the tree into smaller, more usable, pieces only to find that it doesn't burn for crap. It's too wet I guess. This would have been a big problem if not for the neighbors.
When we weren't searching the town for supplies, we did a bit of checking out the other cabins on this side of the lake. It seems like we are on the more expensive side of the lake, as the houses here are pretty far apart from each other with lots of forest between them. I'm guessing the idea was to maintain a sense of isolation for the individual homeowners. When it's clear enough to look across the lake you can see the more touristy side of it with sandy beaches, close together buildings, and what appears to be a boat launch. Maybe we'll check it out eventually.
The only really useful thing we found at the houses directly “next door” (I use quotes because it's a good fifty yards of woods between us and either of those houses) was firewood. I'm not complaining, mind you. I can imagine just how miserable it would be in that house without a fire going constantly, approximately as miserable with the cold in the ski shop was, and after the fiasco that was trying to cut our own, well....
We found both treasure and excitement about five houses over though. We took one of the Excursions over. I know we shouldn't waste the fuel, but it's still pretty cold out there; you'd never suspect that spring is on the way by looking outside right now.
Our little exploring party consisted of me, Sharon, Gerry (the master of unlocking, or course), and Pippa. The house was actually kind of creepy looking from the outside, and I say house because it was two stories and really felt even more like a house than a cabin that what we are staying in.
Gerry leaned his baseball bat against the wall, and got down on his knees to work on the lock. He was able to pop the lock with ease, commenting that , “This lock is so old that I could pick it with a fucking bobby pin. Why do people think locks like this will keep anyone out?”
“It would keep me out, but then I'm not an ex-cat burglar,” I quipped.
“Wouldn't stop me,” said Pippa, patting her crowbar against the palm of her gloved left hand.
The door creaked open, and the musty smell of disuse hit us. Pretty much everything we find that is still closed up has this smell to one degree or another, but this place probably smelled like that even before the end of the world. I don't know why, but this house just felt more dangerous than normal, and I found myself gripping my sword's handle tightly as we entered.
Pippa didn't seem to sense any sort of danger, as she bounded into the house without an apparent second though, “Wow, creepy antiquey!” she proclaimed.
If the cabin we are staying in was last updated sometime in the seventies, then this place had never been remodeled. Hardwood floors, ancient and delicate looking furniture with doilies on the backs of the chairs and couch to keep hair oil off of the fabric. It was actually quite nice, but I still found it a little unsettling.
While Gerry, Sharon, and myself moved farther into the house cautiously, Pippa disappeared around a corner and into the kitchen.
“Pippa, stay with us, “Sharon called after her.
“You guys gotta see this!” Pippa replied from the kitchen.
The rest of us joined Pippa in the kitchen, and found what she was excited about. The kitchen contained a stack of cardboard boxes full of canned food, ten of them in all, as well as five six gallon bottles of water, and two big burlap sacks full of rice. This is enough to feed us for a month or two.
While Gerry and Sharon started rummaging through the boxes, showing off what food they found, Pippa slipped away again, this time through the door at the back of the kitchen. I've grown somewhat attached to the young woman, in a big brother sort of way, not in a pedophile sort of way, so I followed her.
Pippa noticed me behind her, “Lets go look upstairs,” she said excitedly.
“You make me tired, you know that, right?” I said
“That's just 'cause you're old!”
Pippa went through the dining room, which despite the thick layer of dust was still elegant. The large dark wood table was set for six people. This was not a setting like someone was actually getting ready for dinner, but like it was set for decoration whenever it was not really in use. There were coral napkins in dusty golden rings set on salad plates which rested on dinner plates, which rested on golden chargers. All very fancy; three different forks and everything.
I hurried to catch up with Pippa as I heard her boots thumping up the stairs. As I started up them, I saw that Pippa had stopped at the top and was just looking, “What is it?” I asked as I climbed.
“Something probably not good,” she answered, sounding uncertain and maybe a little afraid.
When I got to the top of the stairs I saw why she had stopped, and the feeling of fear that I felt entering the house intensified. The stairs let out onto a narrow hallway with a door at each end, three doors on the side opposite the stairs, and two doors on the side with the staircase, one on either side of it. The doors at either end of the hallway were closed, but all the others were open, and enough light came through them from outside to illuminate hallways
Leading from the door opposite the stairs and to the left to the door at the end of the hallway on the right was a dark maroon smear; almost certainly dried blood. The door at the end of the hallway that the red smear disappeared under had been boarded shut with three planks nailed across it.
“Lets go get the others, “ I suggested.
“I want to see what's in there,” Pippa declared, and stepped out into the hallway, walking towards the boarded up door.
“What are you doing?” I asked in disbelief.
“I'm opening the door,” Pippa said as she wedged the hooked end of her crowbar behind the board, and yanked. The nail pulled free from the wood with a squeal, and Pippa repeated her act on the other side of the doorway, pulling the top board completely free.
“Have you never seen a horror movie?” I asked her.
“ I love them, well before I started living in one anyway,” Pippa answered as the first nail on the second planks gave a protesting squark as she yanked it from the door frame.
“Then you know that nothing good can lie behind that door. Stop that!”
“The door opens into the room, not out. If there was anything in there trying to get out the door would be open already,” Pippa reasoned, pulling the other half of the second plank free, and setting it aside.
“Do those things even know how to use a door knob? I know I've never seen one open a door before,” I cautioned her, “What if those boards are to keep people out as much as in?”
“I've seen a zombie use a knife before,” Pippa replied, pulling half of the last board free.
“Use it, or just holding it?”
“I didn't give him a chance to demonstrate before going all Gordon Freeman on his ass,” the last nail pulled free. Pippa leaned the plank against the wall with the other two.
I finally left my place at the stop of the stairs to join Pippa at the door, “Be careful,” I cautioned.
Pippa gripped the door knob for a second, as if psyching herself up, and opened the door. The hinges creaked, begging for lubrication, as the door opened. Pippa gasped.
The room was apparently a study, or an office; it was too small to be a bedroom. Directly opposite the door was a set of shelves made of twenty-eight cubes, roughly a foot square each, about the dimensions of a milk crate. The cubes went four across, and seven high and they were full of records. Pippa squealed with delight, and entered the room.
“Pippa, wait!” I cautioned, because I saw something she had apparently missed in her excitement.
It would seem that at least one of the former occupants was a big fan of vinyl. It would also seem they were not so former as we had hoped, as there were two bodies lying on the floor of the nearly freezing cold room. One of them, and older woman had no visible injuries, but appeared to be stone dead all the same. The other was a man of about the same age, the woman's husband, I suppose, and he had a very visible cause of death. The front of his formerly white button-up shirt was a ragged mess of dried blood; it looked like her had taken a shotgun round at close range. This had to be the source of the blood smears out in the hallway.
It might have me some embarrassment if I had noticed that the dried blood trail did not end with the old man's body. There was the shape of a dried blood pool, but the old man was not lying on that, he was a couple of feet farther away.
“Pippa, look out!” I almost yelled at her.
Pippa looked down from where she was standing in front of the record cubes, and jumped back in surprise. After the bodies didn't move though, she returned to her place.
“They're dead,” Pippa told me, “The cold must have killed them if they were not already dead when they were put in here.
“We don't know that,” I said, “Whoever nailed the door shut obviously thought there was a risk.”.
“You worry too much, dad,” She stepped over to the hamburger chested old man, and kicked him gently in the ribs, “See, stone cold dead,” and that was when the old man's eyes opened, and his hand closed around her ankle.
Pippa shrieked, but rather than try to pull away she began pounding the zombie in the face with her crowbar as it tried to sit up. The thing stopped moving after the eight or ninth blow, but she still kept pounding its head another dozen or so times just to be sure. When she was done the zombies face looked a lot like a jack-o-lantern that someone had kicked with a steel toed boot.
When Pippa was convinced that her would be attacker was dead again, she tried to pull her leg free from its grasp, and found that its grip held fast, “Get this thing off of me!” she begged.
I could hear feet thumping up the stairs; Sharon and Gerry running to help us. As I moved forward to help Pippa, I noticed that the old woman was starting to stir.
“Stone cold dead, huh?” I asked as I moved towards the old woman, who was slowly trying to sit up.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Pippa, still yanking her foot, making the old man's body jiggle with each pull.
The old woman looked at me with her milky eyes, and opened her mouth to reveal rotting blackened gums. I guess she must not have had any real teeth in life. Can you be infected by a toothless zed? I wasn't keen on finding out.
I raised my sword above my head, and felt it impact with the ceiling; a small shower of plaster dust fell on my head. “Shit,” I said, realizing that my badass looking sword would do me absolutely no good in here.
“Oh fuck!” Gerry's voice came from the hallway. I heard a baseball bat land on the floor, and the sound of feet scuffling out there, like there was a struggle going on. Something rebounded hard off of the walls.
I used the end of my sword to push grandma back down to the floor roughly, and turned to go back to the hallway.
“Don't leave me with her!” cried Pippa as I slipped past her and went into the hallway.
In the narrow hall Gerry had a male zed, probably in his mid to late thirties, at arm's length, and was slamming it against the wall as it gnashed its teeth at him. Sharon stood between me and him holding her sword up in front of her as if she were unsure what to do. She couldn't get a clean swing at the zombie, and even if she could there was not enough room in the hallway to even swing the sword.
It was at this point that I suddenly understood why most swords have pointed tips; not all battles take place in wide open fields.
The zombie pushed Gerry off balance, and he staggered through the middle doorway, the one opposite the staircase. I pushed past Sharon to help him.
“It's getting up again!” Pippa yelled from the study, and I saw Sharon go in there out of the corner of my eye as I went into what turned out to be a bathroom.
The zombie had pushed Gerry against the edge of an old fashioned claw footed bathtub, and he was starting to go over backwards as I grabbed the ghoul by the back of its brown sweater, and pulled him towards me. It released its hold on Gerry and turned to come at me, grabbing at my coat. I pulled it back out into the hallway, intent on throwing it down the stairs.
My plan would have worked perfectly had I not stepped on Gerry's baseball bat. My left ankle sent a scream of pain up to my brain as it bent sideways, and I went down, thankfully releasing, and slipping out of the grasp of, the zombie.
The zombie would have been on my had Gerry not come out of the bathroom like a navy blue clad blur, and shoved the thing towards the stairs. I didn't see it, but I heard it tumble down the stairs. Gerry thundered down after it.
I could hear a wet crunching noise coming from the study which turned out to be Sharon dispatching the old woman. This was followed by a similar noise from downstairs. Moments later, Sharon emerged from the study gripping the hatchet she wears on her belt (like me, she feels this is better than a machete); it was covered in black ooze.
“Are you okay?” Sharon asked, seeing me sitting on the floor. She slipped the filthy hatchet back into its holster, and extended her arms towards me.
My face was burning red. I'll admit it, I was embarrassed. Sure, you could say I just saved Gerry's life, but given that he saved mine not five seconds later, I'm not sure that's really an accomplishment. Why can I only pull of badass feats when no one is looking (no one who will remember anyway)? I had just made a fool of myself in front of my girlfriend, and two of my friends.
“I'm not sure,” I said glumly.
As Sharon helped pull me back up to my feet, Pippa came out of the study, having freed herself from the old man's grip (crowbars are multi-taskers). “What happened to you?” she asked.
“I tripped, “I said, and then put my weight on my left foot, and cursed loudly as pain shot up my leg.
“Is it broken?” Gerry asked as he came up the stairs to find me leaning heavily on Sharon and wincing in pain.
“I think I just twisted it,” I said, and took a half hop, half step towards the stairs, bracing myself against the wall.
“Let me help you, “ offered Sharon, putting a hand on my shoulder to try and steady me.
My first impulse was to shrug her off and tell her that I could do it myself, but I didn't do it for two reasons. First of all, I didn't want to be an ass; just because I felt embarrassed didn't mean I should take it out on her. Secondly, if I fell down the stairs and broke something, I would be well and truly screwed.
The stairs were just wide enough for two people to go down them together, and Sharon did her best to keep me steady as I slowly hopped down them one step at a time. Once we reached the bottom she helped me over to an old flower patterned sofa where I sat with my leg up so that I could look over the back of the couch at the staircase.
“I'm going to go back up, you don't try to go anywhere, okay?” Sharon advised.
“As long as nothing else tries to eat me, I will stay here and wait for your return, my love,” I answered, trying to smile convincingly.
Sharon bounded back up the stairs leaving me alone in the living room with no one for company except the dead zed in the brown sweater. The somewhat misshapen fireplace poker laying on the floor next to him told me that he was unlikely to be a good conversationalist.
While I waited for the others, I tried to figure out what had happened here. It would seem that the sweater guy locked the old couple in the study, and presumably he's also the one who shot the old man. My first thought was that he had shown up, and murdered the old man (maybe the woman had a heart attack or something as a result) with the intent of stealing their supplies. This of course also assumes that he's the one who boarded them up in the study, but if that's the case, why not take the food and leave? And how did he die?
Then I noticed the picture on the fireplace mantel. It showed the old couple and a younger man. Looking back and forth between the picture and the corpse I realized that the younger man was a younger version of the dead guy in the sweater. This changed everything, why would he kill his parents? Grandparents? Whoever the hell they were to each other.
This called for a new theory. Sweater Guy is related to the old couple. When the world ended they decided to try and wait it out in that house. They either purchased, or for some reason already had, a large amount of canned food, bottled, and rice. Something happened to the old man, he was bitten and infected, or died from something else, turned into a zed, was shot in the chest, obviously not killing, but incapacitating him, and Sweater Guy put him in the study.
This theory also says that grandma died of a heart attack, or something else natural, possibly as the result of seeing her son (or grandson) shooting her husband in the chest, and the Sweater guy stored her body in the study with the old man. At some point during all of this, Sweater guy himself was bitten, and evenmtually died and turned himself. The winter came, and made the, all dormant since it did not actually get cold enough in the house to freeze them, and was awakened by us making a lot of noise.
That theory leaves too many questions (like who was the record collector?) for me to think it is quite right, but it's not like I'm ever really going to find out what happened there. It's a close enough explanation for government work.
We brought back about half the food and a bunch of records to our cabin, and then the three of them went back for the rest of the food and more records while I rested in bed with my foot up on a pillow. Revealing my injury (and the inglorious method by which I got it) earned me some genuine concern from Beth, and a derisive laugh from Maria.
Pippa made some interesting, if not necessarily bad, music choices. The Beatles went over well, as did Crowded House and Bon Jovi. Beth and Sharon danced together when Pippa put on “You Spin Me Round” by Dead or Alive, and Maria threatened to break the record player if Pippa every played Rick Astley again.
Somehow I find it strangely comforting that it is still possible to be Rickrolled in this dead world. Now if Pippa can just come up with some lolcats... lolzeds maybe?
As winter comes to an end, we have to face the coming of spring, and if there's one thing that the incident in the house down the way showed us, it's that the cold does not necessarily kill the zeds. It is with that in mind that we took some plywood, two by fours, nails, and tools from the hardware store; we may need to board up the windows, and we want to be prepared for that. Of course there are other reasons one might need to board up the windows that we did not think about; not until last night anyway.
It has been a relatively mild, if cold, winter here at Daisy Lake, but in the last couple of weeks we've started having some pretty serious storms; storms that would easily have knocked out the power if there had been any to knock out. The kind of storms that rattle the windows, and cause branches already weighted down with snow and ice to come thumping down onto the roof, and scaring the hell out of us.
Last night was the worst storm yet; it was a mix of snow, rain, and hail thundering down on the roof all day long, propelled by really bad winds. I think the surface of the lake got so choppy that you could probably have surfed on it; there was certainly enough wind out there to windsurf on it if you were insane enough to do something like that in a storm that was dancing back and forth between freezing and near freezing.
It was around two in the morning according to my watch (which seems to match up with everyone else's, so if our watches are inaccurate, at least they are consistently so. I wasn't sleeping very well; the wind kept waking me up. Sharon was sleeping like she had been drugged, the storm wasn't bothering her at all, at least not until it happened.
The wind roared outside the cabin, and then suddenly the cabin itself shook, and there was a loud, almost explosion-like, crash from the living room. I thought at first that somehow the storm had blown the house off of its foundation or something.
The noise was loud enough to rouse Sharon suddenly from her slumber as I disentangled myself from the sleeping bag, and climbed off the bed and onto the floor. I landed on my still sore ankle, and almost lost my balance. I managed to not fall, and instead grabbed my shoes and sat back on the edge of the bed..
“What's happening?” Sharon asked, her voice sounding slightly dazed.
“Don't know, “I said, lacing up my left shoe, “Something bad, I'm sure.”
Sharon got out of her side of the sleeping bag, and started putting on her shoes while I finished mine. I didn't wait for her, I bolted for the bedroom door, grabbing my sword just in case (no, the incident in that other house has not totally soured me to using them, I can at least use the end to push a zed away from me), opened the door, and ran into the hallway,
I was met by two things in the hallway. The first was cold air, it felt like someone had left the door open, and the wind from the storm was inside. The other thing was Maria coming out of the study, who nearly took a swing at me with her hatchet. We both went down the hallway to the living room, and then around to the dining room where the wind was coming from
There were a pair of flashlights whipping back and forth from the hands of Pippa and Gerry. The beams of light revealed dark green branches , as if someone had rammed a Christmas tree through the house. The dining room table was obscured under it.
The wind of the storm was very loud, and we had to yell to be heard, “What happened?” I bellowed, but neither of them heard me.
Maria and I went closer, and I wished that I had put on my coat as well as my shoes, “What happened?” I repeated, this time right behind Gerry.
“I think a tree fell onto the house!” Gerry yelled back, “It looks like it didn't break through the roof though, I think it's just the window.”
“We need to get it out of here!” yelled Maria, “We need to get this closed up, or we can't stay here!”
Sharon and Beth showed up, each clutching flashlights, as Maria barked more orders, “ Lets go out there and see how big it is!”
If I thought that the wind inside was bad, it was nothing compared to the full force of the storm. The cold wind and snow cut right through my shirt (I still hadn't put my coat on), and made my exposed hands and face feel raw and numb.
Gerry yelled something at me that I could not hear over the storm.
“What?” I yelled back.
“It's not a whole tree!” Gerry yelled, pointing with his flashlight.
He was right, it wasn't a whole tree, it was just one really big branch. Luckily it looked like it had missed the roof entirely, and only taken out the window. That is where the good news ended though, as it was still going to be a royal bitch to try and remove without... ah, but there was our solution.
“One of the cars!” I yelled.
“What? The cars?” Maria yelled back.
“What if we tied it to the back of one of the cars and dragged it out?”
“That might work,” Beth yelled.
“You should have taken more chainsaws from the hardware store!” yelled Maria.
“Tell you what,” started Beth, “You go into town and get us some chainsaws, and we'll work on this plan while we wait for you, okay?”
I think Maria was trying to glare at Beth, but with the wind in her face it came out all squinty.
Sharon and I went into the garage for ropes to use while Gerry went for one of the Excursions. While we were inside, I also grabbed mine and Sharon's hatchets, thinking that it might go easier if we cut off some of the smaller limbs while we waited for Gerry.
Seeing what we were doing, Pippa went a got a machete and Beth got a pair of clippers with long handles on them to cut through the thinner branches. Maria went inside; I was pissed at her at the time, but I realized when I heard the buzz of the chainsaw we did have that she was trying to trim off some of the branches in there. I don't totally forgive her though, as it was still warmer in there as it was outside.
It took Gerry almost twenty minutes to maneuver the SUV through all of the standing trees to the slightly more well defined backyard area. By well defined I mean that there were no trees growing there, so I imagine that there is a dead lawn or something underneath all of this snow. Once he was in place we started tying the ropes around the main trunk of the branch.
Once we had the branch tied up about as well as we could, we started tying the other ends of the ropes to the trailer hitch on the Excursion. Yes, that's right, we were smart enough to realize that tying them to the bumper gave us about a fifty percent chance of merely ripping the bumper off the the car, and sending Gerry crashing into the lake.
We all stood back while Gerry hopped back into the car. I held my breath while Gerry gunned the engine, it was barely audible over the storm. The ropes pulled taught as the excursion started to move forward, and then stopped as it met the resistance of the branch. The wheels of the Excursion spun spraying slush and mud into the air, trying to gain purchase in the snow.
The ropes strained, there were four of them in all, and there was a loud twang that was even audible over the sounds of the storm. One of the ropes had snapped, and the end tethered to the tree branch came flying back at us. Sharon grabbed Pippa. And yanked her backwards just in time to keep her from having her head taken off by the wild rope as it flew past us. We then realized that we were standing far too close, and the car going out of control was not the only danger right then.
We all backed up to the edge of the deck, and watched as Gerry gunned the engine again, and there was a cracking sound as the branch slid a little. The other three ropes were still holding as the engine roared again.
A loud crunching cracking noise was music to our ears as the branch suddenly pulled out of the window, and slid off the deck, taking a section of the deck's railing with it. It crashed down into the snow below, and was dragged by the car.
No longer held in place by the branch, the Excursion took off towards the water. Gerry slammed on the brakes, but the car slid forward on the snow down the lakeshore, finally coming to a stop with the front wheel halfway covered in lake water.
Gerry cut the engine, and flung the door open. He jumped out, slammed the door behind him, and did a sort of slow motion run back through the snow and mud churned up by the car's wheels back to where we were all standing and applauding him.
“We still need to close that hole up,” said Sharon once Gerry had joined us.
“That's the easy part!” replied Gerry, “We use the boards in the garage. We got them for boarding up the windows anyway.”
It didn't turn out to be quite as easy as Gerry has assumed it would be. This had been a big window, and it took two of the biggest sheets of plywood we got to cover it. Also we had neglected to scavenge ladders. We found one in the garage, but that meant that a couple of us had to hold up the other side while one side was nailed in place.
The whole task took another hour, and that included one instance of Maria being blown off the ladder by a sudden gust, and then her blaming Sharon for not holding the ladder steady enough. Maria wasn't hurt, and did not try to hurt Sharon, but Beth did have to hold the ladder for the rest of the procedure.
When all was said and done, we got the window sealed up as best we could by around four-thirty. Victorious, we went back inside cold, dripping, and all of us but Gerry were covered in sap. The seal was not perfect, and cold air was still coming in around the edges of the window frames, but it was better than a hole in the wall. We decided that we will go back into town tomorrow to try and get some sort of foam sealant and see if we ca do something about that.
A secondary concern was the general mess in the dining room. Broken glass, smaller branches, and green needles covered the entire room, but that is a mess for us to clean up later (we're all still too tired to even bother with it today). I guess there won't be anymore meals where we get to watch the sun set over the lake, oh well.
Gerry heated up some drinking water to make hot chocolate with, and then started heating a big pot of snow in front of the fire to try and give us some water to wash with. I am pretty sure the clothes I was wearing last night are totally ruined since I do not have access to a proper washing machine or stain remover. Given that, I am glad I never put my coat on, I would hate to have ruined it.
I am so lucky to have Sharon, after we had cleaned our faces and hands as best we could, we went back to out sleeping bag where we were able to warm each other up (no, not like that, we were far too worn out for that). The others don't have that, although for all I know a couple of them may have shared a sleeping bag. I'm not going to ask in any case.
I still kick myself over how much time with Sharon I lost all because I never told her how I felt. If I had known she would say yes, I would have spoken up years ago. I'm not saying that I don't treasure my time with Tara, or that I love her any less, but I've always loved Sharon, and have always wanted things between us to be just like they are right now.
It's horrible to think that it took the end of the world for me to finally get my shit together.