Winter's Salvation (22 page)

             
Once inside the yard Naomi turned toward the gate, but Sam held tight to her hand and wanted to continue running.  Naomi pulled her arm away, but her daughter’s strength had grown tenfold and she had to peel her hands off.  “Let go!”  Naomi hollered just before she pried her fingers loose.  Reaching out from the yard she began to pull the fence door shut.  It scraped the rough ground and got caught on some of the earth, making Naomi pick up on the fence in order to pull it closed.  The crazed ghoul swung wildly in a strange balancing act as it lurched forward with each step.  The door was open a foot from being fully closed and was held by large tufts of unkempt grass.  Naomi lifted and pulled, but was unable to free it.  Just then the woman threw her body against the door slamming it shut and locking her out of the yard. 

             
The creature pounded the white plastic fence and screamed in frustration.  Naomi did not test the door and was not sticking around to find out if it was going to hold up against the assault.  Instead she took hold of Sam’s hand again and turned her focus back on Fuzzy Pop Pop’s.  They had to clear one small chain link fence, before getting to her fathers, but as they got to their destination they saw the back door was open.                  

The back door to Fuzzy Pop Pop’s single family home was partly open, but the house was the same as she had always remembered it.  As they entered the back door, the combination of old cellar desperately trying to be covered by the scent of potpourri filled their nostrils.  The house was in the same shape it always was in; organized chaos. 

              “Stay here.”  Naomi moved into the next room quietly, trying to be as quiet as possible, but fast at the same time.  She checked to make sure the front door was locked and was surprised to see that it was not.  She locked it and pulled back the front window’s curtain and scanned the street, searching for her father’s teal green Nissan Sentra.        

There were a few scattered vehicle
s in front of some of the houses, but none were her fathers.  There was a car parked in front of the house and she recognized it as being one of the neighbors, or at least she believed it to be. 

Across from the
front door and to her back to her left was the stair way that led to the second floor.  She stood on the burgundy carpet at the bottom of the stairs and talked softly up them. “Hello?”  She waited for a reply, “Hello?” No sound came in reply so she waved Sam deeper into the house. 

             
Sam locked the back door behind her and sat down on the grey recliner next to the steps and began to cry.  Naomi walked over to her and got on her knees.  She reached forward and pulled her head against the side of her face and hugged her.  They both cried for what seemed like hours until both of their eyes were blood shot.  Sam broke from the hug first and sat back in the recliner and quickly fell asleep.  Naomi pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and laid down watching Sam.  She was curled up as tight as she could make herself.  The tighter she made herself into a ball with the less amount of body exposed to the atmosphere, the safer she felt.  Her strong breaths began to relax and her tense body began to unveil itself as the sound of the screaming ghoul died out.  Naomi watched as her tired daughter finally submitted to the sleep she desperately needed.   

             
They both awoke as the sun beat down on the front of the house.  The window over Naomi welcomed the sun and allowed a small sliver of light to shine directly on her eyes.  Sam was already up and acted as if last night never happened.  She sat in the brown recliner scribbling on something that was hidden behind her pulled up knees.  Sam rocked the recliner back and forth by the simple up and down movement of her toes. 
How could she go through something like this and not be affected by it the following morning?
  Naomi thought.  She also wondered how she would have acted when she was thirteen.  Maybe now that she had to support her daughter she had more to worry about and she was forced to make the decisions. 

Sam seemed to be just fine and began writing on a note pad that she found in the house somewhere.  Sam had started a diary of the few days that they stayed at Mr. Cooks, but because they had to leave so quickly, all the writing she had done was left behind. 

              Naomi tried to sit up, but her body wanted no part of it and her back tightened to the point that she could not physically move, but she did manage to work the blanket up over her head to prevent the light from blinding her.

             
She looked to Sam and saw that she had just pulled something from her mouth and it looked to be a clear bottle.  “What’s that?”

             
Sam looked to her as if she was asking a stupid question. “Water.” 

             
“Where did you get it?”

             
“The fridge.”

             
“Is there more?”

             
“Yes.”

             
Naomi now knew she would never be as care free or calm as her daughter because already first thing in the morning she was getting sick of her one word responses.  She breathed and felt her temper begin to flare, but she quickly calmed herself.  “Could you grab me one?”

             
Sam scribbled one last thing and got up.  Naomi listened to the refrigerator door open and then slam shut.  Sam returned with a clear bottle of water in her hand.  “You have to hold your breath to drink it.  The fridge smells horrible.”

             
Naomi chuckled and it sent small spikes of pain through her.  “Don’t make me laugh.”

             
“It smells like something died in there.”

             
“Because something probably did.  All that food is rotting away.”  She opened it and began to drink.  “You were right it does smell bad.  Tastes good though.  Thank you.” 

             
“Are we going to leave today?”

             
“I don’t think so.” 

**********

             
The door was open, but it was getting late and Eric and Drew needed somewhere to rest their heads.  The temperature was dropping and the humidity seemed to be dissipating, which was a huge relief.  They both thought they may actually be able to get a good night’s sleep for once. 

             
The house was in complete disarray.  The trinkets that normally sat happily locked in a glass cabinet now lay smashed with sharp edges pointing up, waiting to impale the feet of an undead passer.  The scent of death was vague, but lingered in the breeze of the broken windows.  It seemed as if just recently the undead visited this house looking for dinner. 

             
Walking to the back of the house, Eric cautiously stepped into the kitchen.  The first cabinet he opened was full of canned goods; beef stew, canned peaches, pears, peanut butter, he was in heaven.  It was like looking down on a table of a fresh thanksgiving meal. 

Drew stayed close to him and Eric gave him one of the cans of beef stew.  “We’re gonna eat good tonight.”

Eric was ready to dive into the cabinet and open a few cans for himself right then and there, but he knew they needed to secure the house first.

             
The main floor and upstairs was zombie free.  There was one closed door upstairs, and Eric thought this could be a child’s room.  He had already been through two rooms, one a master bedroom and the other one was obviously a spare due to the drab décor.  Eric thought back on what he had witnessed at Kimberly’s house back in Georgia.  A sweet middle aged woman tried to lure them in to feed her undead son.  Every time he came to a closed door, the image of a dead, blond haired, blood caked, little boy seems to always be standing on the other side. 

He stood now in front of a white door that had a splintering crack down the middle that resembled a lightning strike.  Eric held his breath and moved his ear up to the door.  The beating of his heart seemed to rise up against him and he thought it was pounding louder this night
; more than normal at least.  He exhaled slowly trying to maintain the volume of his breath flowing from his mouth.  With his bat in hand he ran it down the door; just loud enough for something inside to hear.

After listening
for a few seconds and Drew waiting patiently with signs of exhaustion showing on his face, he stepped back with his bat at the ready and opened the door.  To his relief it was a child’s room minus any undead children.  The room was destroyed.  Scattered clothing littered the floor and ripped World of War Craft posters hung from the walls. 

This caught Drew’s attention and he starte
d to inch closer to get a better look.  After Eric looked under the bed and insured that nothing was in the closet, Drew came in and started sorting through the scattered clothes.  Coincidentally this child was probably about the same age as Drew and most of the clothes looked as if they would fit him. 

             
In the kitchen there was a door that led to the basement.  Opening the door, a set of stairs led to a pitch black abyss.  Drew agreed to stay at the top and keep look out.  Eric pulled out a Mag Lite from his back pack.  The light was beginning to dim, so batteries were going to be the next priority.  As he crept into the basement, he saw what was the classic man cave.  On one of the walls were posters of beautiful half naked women and directly across from them, were a set of medieval weaponry and a suit of chainmail armor.  A computer desk sat in the corner of the room and next to that was a brown suede couch.  Eric pulled a battle axe off the wall.  It was very sharp, but very heavy.  Most of the other weapons he could tell must have been picked up from the local flee market.  Eric knew if he were to swing them at any of the undead they would more than likely fly apart; that and they all were stamped made in Pakistan along the blade.  Still holding onto his aluminum baseball bat he thought this would probably be his best choice. 

             
From the corner of his eye Eric saw a large wooden shaft protruding from behind the arm of the couch.  He pulled the handle from behind the arm and found a handmade axe with a blunt hammer on one end and opposite the hammer a handmade crescent axe head.  The handle was lined with black metal buttons that made gripping the axe easy.   

             
It looked as if this weapon was hand made by the owner of the house or whoever stayed in the basement.  With a handle made of wood and about three feet long, he put his baseball bat away.  “Gonna get medieval on their ass.” he whispered in his best tough guy whisper.

             
The chainmail from the looks of it was roughly his size.  Walking around in a suit of armor made him think back to his younger years sitting around a table playing Dungeon and Dragons with his friends. 
This could prove useful.
He thought.  Someone took a lot of time to loop these small rings together and he can guarantee they never thought this may become useful during the zombie apocalypse.  The armor was heavy.  It weighed between forty to fifty pounds and Eric was determined to try it on, but first it was time for dinner.

**********

              Empty cans littered the cluttered wooden dining room table.  Beef stew was still evident on Eric’s face and the red tomato sauce from the canned ravioli covered Drew’s lips and up his cheeks extending his smile.  They both sat back in their seats with their swollen stomachs.  In front of each of them was a clean white plate that the food never actually touched.  The excitement of actual food and not a leathery protein bar made the act of pouring the food out excruciating.  They could not bear to spend those few seconds in post modern politeness.   

             
Eric opened his bag and placed a couple cans of peaches, and ravioli into it.  “I suggest you do the same.”  He nodded to his bag that sat on the chair next to him. 

             
“I think I’ll sleep in tomorrow.  It’s supposed to be nice.”  In his food coma Drew said as he struggled to raise his arms to reach for his bag. 

             
“How do you know the weather’s gonna be good tomara?”

             
“Because I want it to be.”

             
“Sounds good to me.”  Eric stood up with a groan and stretched his back, followed by a yawn.  “Did you want to take the upstairs bedroom?  I was going to crash right here on the couch.”

             
“I think I’m going to take the master bed room.”  He said proudly.  Drew felt the need to prove that he can be independent.   

             
This came as a shock to Eric, for he did not like the thought of sleeping alone, but was not going to argue with him.  “If that’s what you want.  I’ll be down here if you need me.”  He said trying to hide his disapproval.                 

             
As Eric closed his eyes and Drew just made himself comfortable directly above him.  They both heard a series of “PSST!” from outside, as if someone was trying to coax a cat to come to them.