Authors: Norman Dixon
* * * * *
Bobby pumped his
short legs double time to keep pace with Yannek. The dawn brought a measure of
heat with it, and quickly turned the snow to slush and mud. Which was bad for
the Creepers, but even worse for Bobby and Yannek. Footing, after all, was one
of the traits, along with balance, that the living could always rely on. But
Bobby was finding that his legs were nearly as useless as a Creeper’s. He still
had his brains, though.
Bobby left his
rifle and pack in a small black sedan that was rolled on its side at the end of
the block so he could have freedom of movement. He held the hammer out wide and
low. Ecky ran parallel to his position with the crowbar. They watched each
other and they cleared each street, working their way from the outside in.
A rotting woman
in a muddy pair of jeans and a dingy flannel top dragged her mangled leg behind
her like a child towing a teddy bear. Bobby clicked his tongue in a loud snap,
drawing her attention. Her outstretched hands groped the air for him. Dirty,
sloppy sounds escaped her gap-toothed mouth. Maggoty strands of black hair hung
in kelp-like ringlets. Bobby ducked under her arms and swung the hammer up and
at her temple. The sturdy tool knocked a half-dollar-sized hole in the skull
with a crunch. Her arms dropped in an instant, her groans silenced, and Bobby
moved down the road.
Ecky nearly
missed the Creeper reaching for him from the open window of the Buick. He
cursed himself for not paying attention. The thing, barely more than dried skin
and bone, rattled as it reached out of the car window. Its eyes were gone,
along with its tongue and whatever it had worn in its past life, a vintage, a
fucking First War throwback. Ecky rammed the crowbar through the empty socket,
sending a puff of powered brain out the back of its head.
Bobby whistled
for Ecky, and pointed the hammer up the hill.
Just beyond what
looked like the remnants of the corner store and post office, a group of four
Creepers jostled over the carcass of an elk.
The street in
that direction was devoid of cars. Strange L-shaped signs dotted the areas in
front of those houses. Plaques hung from some of them, but Bobby could not make
out any words, only shapes. They were boldly colored though, even weathered
from exposure the shapes were familiar. Round balloons in red and blue, gold
and brown curves, and there were a lot, they stretched up around the corner.
Almost every house had one.
“What are those
signs for?”
“Means nobody’s
home.”
At the sound of
their voices one of the Creepers turned in their direction. Slathered in elk
blood, the fatigue-wearing bag of rot rose with a raspy growl. He looked very
fresh, perhaps days old even, and he moved with quick jaunty steps.
“Not good,” Ecky
mumbled under his breath. He rushed the dead soldier, if in fact the
fatigue-bearer had been just that in his previous life.
Focusing on Ecky
the dead soldier didn’t notice Bobby slip up behind and bury the claw end of
the hammer through the top of its skull. Fresh gray matter and thick blood
oozed out of the skull.
Drawn by the
commotion, the remaining Creepers shuffled towards them.
Bobby stared at
the soldier. The man’s eyes were still blue and they had not yet taken on the
lifeless pallor of a rotting corpse. Something in that clean shaven face
disturbed Bobby, but Ecky’s whistle made him quickly forget.
Bobby had to
wriggle the hammer to get it out of the skull. He paused to look at the
soldier’s fresh face once more, then he broke left, and circled around a
heavyset woman whose entrails had been eaten long ago by either Creepers or
wild animals, Bobby couldn’t tell, the ragged hole in her belly was splattered with
elk blood and chunks of the dead animal plopped out undigested. The oddity of
what he saw did not immediately register to him, for the woman’s neck cracked
loudly as she tried to right herself to reach for him. Bobby ended her attempt
with a swift strike to her forehead. She hit the wet snow like a deflated
balloon.
Ecky swung the
crowbar in a downward chop, dispatching what was left of a naked old man. Faded
plastic wristbands spoke of a stint in a hospital many years prior.
“Sorry, old
timer,” Ecky said a little short of breath. “We need to find house for night.
After rest we start real door to door clear." Ecky eyed the dead soldier.
“But first we get bodies off street . . . and hope this temperature holds to
melt snow and wash blood away.”
“He’s fresh.”
“Too fresh. Look
at uniform. Clean like our clothes. Very few have such luxury anymore. Only
those like Folks that planned ahead and got into middle of nowhere would have
stable power and water to clean with." Ecky used the crowbar to work the
trunk of a black sedan open. “Not much left of woman or old man. Should all
fit.”
“Do you think
he’s a real soldier, or do you think he got it from a soldier?”
“Not sure. Help
me get them in trunk then we check pockets. Clean uniform at first glance says
yes to question, but too easy, besides all bases in Colorado empty. Even NORAD
went down after First War defeat. Could have come from somewhere else,
though." Ecky took the old man by the ankles and Bobby took the upper
half. The frail body weighed almost nothing. “Either way, not a loner.”
“It’s possible,”
Bobby said as he moved to the gutless woman.
“Maybe, not
likely, loners don’t fare so well in new world.”
“No one to watch
over them while they sleep. And if you can’t sleep, you can’t function,” Bobby
snapped off in a monotone.
Ecky looked at
him quizzically.
“Survival class.
The only time I ever heard Ol’ Randy speak without his drawl.”
With the grim
task finished, they stood over the soldier, and one thing became abundantly
clear to Bobby. The man was no soldier. Having been raised and trained, for the
most part by soldiers through the majority of his winters, he knew they prided,
instructed, all but forced order and cleanliness on him and his brothers. The
Creeper at his feet had never heard of order in his past life.
Although the
uniform was neat, and recently cleaned, nothing else about the man spoke of
order.
“He looks like
he’s had a shave recently, but it’s sloppy,” Bobby commented, rubbing his own
bit of peach fuzz.
“And haircut
too,” Ecky added. The engineer didn’t like the implications one bit. Everything
about the dead man at his feet spoke of the savage nature of the outside world.
The man’s teeth were filed to points, at least those that had not rotted away
from a life of neglect, so, too, were his nails, sharp and hard. A fear gripped
Ecky then, and his heart began to thud. He looked at the dead solider’s feet.
No shoes. The
soldier wasn’t a soldier at all. He was a wild man, a gritty child born to the
savagery of this new America. No education, no hope, no guidance. From
experience, Ecky knew only a handful possessed even rudimentary language and
communication skills. The uniform was not a trophy either, and the haircut,
what was this man up to before the Creepers got to him? Ecky’s mind painted a horrible
picture, but he pushed it out.
“Grab his legs,”
Ekcy pointed, motioning to Bobby to hurry up.
“Where are his
shoes?”
“Never mind
that. Get him in trunk,” Ecky said, then added, “quickly." He didn’t want
to alarm Bobby, for the boy had been performing admirably under such tremendous
pressure. But Ecky found himself looking over his shoulder and to the tree
line. The wild men never traveled alone. Like wolves they hunted in packs,
these new tribes of dead America, scouring the wasteland for food, and they had
no qualms about eating other people.
They had to pick
a house and hunker down. Ecky hoped he was wrong about his suspicions, but his
instincts were never wrong, after all, they had carried him for nearly twenty
years in this hell. He retrieved their packs and kept the CAR-15 ready.
“What now?”
Bobby asked, scanning the town nervously.
“We find home.”
The place was in
sore need of landscaping, but the last lawnmower went out of commission two
decades ago, besides, the tall, wild growing brush suited the place, and it
provided ample cover to the lower floor windows.
Ecky walked the
perimeter of the abandoned home. He felt eyes watching him from the shadowed windows,
but each peek, each watchful glance, proved his fears false. This house had
been empty for a very, very long time.
The gray vinyl
siding weathered the years well, with only a few gaps, some mold, and a couple
of missing panels to show for it. The long, peaked roof’s high angels kept the
heavy snowfall from building up and damaging it over the years. Ecky found only
minor damage on his brief inspection. It had a sizeable plot, and was open on
every side, with a clear view all the way around. The closest neighboring
houses were several hundred feet away in each direction.
With no broken
windows Ecky liked what he saw so far. He whistled for Bobby.
“Clear so far,”
Bobby said. He adjusted the rifle on his shoulder. “Grass and weeds are thick,
but from what I could see through the basement windows . . . it looks
deserted.”
The wind picked
up at the boy’s words, as steely gray clouds danced before the Rockies in the
distance. Another storm was not far off.
Bobby still
didn’t understand why Ecky wanted him to keep the rifle slung on his back. The
long barrel and heaviness of the weapon made it cumbersome and difficult to
maneuver with. But Ecky had insisted, and their packs followed them inside the
house as well, though, they left them in the green carpeted foyer.
The moment they
entered the home with the help of Ecky’s crowbar Bobby didn’t like the smell. A
mix of stale air, rot, and mold filled his nostrils, and something sickly
sweet, something familiar, tickled the back of his throat.
There were dead
inside.
Bobby tightened
his grip on the hammer.
The house was
almost completely quiet, save for the creaking of support beams when the wind
gusted. Bobby squinted in the dim light, bands of uneven grayness angled
through the tall windows, revealing much about the former occupants of the
home.
Green carpet
covered the large open room and it seemed to meld perfectly with the rich dark
wood of the walls. Heavy pieces of furniture, pale with dust, were neatly
arranged around a stone fireplace. A pile of rodent droppings lined the mantle,
along with the spoils of its foraging: bits of pillow stuffing, tinfoil, twigs.
To the left, a series of trophies gazed at them with plastic eyes, and a fat
Black Widow hung from her web between the antlers of a buck.
Beyond the furniture
of the main room was an open kitchen, and a dark hallway. Bobby moved around
the furniture in a creeping thief’s step. The kitchen looked a lot like the one
back in the Settlement. Large cast iron shapes dominated the open space. It was
surprisingly clean. Everything had been neatly put away, no dishes in the sink,
or on the counter, and nothing appeared to have been disturbed.
Ecky clicked his
tongue.
Bobby followed
the engineer’s pointing finger to the hallway then moved up to it. Just beyond
the threshold the darkness presented his mind with many a colorful scenario,
but he ignored what could be, and focused on what was.
Ecky shined the
flashlight down the hall, expelling the darkness.
The hallway ran
behind the main room and had two doors on the right, both closed, and stairs
leading up to the second floor. Bobby approached the first door and winced as
the floorboards creaked loudly under his weight. He held his breath for what
seemed like ages, but heard nothing in response. He leaned against the wall.
Ecky moved to
the other side of the door and nodded to the doorknob.
Bobby tested it,
not locked, he gently opened the door to an ominous, rickety looking staircase
that ended in the deep darkness of the basement.
“Close door, we
clear last,” Ecky whispered. Though the engineer didn’t like the prospect of
leaving a large room unchecked behind them, he preferred to have the escape
options of the windows.
Cobwebs, gilded
by Ecky’s flashlight, zigzagged up the staircase to the second floor. Bobby
stopped at the next door and opened it. The door, in sore need of oil, squeaked
so loud it made Bobby jump back. If anything, or anyone was in the house, the
door revealed the intruders’ position. Again the house remained silent, nothing
stirred.
The small room
had a made bed against the back wall, and simple, country style furniture along
the others. A framed picture of a smiling old woman beamed at them. Bottles of
perfume covered one dresser, but otherwise the room was empty. Only dust and
dead bugs called the space beneath the bed home.
Together Bobby
and Ecky took the stairs.
The second floor
was one large, open room. Rough, darkly stained beams ran along the ceiling,
and a slate gray carpet covered the floor. A massive triangular window made up
almost all of the far wall. Just in front of it a large four post bed and . . .