Fountain of the Dead (6 page)

The door opened a few inches. “A researcher named Pierce.”

“There you go, Williams. Find out about Pierce and report back to me. Mr. Crowe will get you equipped to look the part. Close the door on the way out.”

“What do you want me to do about them, boss?” Williams asked.

“Nothing. Crowe, wait for Williams to return.” The red embers of the cigar colored Crenshaw’s eyes for a moment, making him look like the devil.

* * * * *

“So you expect us to endanger our village and our families for water?” Catherine asked.

“That’s not just any water, it’s the cure,” Pierce said clutching his backpack tight. Catherine stared down at Pierce; the crazy in his eyes sparked a little for a moment. She held out her hand and Pierce handed her the canteen. She unscrewed the lid and sniffed it and then handed it back. She fought the urge to slap him, at least for now.

“How does it work? Did the water come from a puddle with a meteor in it? Do you drink it, or wash with it?” Catherine asked.

“Those are answers I don’t know. I know I have research and samples down south. I know it’s a very dangerous trip and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Think of it, be the village that helped with the cure.” Pierce held the canteen to his chest and shifted the pack to the ground between his feet, tight and secure. “I know with my bite, I kind of washed with it. I haven’t tried drinking it.”

“You mean to tell me you managed to wander to New England from Florida with a half full canteen and didn’t drink any of it?” Sam said. “Sounds like a load of bull to me. Water is more treasured than ammo.”

“So we do this trip for what? Riches to buy nothing? Fame for,” Catherine paused “for nothing. We would be risking our lives for a cure that may or may not work, with no proof.” Pierce held up is arms and turned to the people gathered; he showed them the scars and walked through them, letting them see the bites.

“That’s my proof. I lived through them, survived the bites back in Florida and on the way back.” Catherine shook her head. “Think about the possibilities.”

“How did you choose our village, Pierce?”

“You were the first to let me in, to be honest. I talked and screamed and ran from town to town from The Glades to Hartford. I got chased out of Boston before I even got close. I was on the bridge and chased by a patrol until far enough away from them.”

“You can’t tell me you’re actually considering his plan, Catherine,” Frank growled.

“Yes, Frank I am.” Catherine looked at the stones that ringed the fire pit like a 3D puzzle, then at the logs and faces gathered. “Yes, I am. We can stay here and live out the rest of our lives in the shadow of that bastard in Boston, or maybe make real lives for ourselves again. I’m tired of living under their,
his
thumb.” Catherine’s mind raced back to a time long ago, she patted her belly, like a life grew inside, lost in thought.

“It’s madness, we’re safe here, living decent and you want to risk it all?” Frank asked.

“No one has to go that doesn’t want to. You included.”

Frank shrank back at her words’ back into the gathered people, his face red with anger. Stuffing his fists into his pockets, Frank walked off towards his small house. The others in the town stood around Catherine, waiting for her next words. Pierce smiled a crooked little smile at them, knowing he had the hook in place. The time to reel would be soon.

* * * * *

“Frank,” Catherine said after he finally opened his door. He came out to the small porch and didn’t invite her in, something he’d never done. “I know your upset, probably pissed off.”

“Yeah, I am pretty pissed off. Ten years ago I’d be half way through a 30 pack by now.”

“You have to trust me on this one.”

“Have I said no to you yet?”

She reached up and put her hand on his cheek. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the anger was fueling his inner fire.

“I need you to do something for me and be sort of stealthy.”

“Again, haven’t said no.”

Catherine smiled and looked him square in the eyes.

“I need you to do a check on the ammo. I’m worried we’re running low,” she paused and looked over her shoulder. Tony and Sam were busy putting the fire out; the remaining few people still outside were talking quietly near the fire pit. “I do not want any more trades with Boston. If we’re running low on ammo, we need to scavenge.”

“Let me get my coat on and I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Chapter 4

Williams grimaced at his reflection
in the mirror; he looked like a bad excuse for a gang member. Crowe found the best he could in short time. Track pants were changed for blue jeans, ‘edited’ to make then look ragged and lived in. A worn leather jacket with a bullet hole in the side replaced a grey hoodie. Williams knocked on Crenshaw’s door.

“Jesus Christ!” Came from the other side. “Come in.” Williams opened the door slow; Crenshaw was stretched out on the couch, the relaxing hiss of static playing in the background. Williams looked around the office and wondered how much of this stuff he helped procure.

“Sorry to bother you, sir.”

“No, no. It’s fine, come in. Drink?” Williams shook his head and Crenshaw poured three fingers of scotch. The bottle rested on the floor in front of the couch. “What do you do for me, Williams?” Crenshaw asked sitting up.

“I forage.”

“Ah yes.” Crenshaw eased off the couch and walked to the small book case that held more liquor than books and pointed through the clear glass doors. “I have an associate who brings me a case from time to time. The cigars are getting impossible to find.”

“This Pierce guy they were looking for, do we know anything?”

“Not a thing. They got booted from our servers before they finished digging.” Crenshaw drank from the glass and licked his lips. He missed ice. Having cubes to clink together in his glass was always comforting. “Did Crowe take care of you?”

“Crappy clothes, a few days away from my family, a pistol with three clips, a bag of beef jerky, that may or may not be beef, I’m afraid to ask. And a canteen and a radio to check in with.” Williams looked at his costume again and shook his head.

“Have to love Crowe’s minimalism. Stay in contact with Crowe, he’ll report back to me. If you get into a situation, feel free to shoot whomever you need to. You don’t need to worry about the police.” Crenshaw stretched out on the couch, careful to not spill his drink.

“Understood, Mr. Crenshaw,” Williams said turning towards the door.

“Really? Explain it to me,” Crenshaw barked from behind the cushions.

“Infiltrate the village, do some recon, if I get into a situation I can’t handle, call in the troops, and take out as many of the natives as I deem necessary.”

“You should have been a stock broker,” Crenshaw said. Williams eased out into the hallways and closed the door. He looked down the long corridor; no one was around. He sighed and rested against the wall a second.

“I was never a big enough asshole to be on Wall Street.”

* * * * *

“Think of it, you can call your little village here ‘Zombie cure ground zero’ or something of the like. ‘Anti-Zombie homestead,’” Pierce said. Catherine noted the crazy flaring in Pierce’s eyes.

“Enough.” Catherine sat with her head bowed for a moment and rubbed her temples while the others gathered murmured. Pierce sat cross legged on the ground and examined his bite scars. He picked at a scab and flicked it off to the road then traced a crack with his fingers. Frank scowled and never took his eyes off him. He flexed his thick fingers near the gun handle, ready to draw and put several new holes in the stranger that threatened the safety of their village. Catherine opened her eyes and stood. Micah watched her leave the chair and took out his journal; he dated the page best he could and wrote.

I still don’t know what day it is. I’m sure Mom told me but I didn’t pay attention. Pierce is making a good case for himself. But I still don’t see how Catherine can risk the village. She seems really confused about the entire thing. There’s something wrong with Pierce, but I don’t know what it is yet. I wish Frank would shoot him and be done with it. It feels like he’s convinced her. We need to test that water. I don’t know why Catherine hasn’t done that yet. Let Pierce get bit and then test it so we all can see. Make the trip worthwhile. It’s not like we have to look hard to get something to chew on him.

“My friends,” Catherine started. “We have lived here in safety and unison and semi-peace for several years. Even with those assholes, sorry Micah, in Boston. It was a lot of hard work to get where we are now. We have grown complacent, but now we have the chance to do something great, something that will be etched into history.” Frank shook his head and closed his eyes, already knowing what she was going to say. He crossed his arms and leaned against the hood of his jeep.

“I have decided to help Pierce, but not alone. I won’t force or ask any of you to go. But I will ask for volunteers.” Silence filled the village, save for the occasional gunshot, gust of wind and scribble from Micah’s pencil. Meredith sat next to him and read over his shoulder. “Tonight after dinner, we’ll hold a lottery. Everyone will take a piece of paper. Write your name on it or leave it blank. Fold it up and we’ll put them all into a bucket and I will draw the names of people going.” Pierce smiled so wide Catherine thought his face would split. Catherine glared at him.

“Go home, spend time with your friends and loved ones, shoot zombies, do something you enjoy.” Catherine sat back down and took an old weathered book from her pack, and read. Meredith looked at the spine of the book; it was
Gone With the Wind.
Micah finished writing and checked the words so that they were all correct and handed his journal for Catherine to check. She stared at the words for a moment, nodded, and went back to her novel.

“If that speech didn’t make you talk, Micah, I don’t know what will,” Catherine said. He kissed her on the cheek and mouthed the word “mother” and headed off to the sniper tower.

Beverly came up and put a hand on her daughter’s shoulders. “You’re going aren’t you, Mom?”

“I have no choice; they’re going to need a medic. I want you to stay here and be safe.”

“Please, like you would let me go, even if I wanted to.”

Beverly bent down and kissed the top of Meredith’s head. “We might need a medic here you know.”

“Did you find anything on the laptop?” Beverly asked.

“It’s still in the browser history; the laptop is in Catherine’s house.”

“Maybe we should go read up on Mr. Pierce.”

“Maybe we should,” Meredith stood and took her mother’s hand and they went to Catherine’s house. “Not that we got a lot.” Catherine stared at the pages some more until she finally gave up, unable to focus on the words.

* * * * *

Crowe climbed into the driver’s seat of the sedan and started the engine. Williams slid into the passenger’s side and slammed the door hard. He buckled up and took his gun out, just in case. Crowe raced down the ramps of the parking garage, laying on the horn as he drove. The barricades were cleared when Crowe hit the exits. A few of the guards nodded in acknowledgement; the others went back to getting the barricades back in place. The streets were cleared of the dead with quick bursts of automatic rifles. When the car was in the clear, the barricades, saw horses with barbed wire, sand bags, and police riot shields, were set back up.

Crowe sped down the streets avoiding the dead when he could, running them down when he couldn’t or chose to. The streets were vacant of real people, though he and Crenshaw both knew there were pockets of survivors in some of the buildings, dug in so tight and deep that God himself couldn’t extract them. He swerved around an overturned dairy truck, with a desiccated corpse partially into the tank’s hatch. He tried to figure out how many times he’d driven past that truck and couldn’t.

“Makes me crave milk,” Williams said; he forced a smile but Crowe’s dead expression didn’t change. The further they got out of town the faster Crowe went. Williams gripped the door handle and the dash white-knuckled, not sure what was going to give out first, the engine or his mind. He stopped the car at the Storrow Drive ramp leaving a good twenty foot skid mark behind.

“Get out here,” Crowe muttered. Williams looked around.

“You’re kidding me right? You know how far it is?”

“I don’t kid, and get out. You look ragged, now you need to feel ragged. Unless you want me to rough you up a little so you feel the role better.” Crowe’s fingers tickled the handle of his sidearm. Williams fumbled with the door lock and staggered from the car. Crowe tossed him an extra gun and a bundle of clips, wrapped in plastic and taped together.

“Don’t get eaten on the way to town. Check in once you’re in sight of the village and again once you’re inside.”

“Thanks.”

Crowe spun the car around, filling the air with burnt rubber. “There’s a range on the radios so be careful. I’ll always be ten to fifteen minutes away.”

Williams nodded and watched the tail lights disappear into the distance. He stuffed the clips in his pack and quickstepped out of Boston. He followed the lines of abandoned cars on the south side bridge until he saw the signs for 93 North and started jogging. The massive green signs sat on rusted poles, marred with bullet holes and scorch marks. Williams stopped to examine one and catch his breath. The blood splatter on one sign must have gone up 10 feet. Williams continued silent and fast; the further from the city he got, the more his family and survival filled his mind. He dodged cars, tried to keep even breaths and watch out for any dead shambling up the highway.

* * * * *

When the area was cleared Catherine looked up from the book. She wasn’t reading any way; the words refused to focus, especially after her decision to help Pierce. Frank sat on the railing of his porch trying to be subtle that he wasn’t keeping an eye on her. She folded the page corner and it the book on the road and waved Frank over.

“What can I do for you, Catherine?”

“Micah wrote something in the journal about some kind of test. Something to prove the water works. Otherwise we’re just striking out blind here.” Frank nodded and rubbed his chin deep in thought.

“I could shoot Pierce, if we had the ammo to spare.” Frank said.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“I’m not shooting anyone I care about.”

“We can try cutting ourselves and see how it does on flesh wounds. All things being all things, there’s not a whole lot of water in that canteen. And Sam had a point. How did he haul water up the east coast without drinking that?” Frank took the knife out of his boot and flexed his hand, ready to cut. There was motor oil and grit under his nails. Even though she’d killed undead, stitched wounds and pulled bullets out of people Catherine turned her eyes away before Frank cut into himself. Frank pressed the blade to his arm, scowled and thought again. He put the blade on his thumb.

“Why aren’t we cutting Pierce?” He asked.

“Honestly, Frank, I couldn’t tell you.” Catherine looked at the houses, some with candle light in the windows, others using generator power. “Go get him.” She smiled and patted his arm. “Get his canteen too, we may need that for this test.” She watched him walk off towards the shed. “If he disagrees, feel free to smack him around.”

“Want me to get Micah?” Frank asked.

“It was his idea, but no. Let’s keep this between us.”

She watched Frank move the canvas flaps that used to be an old tent, on top of the shed and unlock it. He disappeared inside. After a few seconds of muted and incoherent shouting, Pierce was pushed out of the shed, landing hard on his side and sliding on the road. Frank came out right after holding the canteen. He shrugged at Catherine and helped Pierce to stand.

“You called?” Pierce said holding his side.

“We’re going to test your water. See if it works, see how it works.” Catherine said. Pierce lunged for the canteen tight in Frank’s hand. “First we need to give someone an injury.” Pierce calmed down at the threat.

“Frank,” Catherine said calmly. “I’ll do it.”

“Like hell you will. We take him, drop him outside for a minute and pull him back in. If it doesn’t work, I shoot him in the head. Two problems solved with one bite.” Pierce raised his hand like a child asking a question in school.

“I’d much rather she do it.”

“Give me the knife, Frank, now.” Frank handed her the knife handle first and opened the canteen. Pierce looked on with an odd bloodlust in his eyes. Catherine made a shallow incision down her arm. She bled as the skin cut and separated. She gasped with pain and Frank poured the water on her arm.

* * * * *

They lined up in front of Catherine while the groans of the undead surrounded them from the outside of the fences, like they knew something was going on. Micah made a quick sketch of the crowd and the stew pot set on the stump, where the ballots would go. Catherine was the first one to drop in her paper and then in turn everyone else did the same, silent and one at a time. Gerry and Tony stacked wood for the evening bonfire but the reserves were running low. They would need to find some woodland and cut down some trees soon; the ones in the village were too busy holding up the sniper platforms. Catherine had planned on them taking them on a road trip north and put it off thinking there would always be time.

With each ballot, whether blank or written on, Catherine acknowledged each person. When Micah went to drop in his ballot she took the paper from his hand, smiled and tossed it over her shoulder into the fire pit.  He frowned at her and tried to drop a back up ballot into the pot. That one she stuffed in her pocket.