(Book 2)What Remains (16 page)

McAllister pulled what I assumed was truck
number 522 into the warehouse loading overhang area. He wasn’t
visible, yet the sounds of his tinkering were hard to miss.

“McAllister?” I said just loud enough to top the
racket.

His dirty head appeared from behind the truck.
The grin he sported from ear to ear wasn’t what you’d expect from a
man with only hours to live. “Hey, brother! This is going to kick
some serious ass! Come check it out.”

I marched along the side of the truck that would
have been the passenger’s side if this were a normal vehicle.
Having the driver’s seat on the right hand side would take some
getting used to. Between the electric drill’s humming I heard the
furious clatter of the undead at the front of the building. A
variety of metal pieces littered the pavement around where he
worked.

His back was still to me so I waited for a long
enough pause to get a word in. “Is it safe out here? We’re pretty
exposed. And should we be making this much noise? The zombies out
front are so excited I can hear them from here.”

He set the drill down on the bumper. “It’s all
good. They aren’t getting through the fence. Well, not anytime
soon. Besides,” the hand that was bitten waved towards the source
of the undead noise, “the ugly fuckers are all up there. That’s a
good thing because you’ll be driving out over there.” He motioned
towards the opposite side where a winding delivery entrance met a
rolling chain link gate.

Once again I wasn’t in a position to argue. This
was Ian’s area; he knew it far better than I did. “Why didn’t you
take one of the trucks when you tried to get escape this
morning?”

He paused, looking embarrassed. “Pretty sad I
didn’t think of that before this morning, eh? For whatever reason I
thought I would have to get out in my own car. Wish I had thought
to take one of the LLVs. Probably would have a little longer to
live if I had.”

There wasn’t enough time for regrets. Although
the man did have every right to reflect upon the decisions that
brought him to that point, I needed him to focus. I tried to bring
his thoughts back to the task.

“LLV? What the hell is that?”

His frown gave way to a look of satisfaction, I
assume for being able to teach me something. “Every one of these
trucks is called an L.L.V. It stands for ‘Long Life Vehicle’.”

“That’s good news for me. Something tells me I
won’t come across a lot of dealerships that are open for
business.”

The drilling started up again. He talked over
the noise. “They are supposed to last through thirty years of
service. 522 here was in the last purchase line from 1994.”

“Holy shit! This thing is already over twenty
years old?!”

“Don’t sweat it. If she survived a couple years
with that negligent bitch who used to drive her, she can survive
anything. Plus, after her time at central she’s like a new car.” He
looked confident. I had no reason not to believe him.

“So what are we doing to her?”

He handed me a metal bracket of some kind. “LLVs
were never designed to have passengers in the back. It’s filled
with shelves and storage for the drivers so they can make as long
of a route as possible. The manual says they can hold a thousand
pounds of cargo, but I’ve never seen that tested.”

“Maybe it’s good that I’m on the apocalypse diet
- lots of exercise and not enough food. I’ve killed almost as many
zombies as I have lost pounds.”

McAllister snorted. “You’re a goofy bastard,
Nathan! I wish I had known you before this shit. You probably would
have talked sense into me before it was too late. If I take the
shelves out then we remove the main tray in the front seat there
should be plenty of room.”

“Can we leave that top shelves on for supplies?
I want to pack enough gear to avoid stops in unknown
territory.”

“Way ahead of you, man. I’ll put some cord or
something over the front of them to keep anything from falling off.
It doesn’t normally happen on a route but you never know. Also, I
have some wood in the shop that I’ll use to make a roof rack or a
box up top. That way you can stack some things up there to save
some room. It won’t be the prettiest thing around but she’ll get
you there.”

“I hope you know how much I appreciate what
you’re doing.”

“Don’t mention it. After all of the shitty
things I’ve done during my life I’m glad the last thing I do is
something that’s worth a damn.”

He went right back to removing screws from the
fixed shelves. We didn’t talk for at least twenty minutes after
that. Ian worked and I assisted however I could without being in
the way. While changing the drill bit he stopped to rub his wounded
wrist.

“How much does it hurt?” I asked hesitantly.

“It hurts. Not as bad as it was a little while
ago because it has gotten a little numb. My arm feels hot, like I
can feel the shit crawling through my veins.” He must have seen the
concern plastered over my face. “Ease up. I’m not dead yet.”

My right hand instinctively moved to the Kukri
and I hadn’t even realized it. “Sorry. Habit.”

“I get it.” McAllister stepped away from the
truck. “Most of the pieces are out. We’ll pull the front tray out
after the back is done. If you have to go sooner than we planned I
want you to at least be able to fit the family back here. The rest
of the work is secondary.”

“You’re right. What now?”

“I’ll get the wood and some hardware from the
shop. There is some extra chain link rolled up near the front of
the fence. Can you go drag it this way? I have an idea for it.”

I nodded then headed around the bend of the lot
towards the front, towards the noise.

Ghouls were lined up across every inch of that
fence.

It was startling for me to see so many of them
there as I rounded the bend. A section of fence about four
car-lengths long met the parking lot that customers used for the
post office. Then it intertwined with trees and a small pond, which
created an impassible stretch that led to the first connecting
point with the bowling alley property.

Tightly nestled against the building,
immediately after the turn, was the roll of chain link that I had
been sent to retrieve. When I stepped forward to grab it the
infected audience became unruly. They growled like a pack of dogs
being denied a bowl of kibble. All of them were so crowded against
the stretch that the group had to be at least two creatures deep.
Arms wildly flailed against the metal. Teeth gnawed at sections of
wire or even nothing at all. A more petite member of the horde was
able to get its arm through the fence but looked to be stuck. Flesh
began peeling from the area where the wire was rubbing as the
monster mindlessly struggled. The fence’s dull silver coloring had
become painted with the dark muck that spewed from the attackers.
Only a strip at the top before the razor wire was spared from the
staining because it was out of reach.

Staying in view of the group was hazardous, to
say the least. Although the fence was holding them back I didn’t
want to test its resiliency. I gripped the roll and pulled. It was
heavy, and pain radiated from the healing areas of my body. The
metal was so cool to the touch that I could feel the chill through
my gloves. When I reached the pavement the wire scraped along like
fingernails on a chalkboard. Ian must have heard the noise because
he ran up to assist.

“There’s so many of them against the fence that
I couldn’t see the parking lot on the other side,” I said, panting
from the labor.

“The fence will hold long enough. If they ever
knock it over, it won’t be while you’re still here.”

My stomach growled almost as loud as the dead.
It made me recognize that I was starting to feel lightheaded. Ian
busied himself with 522 so I let myself inside to get food out of
my pack.

It was easily ten degrees warmer in the
warehouse with the wind removed from the equation. The sudden lack
of sound was almost as noticeable as the temperature difference.
Dancing flickers from the candle left burning in the office guided
me through the darkness. I hungrily tore into my bag and found a
zip lock bag of almonds that Sarah insisted I bring. In minutes my
gurgling insides simmered down and clarity return to my train of
thought.

I emerged from the office holding a fiber cereal
bar for both my companion and I. The flashlight beam teased my
sight with curious hints about what else the warehouse contained.
Tall shelves of sorting bins created aisles against the cinderblock
wall. An irregularity at the far corner caught my attention. It was
a letter that was left in the middle of the aisle. As I walked
towards it I saw another, and another, then two more. The trail of
discarded envelopes led to a huge pile that had been emptied in a
nook formed by a sorting shelf.

“What the hell?” I mumbled to myself as I crept
closer to the massive mound of abandoned mailings.

There was something taped to the wall. I stepped
to the fringe of the pile and my heart sank. Two pictures were
taped up there: one of a little girl, maybe three years old; the
other of a baby boy in a bright red onesie. This was where Ian must
have slept. He probably put the letters down as insulation against
the cold floor. Those were undoubtedly his kids, taped up to
motivate him through the lonely nights.

This was not what I needed to see. Deepening my
connection with the man I was to kill would make the act that much
more difficult. I quickly walked out of the warehouse. A chill
washed over me the second the door opened, serving as a slap across
the face that reminded me to focus on the dreaded task that was
ahead.

When I went back out, Ian had lined up five jugs
of gasoline. A length of rubber hose was looped through the handles
of each container. He appeared from the front of 522. “Sorry,
brother, but only two of them are full. She’s got a full tank now
so you’ll be good for a while. If you want, you can take the hose
to siphon from the other trucks. You should be able to fill the
other cans. I got a stick of gum for afterwards if ya need it.”

I’d never siphoned gas before. The thought of it
alone was unpleasant, however, I doubted this would be the last
time I would encounter the job. Twenty minutes later all of the gas
cans were full and I wished Ian’s gum was a stronger flavor. I
lined them up on the overhang platform then tried to do whatever
possible to speed things along.

McAllister worked tirelessly. He assigned me
little tasks like cutting sheets of the fencing with my bolt
cutters or holding something up while he screwed it into place.
Mostly, I did my best to stay out of his way. I watched from the
warehouse stairs as his initial excitement for the project
gradually simmered into calculated execution of steps with no hint
of the creative spark he had exhibited hours before. Every drop of
sweat that fell from Ian’s brow seemed to take his color with it;
soon he was pale and weary looking.

I was always afraid to ask him how he was
feeling because any answer to the question would only draw us
closer to the inevitable conclusion of our friendship. As the
minutes turned into hours the chatter reduced to nothing. We had
gotten to know each other in a very brief period. The familiarity
that grew between us would make the end so much harder to bear.

“So what happened before?” he spoke up with
words sounding slurred by exhaustion.

“With what?”

He came off as slightly cross. “Don’t bullshit
me, Nathan. You know what I’m asking about. In the office you said
you had to kill someone before this. What happened?”

“Is this really what you want to talk about
under the circumstances?”

“Fuck yes I do. When else are we going to talk
about it?” All the while he continued bolting a large sheet of
chain link over the windshield.

I sighed loudly. “His name was Phil. When I was
fighting my way home I saved his life when I pulled him out of the
river. A little while after that he returned the favor by saving my
life.”

Ian’s confusion was understandable. “This sounds
like a good story. When did it change to a bad one?”

“He was bitten. Sometime before I pulled him out
of the river one of the infected bit his leg and I didn’t know it
until the last minute. I suspected something was up, but at the
time I was so happy to be around another person that I didn’t
listen to my gut.”

“How did you find out?”

“We were on top of the railroad bridge that runs
over the James River near the Powhite Bridge.” He nodded to
indicate that he knew the area I spoke of. “The sun was down. We
barely made it up the bridge and I wasn’t in great shape. Turns out
he wasn’t much better. Phil was starting to change. I could see his
veins getting dark, his eyes were going black. He was delusional,
still talking about coming back to my house. He refused to accept
that he was going to become one of them and jumped at me at the
same moment I was holding my blade out between us.”

“That blade?” He pointed at the Kukri in its
scabbard.

I nodded. “He was still alive. Even though it
had started take over him, he hadn’t turned yet. He took a step
back after getting stabbed, tripped, and tumbled off into the
river.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“This piece of steel has saved my life more
times than I like to think about. I’ve used it against dozens of
those fucking things. In a way it has become like a friend, an
ally. If I didn’t have it while I was fighting my way home then I
doubt I would have made it there alive. I’m so grateful for it.
Yet, I’m haunted by the knowledge I used it against the man who
saved me. Every night I wake up in a cold sweat from revisiting the
time above the river in my nightmares. Every night my gratitude
shifts slightly towards resentment.”