The Jack Zombie Collection: Volume 1, page 46
Darlene is not like the rest of the people walking. She isn’t staring straight ahead, looking at nothing besides the road ahead of her. She’s looking around, taking it all in. It reminds me of the way I used to be whenever I visited a bookstore, before I got my first publishing deal. Back then, I would wander in a place like Borders or Books-A-Million the same way I’d wander into the library as a kid, or even the toy store, all wide-eyed, completely baffled by the sights and colors and the endless possibilities. So I don’t say anything to Darlene. I let her drink it all up. Six months on the road can make you forget the beauty of just settling down, of making friends and memories, and living your life. Plus, it helps put Abby to the back of her mind, though she is not in the back of my mind at all. Neither is Doc Klein, where he is, what he is doing, what was wrong with him when he passed through this little village. I intend to find out all of that.
“Oh, it’s nice, Jack,” Darlene says.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s very nice.”
“It’s a community. Nothing like Chicago. It kind of reminds me…reminds me of home.”
I smile at her and keep walking, knowing what she means. Our voices aren’t particularly loud, but no one else is talking.
She looks at me again, her eyes big and shining, and says, “When Abby is better, Jack, we should stay. There’s walls and people and houses. They even have electricity — at least in the med center. Jack? What do you think?”
I think about lying to her, but I’ve never been good at that. So I speak true. “I think that this place isn’t any safer than the car we left on the bridge. I think that before long this place will be overrun because places are always overrun. I think — ”
No, I can’t say it, especially after our little conflict earlier today. I know she wants to settle down, but can one really settle down the way the world is now? I don’t think so. With the ever-present threat of the zombies, one’s never safe. The only certain way to settle down is to get rid of them all. Doc Klein might not be our answer, but catching up to him would be going in the right direction. Not settling down. Not folding and giving up.
“What, Jack? What?” Her voice is lower now, but it’s still sharp.
So I say what’s on my mind. I have to. “I think if we stay here, we’ll end up dying…or worse, we’ll hurt the people that live here. You saw what happened in the forest. If we would’ve just left it alone, none of that — ”
She grabs my hand, her eyes dropping but her her mouth trying to smile. “Quiet, Jack,” she says. “It’s okay. Abby is going to be okay. Everyone here is going to be okay.”
We walk on.
The meeting place is a bandstand in the heart of the village. There are about a hundred chairs set up around the stage, but the town only fills half of them. Jacob leads us down an aisle. He tips his hat to a young family. They nod back. Nobody is smiling. There are plenty of tissues and handkerchiefs in hand. The village has electricity running through the various buildings, but here at the bandstand the only light comes from low-burning torches. The flames dance in the black eyes of the crowd.
The man named Grady we met back at the med center takes the stage. He is not smiling, either. “As many of you have heard, we lost some of our own tonight. The threat has been neutralized. There is nothing to worry about, but I would like to take a moment of silence to commemorate the ones we lost. William Croghan, Walter Caspri, George Jones, Stephanie Newt, Harold Strom.”
We all bow our heads. I hear faint sniffling from the row to my right.
“All right,” Grady says. “Thank you. I do have two pieces of good news to share. There were survivors. Steve was shot, but just a flesh wound. He’s back at the med center with Brittany and Phyl. Brittney stitched him up — God forbid!” This brings a chuckle from the crowd. “Emma broke her foot, but nothing serious. She won’t need surgery, but she’ll be on crutches for the next few weeks. So if you see her hobbling around, open the door for her, if it do ya.” He grins. “She’ll appreciate that. I’m all right, too, in case you were wondering — you’re probably not. Bobby was a little displeased to see me after the incident since I took away his Gameboy and all. Little brat.” He sighs, “But what kid doesn’t hate his stepdad, right?”
Another laugh from the crowd. I look around and see the balled-up tissues in hand now instead of pressed under eyes or under noses. People are smiling, looking at this man dressed in a ratty flannel shirt and mud-caked hunting boots.
“The second piece of good news is we have celebrities in our midst. And it’s not too often we have celebrities in our little village,” Grady says. He starts clapping. “C’mon, give a hand to Jack Jupiter and his gang.” Nobody claps at first, then Grady says, “They took down Eden! They killed Spike!”
Here we go again, I think.
“No way,” a voice says from the left of the crowd. Jacob pats me on the back. I feel my throat starting to seize up, my hands getting sweaty. Darlene is the first to stand. She climbs over me and makes her way into the center aisle. Then Norm, but he stops to let me out.
“C’mon, little bro, it’s your time to shine,” he says.
No, it’s not, I want to say. I didn’t do anything to be proud of. I saved my family and my own ass. Nothing more.
Herb trails behind him, his head pointed down but his eyes darting all around the crowd who has turned their heads to us. As I walk through the center aisle, I feel the falsity of these cheers closing in around me, choking me, making it hard to think.
We climb up the bandstand. Grady is there to shake all of our hands, then he says, “Tell us about yourselves. Don’t be shy.”
The group’s eyes go to me first and I stammer. “Well, I-I’m Jack.” I point to the rest of the group and say their names. “There’s one more of us, a girl as tough as nails. She was bitten, had to lose her hand, but we think she’s going to pull through.”
The crowd collectively takes their eyes someplace else. A man in a straw hat says he’s sorry. I thank him.
Grady starts speaking again. “I’m sure everyone would love to hear how you took down Eden and that bastard Spike, but I think we’ll save that story for another time. We’ve heard enough of violence tonight.”
The crowd nods. An older woman says, “Amen.”
“Besides, we have more good news,” Grady continues.
The crowd begins to rise out of their seats, smiles on their faces, eyes glancing to the nearest building adjacent to the bandstand. Their applause is thunderous, louder than the ringing of the bell.
“That’s right,” Grady says. I see the tears in his eyes. Norm and Herb are looking down the bandstand at the building. Darlene and I exchange glances. I shrug and she smiles. I feel myself smiling, too. The atmosphere is infectious. It feels good to be smiling, to be safe. Maybe Darlene is onto something. Then I think of Abby and the way the blood spurted out of her arm when Jacob performed his homemade amputation and the way her skin was pasty and sweaty. That good feeling goes away.
The door of the building opens, candlelight drifting out and casting an orange sliver onto the grass.
Now, I’m feeling a sick sense of anticipation and excitement. The crowd quiets, feeling the same thing as I am.
There is creaking, the sounds of old metal whining and rubber digging into the earth. Mother is an ancient woman. She is black, but her skin is so old and weathered, it has a dusty quality to it. Her hair is full, frazzled. I am reminded of the Bride of Frankenstein. Her arms are thick with ropy muscle, an odd sight on such an old body. She smiles, teeth too perfect to be real.
The applause sounds again, and I find myself clapping my own hands together and beaming. This woman…there’s something about this woman. A long time ago, I had read book on ESP and psychic touch. One of the topics discussed were people’s auras and for much of my sophomore year of high school I thought I could see faint, glowing outlines around everyone. The teachers I loved — the English teachers who let us read modern authors instead of the classics had beautiful, radiant outlines, like they had so much goodness it was spilling from their bodies. And the people I didn’t like, people like Freddy Huber and his gang of friends who made gym class and lunch and study hall a nightmare for me had outlines the color of rotting, cancerous organs. It was the next year I realized this was all my wild imagination.
But this woman, her outline glows like diamonds in the sun. This is not my imagination. Each and everyone of these people see it. It’s undeniable.
We watch her as she slowly wheels her way up to the bandstand. I’m taken by her spell. This is the aura of a queen, of a person of great knowledge, one of the world’s last living treasures. I get on one knee and bow my head. Darlene and the rest of the group follow me.
“Rise,” the woman says. Her voice is not the voice of someone elderly. No. It is strong, full of life, carrying on the wind.
I rise, and so does Norm and Herb and Darlene.
“I’m — ” I start to say, taking the old woman’s cracked hands in my own. “I’m — ” But I can’t speak, I can’t say my own name. I know whatever I say will pale in comparison to what this woman says. She squeezes my hand back and smiles.
“I know who you are, sugar,” she says. “I’m mighty glad to meet you.”
“Me, too,” I say, smiling back. I never thought I’d see such a shining beacon of hope in such a dark land.
“And you and you and you,” she says to the rest of the group, nodding to each one.
The lady waves at the crowd. I didn’t notice until now, but the applause still goes on. With the tiny gesture, the crowd quiets and watches her with glistening eyes.
“We’ve suffered a great loss today,” the woman known as Mother says, “But we suffer losses everyday.”
People nod. I find myself nodding, too. I can’t help it.
“We suffer the loss of time and youth and wisdom, and though our lives may one day end, our journey is not done. We keep going because we have to, just as we keep going in life. We have to.”
I’m smiling wider now. I’ve said the same thing before, more or less, or I’ve at least thought it. Darlene takes my hand and sidles up closer to me.
“I can’t bring our friends back from the dead anymore than I can stop the rotten ones from terrorizing us. But I can offer you the same words of wisdom my own daddy offered me when I was a little gal with a dead dog at her feet. My daddy, he said, ‘Be strong, baby,’ and by golly there ain’t never been truer words in the English language except maybe ‘I love you,’ and ‘I’m sorry,’ but only those if you mean them.” Mother brings both hands to her mouth, kisses deeply then blows them to the crowd. “So I leave you,” she says, “and you might be feeling broken and sad and dejected and scared, and if you are then remember: I love you, I’m sorry, and be strong, baby!”
She spins her wheelchair away from the crowd as they erupt into another burst of applause and whistles and cheers. Darlene lets go of my hand and wipes tears away from her eyes. Norm is clapping so hard I think he might break his fingers or at least rupture his wound. Herb grins larger than the time we found a downed candy truck off the interstate a few days back.
Mother waves Grady over to her and speaks into his ear. Then she is back on the beaten grass she rolled over to get to the bandstand. Her speech was short and simple but damn effective.
Grady walks over to us and says, “She’s something, isn’t she?”
I nod, looking over the crowd. The fearful, uncertain looks written on their faces are gone, replaced with smiles and hope. I like this woman.
“Mother would like to speak with you four in her cabin in ten minutes. Is that all right?” Grady says.
“Yes,” I say.
Of course it is. Right now, I’d do just about anything to see her again.
“Good,” Grady says.
20
As the crowd departs, Jacob and his wife walk up to the steps of the bandstand. Jacob’s eyes are red and watery, but he’s trying to hide it. His wife isn’t, her makeup is running and her face is puffy. Otherwise, they both look happy. They both look like people from the world before.
Normal.
“She wants to meet with you?” Jacob asks.
“Yeah,” Norm says. “Ten minutes, in her cabin.”
“You are so lucky,” Marge says.
“That you are,” Jacob says.
“Do you know what she’ll want?” Darlene asks.
“Hope it’s nothin bad,” Herb says. “I like it here. Can we stay, Jacky? Can we?”
I smile at him, it’s a fake one. As much as I like these people, nowhere is safe. Not until the zombies are gone. So I say, “We’ll see, big guy.”
“You all would make fine additions to our little community,” Jacob says. “But it’s not up to us.”
“Aw,” Herb says, hanging his head low.
“It’s up to Mother,” Jacob says. He nudges Herb. “Chin up, big fellow, Mother is very understanding and loving. I think you guys are a shoe-in.”
“I hope so,” Herb says glumly. “Only if you have size seventeen.” He looks down at his shoes.
We all laugh.
Jacob smiles. “We’re heading back home for the night.” Now it’s his turn to look down at his boots. “Tomorrow morning will be back-breaking. That many graves to dig plus work on the fences. I’ll need more than eight hours.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Marge says. “I’m sorry about your girl. She’s in my prayers.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so much for all of your help.”
“Don’t mention it,” Jacob says and turns to leave with the rest of the crowd.
“Bye,” we say simultaneously.
“This place ain’t so bad,” Norm says. “I don’t smell the rotters out here.” He inhales deeply. “I smell pine needles and nature and stuff. It smells damn good. Plus, that Grady guy is quite handsome, don’t you think, Darlene?”
Darlene arches an eyebrow. “Uh, Norm, I’m still with Jack,” she says, motioning to the way our arms are wrapped around each other.
“Oh, man, you didn’t tell her?” he asks me, his face reddening.
I shrug. “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
“Man, when you were a kid you never shut your mouth. I’m surprised, Jack, truly surprised.”
“What?” Darlene asks. “What’s happening? What didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m gay — ” Norm says.
“Norm’s gay,” I say at the same time.
“Hm,” Darlene says. “Cool.”
“Cool?” Norm says. “That’s all?”
“I mean it’s not a big deal,” Darlene says. “Lots of people are gay.”
“Yeah, man,” I say, “no biggie.” The big things we have to worry about now are so much bigger. Abby’s condition. The whereabouts of the doctor. The fate of the world. Darlene and I’s wedding.
Oh God, it really never ends.
Norm looks honestly surprised. It’s another thing I attribute to his time in the Army. He’d served predominantly in the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell era and maybe all that time trying to showcase his manliness got to his brain. Times were changing before they changed for the worst. Fifty years ago, Norm would’ve been hanged for being gay. I think he’s stuck in that time.
“I love you no matter what, Norm!” Herb says and hugs him.
Norm wheezes, “I…love…you…too.”
Grady waves us to the small cabin. We walk on to palaver with Mother. I don’t know why I feel so nervous, but I try not to show it.
21
The cabin is warm, much warmer than the night air. There’s a fire burning low in a hearth on the far side of the room. Mother is close to the flickering flames, facing the bricks, a blanket over her legs hanging past her wheelchair’s wheels.
“Mother?” Grady says quietly.
“Come in,” she says. Her voice is no longer strong. Now it’s a hoarse whisper — the voice of a corpse.
“I have the newcomers with me,” Grady says.
“Come in, come in, time is a-wasting,” she says as she spins her chair to face us. I am standing in front of Darlene and Norm, Herb is behind, looming over us like a skyscraper. He had to duck when he walked in. “Are you thirsty?” Mother asks. “Hungry?”
“We’re always hungry,” Norm says.
I elbow him.
“Always hungry, ma’am,” he says. Our own mother would’ve been disappointed with his lack of manners.
“We can scrounge up something for y’all,” Mother says. “How’s peanut butter crackers sound?”
“Delicious!” Herb says.
Mother smiles warmly at him, then looks at Grady. “Grady, please fetch snacks for our guests.”
He bows, almost like a butler in some English manor, and says, “Yes, ma’am.” He disappears into a dark room. Candlelight spills onto the floor not long after, showcasing black and white tiles. My stomach grumbles thinking of crackers and peanut butter. God, it’s been close to a year since I’ve had peanut butter. Before The End hit us, I was more of a fast-food/snack eater. Rarely did peanut butter ever come up in my diet, not since the days of elementary school when my own mother cared enough to pack my lunch. Sure, Reese’s peanut butter cups were a staple in my diet, but I don’t think that really counts as real peanut butter.
“Come, come,” Mother says, “we can go in the dining room and all sit down.” She leads us into the next room where a large, oak table takes up most of the floor space.
There are candles fluttering lazily in the middle and floral placemats at each chair. We take our seats.
“You are probably wondering why I asked to speak with you,” Mother says.
“No, I understand,” I say. “This is a nice place and you want your community safe.”
Mother nods and smiles at me.
“A very nice place,” Darlene says. “If you’re looking for more help around here, we’d be glad to contribute.”
I glare at her. Now’s not the time, I think. They’ve just lost some of their people. The wounds are wide open.
