Life Among The Dead (3 page)

Dan reaches the center of the room and is turning to get the whole panorama. Behind him a banner is taped to the wall that reads: Happy Birthday Jimmy!

That explains the streamers,
Dan says to himself. Against the back wall of the house is a pile of presents. The festively wrapped objects obscure the view to the television. He wonders if there is any news yet about today’s occurrences.

He lays his rifle against the wobbly entertainment center. One at a time, and as quiet as he can, Dan moves the packages. The gifts vary in size and shape. He catches himself shaking one like a kid on Christmas. He chalks this act up to human nature.
It’s natural for a person to be curious and need to know.

The set now exposed he locates the remote stuck between the cushions of a large stained couch.
The place is
definitely lived in,
he thinks to himself as he sinks into the plush seat letting out an involuntary sigh. The place is very inviting. The uneasiness he had felt abates, although he still has a sense of heightened awareness. He is paranoid that at any moment one of them will sneak up on him. The soldier looks over the back of the sofa towards the front door a couple of times before turning back to the television. All that is behind him, as far as he can see, are toddler toys and action figures.

He should be able to relax and catch some news, perhaps figure out a safe route home. He aims the remote at the tube and hits the power button. A deep click follows. The set warms up for a few seconds before Dan is bombarded with a blast of music. The screen fades in displaying dancing puppets that caterwaul in high pitched voices.

He tries to mute the singing, but it won’t cease. The fuzzy creatures are prancing about in a forest of make believe as Dan flails around with the remote trying to silence them. He ultimately gives up on the idea of muting the monsters and just switches the set off again.

Frozen in place, he remains in an awkward stance residual from his wrestling match with the remote. One knee is on the floor, the other leg had somehow laid itself over the coffee table. Dan’s arms still hold the remote aloft. He rises slowly as if any haste might bring the noise back.

The man tiptoes to the front of the house as if his silence and wishful thinking will make up for the noise he just made. He wants to take a peek out the window to see if his ruckus has brought their attention to him. Even before looking outside he knows they have heard him. He can hear them. Their moans are getting closer. A handful of them are coming towards the house, curious and hungry.

The soldier runs to the couch and dives over it. He had left his rifle by the television leaning on the entertainment center. He tries to grab it with his left hand, but he’s still holding the remote tightly in his grasp.

“
Fuck me.” He curses himself, absently pocketing the remote and taking up the weapon. He can hear them. The zombies are at the door and the windows. Their moans are like sad pleas. Dan is close to hyperventilating. He gulps air in ragged breaths, unable to get enough. Palms are slapping against wood and glass. He can see silhouettes against the curtains. He wonders how long the glass can hold them back. Their moans get louder and louder as more and more arrive at the house.
It almost sounds like they’re inside already,
Dan thinks, looking around for an exit.

To the right of the television is another thick curtain that’s hung higher than the others, only an inch or two from the ceiling. On the adjoining wall Dan spots a door. He is relieved to have a few options. He is hoping the curtain is covering a door to the backyard of the dwelling, and a way out.

On his way to the curtain the door next to it swings open. A blonde woman pushes through with her body. She is in a blue sundress and has a very classic look that reminds Dan of old black and white sit-coms. Detracting from her beauty and perfect make-up is the lazy way she walks towards him, her arms outstretched. Her subtle eye shadow is sullied by her vacant stare.

The soldier takes a step back and aims his rifle. He only has the two rounds and is debating whether to use one on the ex-house wife or not. He takes another step back as she advances, wanting to maintain distance between them. His heel locates one of the errant toys and before he knows it he is falling backwards. His foot flies out from under him and he lands hard on his back, the impact causes him to tense his trigger finger, a shot is wasted into the ceiling. The rifle’s recoil makes it jump from his hand.

The woman in blue is almost on top of him and he is without a weapon. He settles for the object that tripped him up. Dan takes hold of a large plastic train by its pull cord. He wraps the string around his hand few times as he scrambles backwards trying to keep away from the corpse.

The man stands up and swings the makeshift melee weapon at her head as glass begins to crinkle behind him. The zombie takes the blow to her temple, becoming off balanced. Dan swings again, and again driving her back until she flops over the couch. She clumsily topples to the floor. The soldier discards the choo-choo and unsheathes his combat knife. The prone zombie is trying to get to its feet. Its arms flail grabbing the coffee table. Dan puts his knee to her back and pushes her down. He drives his blade into her skull. The tip of the steel only enters an inch into the bone. He has to shove his weight down on it and bounce until it buries itself to the hilt. She stops flailing.

Pieces of glass fall from the window behind him. Dan’s knife remains lodged in the zombie’s skull. Hurriedly he places his foot to her neck as he pulls the blade free with both hands like King Arthur retrieving Excalibur. Her head pulls back with his movement until the knife is freed. Her face bounces off the floor.

Dan rushes to the curtain by the entertainment center. He picks up his lost rifle and throws the fabric aside only to be startled by red poofy hair and face paint. A zombie stands, staring at Dan, dressed as a clown. It wears wide pants with mismatching suspenders. The jester tries to grab the soldier through a glass sliding door that is between them. It ends up bouncing its head off the invisible barrier with a reverberating thunk. Behind him the windows have given way. A look back and Dan can see the dead pouring into the house like a waterfall of limp bodies.
I have no choice,
he figures.

He throws open the sliding glass door. Bozo tries to lunge at him but receives a foot to his chest instead. The sole of Dan’s combat boot lands square in the middle of the clown’s obscenely wide yellow tie. The amusingly clad zombie falls on its back to a concrete slab that serves as this domicile’s patio. Before it can get up its head is stomped into the hard surface by the hurried man.

The sun shines down into the enclosed yard, the air feels much warmer. All sides of the property are bordered by brown wooden fencing that Dan judges to be at least 8 feet high. Within the yard a dozen pint sized corpses shamble towards the soldier from the right hand side, all wearing festively pointed hats. Despite the horror of seeing children like this Dan knows he has to keep moving. He can hear the dead in the house making their way to join the party.

The first of the young zombies in his way stands out from the others. He has a blue ribbon pinned to his shirt that reads: Birthday Boy. It’s the guest of honor himself.

“
Happy birthday, Jimbo!” Dan says, swinging his rifle like a bat. The butt connects with Jimmy’s jaw, shattering it as the boy becomes airborne.

The undead missile lands on a barbeque grill that is belching black smoke from under its lid. His weight causes the grill to topple over; its gas tank flops hard against the ground. Dan passes Jimmy who now flails to get to his feet. The boy’s right arm is on fire. The zombie child looks at the flames with dumb fascination at first, then tries to swat them out with his other hand. The greasy flames spread and soon he is engulfed up to his elbows.

A hissing sound is escaping from the over turned BBQ.
That’s not good,
Dan says to himself. He increases his speed as he heads to the fence. He has to bat away the tiny zombies in his path. The soldier vaults up the wooden wall and doesn’t hesitate to look before falling over the other side, deeper down the street and even further from home.

From the neighboring lawn Dan locates a crack between the boards of the fence. Jimmy’s place is lousy with walking corpses. They pour onto the patio from the sliding door. The birthday boy is now a walking ball of fire that the other dead see, and seem to avoid. They are still coming after Dan, taking a wider approach around the flames.

“
They’re afraid of fire.” Dan deduces. A flash blinds him and his ears are suddenly filled with a loud, painful boom as the propane grill explodes. Although the wooden divider takes the brunt of the force Dan still finds himself on his back.

The cerulean blue sky slowly comes into focus. He stares up at it, allowing himself time to recover. The lawn is thick and soft beneath him. He would love to lay here for a few hours but he knows he can’t. He has to get home to his wife. One thing troubles him at the moment above all the implausible and awful things he has seen today.

“
Isn’t it a little early in the day for a fucking barbecue?” He screams at the fence while kicking the smoldering wood. His futile outburst makes him laugh. He slowly stands up smiling as he brushes himself off. He freezes in place and his smile disappears when he hears a low growl coming from somewhere in the yard.

6

“
Oh, my God. Did you hear that?” Becka asks in the dark.

“
Yeah.” Derek responds.

“
What was that?”

“
Sounded like an explosion.”

They cannot see one another. Derek had pulled up the hatch eliminating their main source of light in the home’s crawl space. Small vents in the roof allow thin shafts of daylight in along the old boards above them. This hardly dents the pitch-blackness of their surroundings.

They sit in silence trying to be as still as possible, listening to the muffled moaning from below. They can hear floorboards creak under the feet of the dead, even through the thick insulation they nest in. The air they breathe is heavy with tension, there are particles in it that scratch their throats and burn their lungs.

Becka can’t take the silence any more. She needs to speak to her unseen friends. She needs the comfort of communication to alleviate the fear she is feeling.

“
There sure is a lot of this shit.” She says finally in a whisper.

“
What shit?” Derek asks, relieved that someone finally spoke. The growing tightness of his chest is bringing on an asthma attack.

“
This cottony stuff.” Becka points, however the gesture is lost in the darkness.

“
My mom… just had it blown in… with winter coming an all.” He explains between ragged breaths. Stress always seems to bring on these spells. The minute irritants he is taking into his lungs are not helping either.

“
Is this the itchy stuff?” Becka asks. She lifts her hands off of the cloud just in case. She can feel her skin crawling at the thought of it.

“
No… something else.” Derek assures his friend. He concentrates on calming down, and trying not to hear those things below. Stevie is somewhere close by; he can hear the boy breathing in staggered rasps.

When he is more composed, Derek pushes the hatch down. He wants a peek at the second floor, and the light will help him check on the other boy.

Becka creeps over to Derek wanting to be close to her friends and the light. Her psychosomatic itchiness has gone away. The dim shaft of illumination from the hall reflects off the white insulation, almost blindly. It reveals Stevie lying in a fetal position. His knees are to his chest held tightly with one arm. The other arm holds his ankles to his bottom.

In the hall they can see the intruders. They all stare up at the hatch with vacant eyes that hold no intelligence. Their faces are slack and without feeling. The figures pace the hall reaching up as if they could grab hold of the kids. Their movements are slow and clumsy like those of drunken people.

“
Close it.” Becka says backing away.

“
Stevie, do you want to see before I close it?” Derek asks. Stevie says nothing. The hatch is pulled up and all is black again. They stay close to one another. Listening to the dead and hearing each other breathe. Their new positioning allows Becka to almost see Derek in relief against one of the small vents.

Silence washes over the trio again in the timeless void. An eternity is passing slowly in their claustrophobic negative space. Becka is on the verge of a panic attack. She can feel it build in her stomach. Her legs twitch as her hands fidget blindly with some round pebbles she located from random piles that are scattered on top of the foam. She has the urge to scream to let out her anxiety instead she tries to lighten the mood.

“
Aren’t you guys going to argue about what they are?” She asks with a nervous laugh.

“
Not this time. I think we can concur. Right, Stevie?” Derek nudges the lump in the blackness that constitutes his pal. The lump does not respond.

“
Stevie?” Derek’s hand finds his bony shoulder. Not even a shake arouses a reaction.

“
Steven?” Becka calls out in the dark. Her voice fails her half way through his name. Becka and Derek can feel the foam move as the lump sits up with a groan.

“
Fuck!” Derek lets out as he jumps to his feet and moves away as quickly as he can. His head thumps on a rafter hidden in the shadow that envelops them. The pain does not deter him. The heavy boy wades through the knee-deep foam in retreat. “Becka get away from him. He’s one of them!”