Life Among The Dead (42 page)

It is very dark inside the house. Dan steps into a large foyer. He draws the .38 and leans the rifle against an umbrella stand. He leaves the door open to allow the sunlight to enter, what there is of it with the thick cloud cover. It’ll have to do.

A staircase looms overhead that follows the curvature of the wall before him. It is too dark to see the top of the stairs. Rooms are to his left and right. He wants to call out, but is afraid to alarm anyone, living or dead. He can hear a slow creaking sound, but can’t determine where it is coming from.

Dan has to choose which way to go and ultimately heads across the white marble floor towards the room to his right. There’s no rational reason to choose the right except for the fact he is right handed. He figures harder decisions have been made with less to go on.

He holds the pistol with both hands as he enters the carpeted room of shadows. Sunlight casts a dim aura around the curtains of a window along the front wall. Dan grasps the thick sheet of fabric and yanks it down. The light reflects off of an almost entirely white room.

He blinks until he can see the lavish furniture. Large plush couches are covered with white upholstery. The thick carpet he walks upon is white. The walls even match the furnishings except for the splotches of red that stand out against the bleached purity of the room.

Dan walks to the blood spattered back wall for a better look. The splotches look like an eccentric painter had thrown them there. Someone had rubbed his or her body against the biggest splash, smearing a trail like the stroke of a brush.

A pool of red soaks the carpet. Scarlet footprints walk away from the scene, and a smear along the floor indicates they dragged whoever’s blood that is decorating the wall. Dan follows the prints down a hallway; they grow fainter like a rubber stamp that needs to be re-inked.

Shot and dragged,
Dan says in his head. The evidence disappears into the darkness of the hall. The light from the window fails to illuminate that far in. Dan finds a light switch and flips it.

They have power. The dam keeps these people juiced, thanks to my uncle.
Uncle Bruce was one of the principal investors, and the man who conceived it.

The hall receives light from inlaid fixtures above. Dan can see the smear and prints end at a door all the way down the hall, the only door on the left hand side of the passageway. Three doors line the right. In an effort to remove bareness from the wall, the owners had hung useless framed works of art.

One at a time Dan checks the doors he passes on his way to where he presumes the body had been dumped. The first door is a well-organized closet. Coats and hats hang from the pole. Three rows of shoes line the bottom. Dan doesn’t try to count the footwear, but figures there to be at least thirty pairs.
How many people live here?
He asks himself as he closes the door.

The next mystery portal is a bathroom his wife would strangle him for. There is an enormous tub, dual sinks, and more storage and counter space than Dan has to himself in his entire apartment. The majority of his living area back home is reserved for his wife and child.

The bathroom floor looks like a large chess board except many of the white squares leading to the sink are bloody. Droplets and smears indicate to Dan the person who did the dragging must have washed up after.

The final door on the right is an office. All the walls contained bookshelves made of dark wood that are filled with leather bound literature. The room smells of the old volumes and of expensive cigars. Two plush leather seats face a large dark wood desk that matches the bookshelves.

Dan is down to one last door in the hall. He puts his hand on the knob where the blood trail ends and turns it slowly, feeling the crustiness of dried blood. Through the narrow opening he cracks, light spills down a wooden staircase. He had figured it was a basement. His hand feels along the wall for the light switch.

The creaking he has heard since entering the home is gaining in tempo. It seems to come from his left. Dan closes the door, wanting to get to the bottom of the sound before venturing elsewhere
. It could be the house settling,
he says trying to calm his jumpy nerves
. This place looks relatively new. It shouldn’t be that,
his mind debates the possibility.
But, wouldn’t a newer house need to settle more?

He travels back through the blood stained living room, and back into the breezeway. His hands clutch the pistol in a push/pull fashion to keep it steady. The sound slows upon entering the uncharted section of the house. He is unable to feel a light switch along the wall, finding himself once again wading through darkness.

Dan pauses at the opening to this new room to let his eyes get used to the gloom. A sliver of light is visible on the wall furthest from him, the side of the house. Dan can’t tell for sure, but he thinks it could be a door to the outside. There is a distinct odor in the air he can’t quite identify.

Dan proceeds in along the wall to his left. His eyes scan in vain trying to detect danger before it occurs. All he can see is that shaft of light. It cuts across a long rectangular silhouette that he reasons is a dining table. The intruder’s shoulder brushes a heavy tapestry. He is relieved.

His back is to the drapery when he pulls it. Pale light floods the space making it seem more real. It is in fact a dining room. ‘Room’ is too small a word for it. Dan would call this a dining hall. The long table looks like it seats twenty. Expensive china and serving ware is stacked haphazardly in random piles on top of the table. The clutter seems unbefitting such a fancy room.

After a look under the table Dan moves along the far wall where the crack of daylight originated. The drape is pulled back revealing a glass door that opens out onto a garden patio. From inside the house he can see flower boxes and large pots full of greenery. The soldier stands in place taking in details.

Two doors are on the opposing side from where he is situated. The one on the right is blocked off. An ornate cabinet has been tipped over on its side to bar its use. Dan figures it to be the china cabinet.
Whoever moved it had removed the dishes first.

The drapery that shrouds the room from the garden patio had been pinned back by a hair clip.
Somebody wanted it open a crack?
Dan lines up where the beam would fall on the parallel wall. It would land on the blocked door.

“
Is it a warning?” Dan asks. The creaking begins to speed up again to a steady rhythm like an old rocking chair. He realizes there is only one way to find out what’s behind the door.

Apprehensive, Dan rounds the table. He finds other objects are stacked at the head. A black steel lock box has been placed, the key left in the lock. A white envelope that is tinged with red fingerprints and smears lies beside a large caliber handgun.

Dan pushes open the swinging door on the left, discovering an immaculate kitchen with all the amenities, modern appliances and fixtures. It is the kitchen every home owner dreams of, straight out of a magazine, or one of those ‘Fix-my-house’ shows. At the back corner Dan can see a quaint breakfast nook. The table is covered by canvas bags that look full. He doesn’t leave the dining room to inspect the kitchen. Along the wall to his immediate right is a door.
I am so sick of doors,
he thinks to himself.

Dan lets the door swing shut and walks to the overturned hutch.
Let’s see what’s behind door number two, shall we?
The soldier shoves the abused piece of furniture aside. It squeals as it travels along the hard wood floor, leaving white gouges in its wake. He can’t feel too bad about it considering the circumstance. A piece of paper is taped to the door. It simply reads:
Open please.

He puts his ear to it. The creaking isn’t coming from behind, but a horrible smell is. He doesn’t feel right investigating further until he puts an end to the maddening sound.

Dan walks to the foyer and the sound slows once again. He looks up towards the high ceiling, but it is shrouded by shadows. He can make out the shape of something dangling.
Is that a chandelier?

A sudden snap and the shape plummets to the stone floor below. Before him a woman lies like a broken doll. His first instinct is to rush to her aide, as she seems to be in pain. The past couple of days have taught him better.

Her eyes are open, looking around the foyer. They lock on the soldier who just watches her. Dan can see she has no use of her arms. He wonders if she has broken her spine. Her facial movements grow frantic as she tries to move her disabled body. Her head lashes in Dan’s direction, her chin smashes into the hard floor repeatedly. The violent movement has caused the rope around her neck to loosen. A moan is able to escape from her throat.

Dan puts a bullet into her head and stops her moving. He steps close and flips the body over with the toe of his boot. She is in a tasteful blue dress that reminds him of Donna Reed or June Clever. The blood stains on the fabric ruin the illusion. The sound has been taken care of, leaving Dan with the mystery smell to contend with.

One hand is on the knob while the other aims his .38 into the widening crack. The smell hits him like a solid object. It is like nothing he has ever smelled before, so awful his eyes involuntarily squeeze shut. He forces them open, though they water as he looks into the room.

It is a pantry that rivals the bathroom in his apartment in size. Several shelves, stocked full of canned goods and dry products, line the walls. His gag reflex tries to engage, he fights it by clenching his jaw as tight as he can. In the very center of the room stands a playpen.

The smell becomes irrelevant as Dan drops to his knees to peer through the white mesh that lines the enclosure. He fears the tiny body inside is another zombie baby. The infant looks to be about nine months old to Dan, who admittedly is no judge in such matters. All around the body Dan can see bottles of varying fullness. The tyke holds one of the bottles with both hands and suckles on it.

Its eyes are shut and the lids are red and puffy, the lashes are heavily crusted. A similar crust runs down the sides of the kid’s face along its chubby cheeks, tears.

Dan believes the child is alive. To be sure he slowly brings a finger to its neck. He is ready to withdraw it at a moment’s notice like a coiled spring. He gently presses into the tender flesh and feels a faint beat.

Dan scoops the child up. The small one is shirtless, and its skin feels dry and brittle. The bottle falls to the floor and the kid starts to fuss. Dan offers the bottle again, but the baby doesn’t take it, it just pushes the rubber nipple out of its mouth with its tongue. It seems so weak, it wants to cry, but can’t. The pants that cover the baby’s lower half are soaked through with urine. Dan can see someone had scrawled a few words onto the mattress of the pen:
This is Jack.

“
Hi Jack.” Dan says in a soothing voice. He can see a door to the left and figures it opens to the kitchen. He must unlatch it to take the child out of the foul smelling, makeshift nursery.

Dan rushes to the sink. He wasn’t able to see this corner of the kitchen when he first inspected it from the dining hall. A blue infant bathtub is already set up in the deep basin. On the cabinets above the tub is a note:
Warm water, not hot. White means too hot.

This puzzles Dan as he turns on the faucet and places the tub under the stream of water. A small round decal on the tub’s padded bottom turns white before his eyes.

“
Too hot.” Dan understands the instruction. He adds more cold to the bath water until the sticker turns blue. Dan strips off Jack’s pants while holding the limp child. The diaper releases on its own and falls to the floor with a sloppy wet splat. The soldier gingerly lowers the kid into the water.

Next to the sink Dan finds a box of pre-soaped baby wash clothes and a bottle of no-tears shampoo. On the other side he spots a bottle of Pedialyte and a clean baby bottle. Jack’s body flops like a rag doll in Dan’s hands as he is lathered up. The stranger washes the child’s backside. He has to scrub a little harder to free the more stubborn clumps. Sufficiently cleaned the baby is taken out of the now dirty water.

“
Now what?” Dan looks around. Further down the counter, on top of a cutting board, Dan sees a couple of towels. They are printed with little rubber ducks and one has been partially laid out. He wraps the child up as fast as he can. Diapers and a container of baby powder sit next to this station. He forgoes this step and heads back to the tub.

The electrolyte fluid is poured into the bottle. Dan is able to screw the top on one handed. He brings it to Jack’s mouth. The boy’s lips explore the nipple, and he finally takes it. The soldier rocks the boy gently as he sings to him. He kisses his damp head.

He lets Jack hydrate himself from the bottle while he finishes drying him.
Time for the diaper,
Dan figures as he lays him down on the ducky towel. A note is on top of a stack of diapers:
Tabs go in the back. The powder goes on his butt.
A smiley face has been drawn after the word butt.

“
Is that too tight?” Dan asks after following the instructions. The color in the boy’s cheeks is improving and he is opening his eyes. Jack smiles from behind the bottle he has almost completely drained.

Dan has him resting on his hip as he searches around the room. Jack’s eyes focus on random objects from pots and pans, to his bathtub, to Dan’s face. The soldier walks over to the breakfast nook, he bounces the whole way because the boy seems to like it.