Our Zombie Hours, page 7
part #1 of Our Zombie Hours Series
“From the ocean, we emerged, and to the ocean, I shall return.”
Slick with sweat, Nate stepped onto Lone Ranch Beach. Exhausted and sick, he pulled off his shoes and dropped. The sand felt good between his toes. Best of all, it was wonderful to finally give up running from Death.
If the Reaper wants to meet me here, he thought, I’ll keep the appointment.
Nate had not seen another human being nor another of the infected since he killed Clay Filmore.
No, I did not kill a man. I killed whatever was left of him. I ended the husk that was chained up and forgot to lie down and die. No sense adding to my sins. I’ve got enough to be sorry for already.
Looking around the deserted beach, only birds remained. If he’d had the energy to dig, he fantasized about building a fire and having a clambake. He imagined Cheryl had played on this same beach as a girl.
The spasms in his jaw hit hard, and Nate had to lie back and close his eyes against the pain. He could not have opened his mouth wide enough to cram in a toothbrush. Helpless, all he could do was wait for the suffering to pass.
Jaw cramps. That triggered a memory. He was not infected, at least not with RABID-24. He peeled back the small bandage from the base of his thumb. It didn’t look remarkable except for some redness around the edges, but Nate was almost sure of the reason for his aches, pains, fever, and chills.
Jaw cramping was the telltale sign. His fevered brain served up a dim memory of a cartoon from a Boy Scout handbook. The image was of an old man with his jaw wrapped in a bandage and stars circling his head that were supposed to indicate pain. The caption read: Beware of rusty nails! Get your tetanus shot!
The rusty machete that freed him from Emma’s zip ties had also condemned him to death. It wasn’t the rust that would soon send him into deadly seizures. It was the bacteria concealed in the dirty blade.
He lay in the warm and welcoming sand, crying. The jaw cramping slowly eased, but the fever did not.
Staring up at the clear azure sky, he managed to let out a chuckle. I haven’t seen another human for days. No zombies, either. I could have gone to sleep tonight dreaming that the Ragin’ Contagion was finally really over. The disease that’s wiping out my species didn’t get me, but there’s still plenty else to die from.
When he spoke, he discovered he had trouble swallowing. “I don’t deserve this, but, since Cheryl, I don’t not deserve this, either. Seems like we’re always worried about the wrong thing, and what gets you in the end is a surprise. You have to get very near the end before you start conceding that you aren’t immortal.”
As a warm breeze slipped over him, Nate wished he could tell Cheryl she was right. The Pacific was as lovely on a sunny day as she’d once described.
Sorry about Vegas, Cheryl. Less sorry about Jayden, but still sorry.
The sky was so clear of clouds, he hoped to see the stars before he died, but night was far away, and Death was closing in.
When he was a little boy, he’d fantasized that he was being watched by vague benevolent forces. Certain he was bound for great things, someone had to be watching. His father had believed in a giving and forgiving god until his wife was on her deathbed. When his prayers for her recovery came to nothing, his dad never went to church again.
Somehow, some small part of Nate had held to the fantasy that he was important, that there was justice, and he would be rewarded. On that beach in Brookings, Oregon, he found his fate, and with that, clarity.
The waves will continue. The sun will rise without me.
The sun set as Nate Bixby muttered his last, “Everyone thinks they’ll survive whatever comes, that suffering and dying is only for others. The horror isn’t in what’s happened. What’s really scary is that the universe is so indifferent.”
Promises
The last of dusk’s long shadows closed over Mira Langley like cold fingers as she walked down the old trail into the ghost town. She wanted to call out to her son, but she didn’t dare stir the last of the town’s residents. If they knew she was there, they would attack. If they’d caught Tyler, her twelve-year-old was already dead.
All the windows along the street had been smashed long ago. Peering in storefront after storefront, everything useful appeared to have been looted. The little grocery store’s shelves had been emptied completely.
Hearing a faint noise, she paused by a novelty shop to find that Halloween decorations were still hung in the display. A robin’s nest sat in the corner, but it seemed even the birds had abandoned the town.
I can understand looting the grocery and hardware stores, she thought, but what was gained smashing the window to a place selling plastic skeletons, geegaws, and fireworks? We’ve got quite enough of the real skeletons.
In a stage whisper, she called through the open window, “Tyler? Are you in there?”
Someone did reply, but it wasn’t Tyler. An irritated man with a high voice answered, “What are you doing?”
“Hello?”
A thin man of about sixty stepped out of the darkness at the rear of the store and tiptoed forward. His face and white hair were flecked with what looked like fresh blood. His shirt, pants, and boots were dark with old blood, the color of rust. The mallet clenched in his right hand dripped with blood. The man’s words were rushed but remained hushed. “Let me clue you in, lady. This is a big game of hide and seek. This is my hiding spot. Mine, understand? Go find your own.”
Mira drew her sawed-off shotgun from the holster rig beneath her backpack. “Let me clue you in. I’m looking for my son. He’s twelve and the last anybody saw of him, he was headed this way.”
Staring down her weapon’s double-barrel, the man appeared to deflate. “No need for that. You fire that thing, you’ll bring them for both of us.”
“Well, it wouldn’t really be for both of us, would it?”
“Who are you?”
“Mira. I’m the sheriff in Hood River.”
“Sheriff, huh? What happened to the old one, the guy who took over after the revolution?”
“That was two sheriffs ago. Sheriff Crane was elected after the revolution, and Sheriff Tiegs took over after secession.”
“I knew Tiegs. He grew up, born and raised in Wasco County. What happened to him?”
“I’m sure you can guess.”
“And what’s happening in Hood River now?”
“Chaos. We had an outbreak after one of our elders passed away. He was a loner, so no one got to him in time.”
The man bobbed his head. “And what makes you think your son is still alive? How do you know he’s not out on the 84?”
“He was last seen headed this way on the trails. To avoid being an easy target, he’d know to stay off the Columbia River Highway. We always said that in case of an outbreak, Mosier would be where we’d meet up if we were separated. There’s nothing else around for miles, so here I am, asking you politely for your help. I’ve been patient, bringing you all the news of the world. I’m out of patience, and in a minute, I won’t be so polite.” Mira cocked the shotgun.
“I don’t know what you expect of me. I ain’t seen your boy.”
“Mosier’s small. He’ll appear. That’s why we chose it as a rendezvous point.”
The man shook his head doubtfully. “Lot to expect of a twelve-year-old, don’t you think?”
“Twelve isn’t what it used to be, mister.”
“Why don’t you calm down and point your little boomstick in another direction?”
“Not before you tell me what that’s all about.” She nodded to the mallet in his hand.
He grinned. “There’s a horde nearby. I spotted a passel of ’em the other day, up on the cliffs, staggerin’ around in circles. Some of the stragglers wandered off and found their way into town. I snuck up on one and took him down. Can’t be too careful.”
The blood in his hair was still wet and some on his cheek was freshly smeared in a hurried attempt to wipe it away. Mira lowered the shotgun’s muzzle. His smile quickly faded when he realized she was pointing it at his crotch.
“Drop the weapon,” she said.
The mallet hit the linoleum with a heavy clunk.
“Hands behind your head and step back. I’m coming through the door, and you better not move.”
The man kept his hands at his sides.
“Do as you’re told!”
“My name is Derek Chesley, and I’ve lived in Mosier all my life. I worked at the sewage treatment plant. I was here for the train derailment in 2016, saw it happen with my own eyes. I helped fight the fires in 2020. I don’t know much, but I know you’re not sheriff here. You got no authority. You lost your boy, now you’ve lost your damn mind. Gun or not, you will not control me. Now, settle down, hear?”
Chesley bent to pick up the mallet.
“Don’t test me!” Mira yelled.
From the dark recesses at the rear of the store, a woman screamed. “Is someone there? Help! Help me, please! He’s going to kill me!”
Mira rushed through the shattered front door. Chesley cocked his arm, ready to throw the mallet at her face. She pulled the trigger. In the small space, the shotgun’s report sounded like a cannon.
Derek Chesley went down as if his knees were made of hot wax. Blood poured from the wound in his belly. Mira froze for a moment. As her ears rang with a high whine, she watched a pool of blood creep across the floor toward her.
Chesley looked up at her. “You hadn’t oughta do that. I was just kiddin’ around … oooh … that smarts. I was just kiddin’.”
“I wasn’t,” Mira told him.
“You better finish me off!” he pleaded. “Don’t let me become one of them!”
She left him to check the back of the store. Pulling a small flashlight from her belt, Mira shot the beam into the darkness.
“Help! Help! Did you get him? Please, God, help me!”
Behind a little checkout counter, Mira found a door disguised as a shelving unit laden with cheap non-stick muffin trays and party supplies. Mira slipped to the side of the door and listened. All she could hear was the woman pleading to be set free.
“Who’s in there?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. Her ears still rang, but at the edge of perception, Mira thought she heard another voice. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was wrong.
“It’s just me! Alice! I’m Alice Hardaway!”
Mira straightened in surprise. She knew that name. Alice was one of the more elderly of Hood River’s 248 survivors.
Scratch that, Mira thought. Only God or the Devil knew how many of Hood Rover’s citizens were left alive now.
“I’ll just be a minute, Mrs. Hardaway!”
“What?”
“I’ll be right back!”
“Wait! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me here, you heartless bitch!”
Mira stalked back to Derek Chesley. “Who’s in there with her?”
Covered in blood, the man looked up at her helplessly. His breathing was already short. He panted, “I’m trying … to hold … my … my … guts in.”
Mira dug a shotgun cartridge out of her vest pocket and replaced the spent shell.
“Tell me how many are back there, or I won’t shoot you in the head. I’ll leave you to turn. Maybe you’ll join the horde, make new friends, and finally find out what goes on in a monster’s mind. We’ve always wondered.”
“You … wouldn’t. It ain’t … natural.”
“You don’t have any time to negotiate. I already told you once not to test me.”
Derek Chesley wept. “Lyle. My brother … back there with her.”
“Armed?”
When he said nothing, she placed her weapon’s muzzle against his knee. “It’ll hurt more than getting shot in the crotch, probably. I’ve got two shells to spare, so maybe with your dying breath you can tell me yourself which wound delivers the most agony per square inch.”
“He’s got a 30-06,” he admitted. “Don’t … hurt him.”
“I promise I won’t.”
Mira stalked back to the rear of the store, taking deep breaths, and trying to calm her pounding heart. Slipping to the side of the door again, she reached out and tested the knob. It would not turn.
The worst of the ringing in her ears had ebbed. She heard a male voice say something she couldn’t decipher. The tone was angry.
“I need help! What’s going on out there?” Alice yelled.
“Try to relax, Alice. The door won’t open, and Mr. Chesley says he doesn’t have a key. I’ve got a hairpin. I’m going to pick the lock, and I’ll have you out in a few minutes.”
Mira stayed to the side of the door, straining to hear what might be said.
“Are you working the lock?” Alice asked.
“Yup! Just a sec!”
With a great boom, a bullet ripped through the front of the door just below the doorknob. The door burst open, and a tall skinny man stepped through. He expected to find Mira on the floor bleeding to death. Instead, she stuck the muzzle in his ribs and pulled the trigger. The shotgun’s blast was muffled by Lyle Chesley’s body.
The rifle clattered to the floor and slid away as the man dropped and writhed in pain.
Derek called out to his brother. “Lyle? You … okay?”
“He’s not!” Mira yelled.
Ignoring the Chesley brothers, Mira checked her angles around the door. The back room was larger than she expected. Rather than finding a stockroom, she discovered a one-room apartment. A dirty window at the rear of the building yielded a dim rectangle of light from the dying day. So far, it was the only glass window Mira had seen in town that remained unbroken.
A hissing kerosene lamp provided most of the room’s illumination. The lamp sat beside Alice Hardaway, revealing her haggard and terrified visage. Tears slipped down her wrinkled cheeks.
Beside her lay a body Mira recognized as Alice’s husband Craig. His skull had been bashed in, and the floor was awash in blood. Mira had interrupted a crime, but she was too late for Craig Hardaway.
Alice’s hands were tied with electrical cord. Mira pulled a knife from her belt and cut through it. As soon as the old woman was free, she got to her feet stiffly. She turned and hugged her rescuer. “Thank you! Thank you, Sheriff! They were going to eat us!”
After a few seconds, Alice turned to her husband’s corpse, but Mira pulled her away, unwilling to allow the widow to linger. “We’ve been making a lot of noise. If there are any of the other kind of cannibals around, they’ll be coming.”
“But, Craig!”
“I’m sorry, your husband is beyond help, and my son is missing. I have to find Tyler.”
When Mira turned, she found Derek crawling toward his dying brother. Gasping and wincing in pain, he’d left a blood trail down the fireworks aisle. Even in the dim light, both brothers had lost so much blood, their skin had turned gray. They didn’t have long.
Mira stalked over to the rifle Lyle dropped and handed it to the old woman.
Derek looked up at her miserably. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”
“Couldn’t be helped,” Mira replied. “I didn’t mean to hurt your brother. I meant to kill him. Soon enough, he’ll be gone.”
“And then he’ll come back,” Alice said. “We should … ”
The old woman pointed the 30-06 at Lyle’s head, but Mira stopped her. “I have a more elegant solution that won’t waste bullets.”
Derek reached out and brushed his brother’s hair from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lyle. So sorry. I should have … shoulda looked out for you … better.”
“It’s not enough that the zombies eat us and infect us? We have to worry about people like you, too?” Alice demanded. The old woman grabbed a dirty blanket off a narrow bed and covered her fallen husband.
Mira searched the one-room apartment briefly, but found no food, ammunition, or other weapons. She bent to check Lyle’s pockets and found a box of rounds. To her disappointment, the box of 30-06 ammunition was light and rattled, obviously near empty.
The sheriff stepped over Lyle and went down a different aisle to avoid slipping in Derek’s trail of blood. In a moment, she was back, mallet in hand. As she stood over the brothers, Derek’s eyes widened.
“You … you have another promise … to keep. Kill me. If you … if you won’t waste … a bullet, kill me like … like I killed the old man. Make it quick.”
Mira dropped the mallet beside him. “Do it yourself. You should kill your brother first. If he turns and you’re too weak to cave in your own skull, well … there you go.”
For a moment, Mira thought Alice would object. Then she thought the old woman might shoot the brothers to avenge her husband. Instead, she muttered, “I’m a tough old bird. Barely enough meat on my bones to feed the two of you. If Craig were alive, he’d call you both rascals, awful rascals! But my man has gone on to his reward. And you?” She pointed to the bloody mallet. “That’s your reward. Sheriff? Can we go now?”
Mira was almost out the front door when she doubled back and grabbed two long boxes of fireworks.
“What are we celebrating?” Alice asked.
“My kid is missing and it’s almost dark. I know how much he loves fireworks. Mosier is small enough, maybe I can get his attention.”
“Those will attract the monsters, too, though.”
“I haven’t worked that out in my head yet. Gimme time.”
Alice had not been wrong about attracting the wrong kind of attention. They already had. Down the street, Mira counted seven zombies lurching toward them. Then two more emerged from the parking lot beside the novelty shop.
Alice cursed, crossed herself, and began to pray. “You should know, with my knees, I’m not much of a runner, Sheriff.”
“I have an idea.” Mira pulled Alice back into the shop and grabbed a roll of duct tape from a hook on the wall display. A box of lighters sat by the cash register at the back, and Mira grabbed a handful of those as well.
Derek had not touched the mallet that lay beside him. He looked almost relieved to see the pair. Wincing in pain, he managed to say, “Forget something?”
“Just passing through!”
