Phoenix (34 page)

Once the zombies were refrozen, Brad and
Adams ventured outside the barrier, wormed their way through the
tree branches, and dragged the dead away.

"Some of these oak branches are pretty
strong." Brad rubbed his bicep. A branch had caught his coat sleeve
and ripped it. "Could we make spears out of these?"

"Yep," Adams answered. "We might want to go
to the woods though. We need these right where they are."

Finding branches long and straight enough for
spears turned into something a little more difficult than they’d
thought.

"Can’t use any on the ground." Adams kicked
dead leaves and sticks as he walked. "Pretty brittle."

Brad was further ahead, staring up at the
branches of a giant oak.

Adams explored behind a few shrubby bushes
and grabbed hold of a sapling.
Too
flimsy
. "Well,
shit." He glanced around until he found Brad. "Hey, no way in hell
am I climbing up in there."

"Yeah you are."

Adams headed over and stared up alongside
Brad.

"Ask me if I’m climbing that."

"Eight-Ball, get your ass up there." Brad
pointed to one branch in particular. "See those little ones coming
off that big one?"

"Yes. You’re an asshole," Adams said and
jogged toward the trunk. The running start helped him kick up and
grab the lowest-hanging branch.

Brad stood back with a smile and watched.

Halfway to where he was going, Adams stopped
and called back over his shoulder. "Might want to keep an eye out
down there."

"See something?"

"No, but you might." Then he started climbing
again.

Brad took a breath and brought up his radar.
It didn’t glitch, so he turned his head back and forth, blinking,
the entire time Adams was up in the tree. He was glad Mort wasn’t
there; he’d make fun of Brad and call him a robot, or an android,
or whatever the hell those things were called on that sci-fi show
Mort used to watch.

By the time Adams returned to the ground,
they had two strong pieces of branch, seven feet long, and mostly
straight.

"What?" Adams shrugged. "The crooks give them
character."

They went back to the house and sharpened
them into spears.

A month later, the middle of March, the group
still hadn’t ventured out of their slapped-together, makeshift fort
to gather more food and supplies. The sense of urgency that had
driven them before was nearly gone. Adams and Brad had fallen into
a rhythm, working together as one to keep the perimeter clear of
anything that happened to thaw out during the ups and downs in
temperatures. Mort and Izzy took their domestic responsibilities
very seriously and went about their daily chores with the ease of a
couple that’s been together for decades. Mort was happier than he
had been in months just having something to clean and arrange to
his heart’s content.

They had food, a warm home, and each other.
They were tucked away and hidden behind a wall of dead cars. They
were going to be just fine.

Brad stood in the center of the floor and
turned in a circle. Their food supply was dwindling, contrary to
what Mort had said. "I’ve been rationing all winter and we’ll have
enough for another two months." From what Brad could see, they had
enough for
maybe
two more weeks. The shelves were almost
bare and the water jugs were empty. He took a deep breath to
control his temper and grabbed one in each hand.

"We need water. Who wants to go with me?" he
asked after going back upstairs.

Mort and Izzy looked up from the kitchen
table where they were playing cards and didn’t volunteer right
away. Brad waited a moment and rolled his eyes, dropped the empty
jugs, then headed off to his bedroom. He grabbed the handgun from
his nightstand and tucked it into the back of his pants.

On his way out, Brad snatched up the jugs.
"I’ll be back."

"Take someone with you," Mort called out over
his shoulder just as the door slammed shut. Izzy laid down a card
and he swore. She laughed when he threw his cards down and
reshuffled.

Outside, Brad mumbled to himself with his
head down and crossed the short span between their house and the
one they used to get to the outside. The sun was burning bright and
it didn’t take long for sweat to pop up on his brow.

On the store roof, Adams was kicked back in
an old lawn chair with his eyes closed. Long nights of little sleep
and holding a towel over Brad’s screaming mouth had caught up with
him a while ago.

Brad exited the barrier through the house
next door. He gave the area a cursory glance and headed straight
for the woods. There were a few abandoned houses between him and
the empty lot before the trees, and he strolled along the path as
he had many times before. His thoughts were mostly turned toward
the group. He thought that, as a whole, they’d gotten lazy. There
were so many things they needed and each time a trip outside was
brought up, it was shot down even quicker than the last. Did they
think the outside world had ceased to exist? That the dead had
finally fallen down and stayed dead?

Letting the water jugs run empty was a good
example. It burned his ass, though Brad supposed he had himself to
blame as much as anyone else for that. The food situation bothered
him even more. Mort saw their supplies every day, yet he continued
to believe they had enough for a couple more months.

Brad cut the corner around the last house and
strode out into the high weeds of the empty lot. Out of habit, he
reached up and wiped his forehead. He barely had time to register
that it had come back wet when a loud shriek cut through the air.
His head snapped up and he looked around. It was then he noticed he
was halfway between the village and the woods, and there were
bodies lurking in the shadows of the tree line. Brad froze and his
danger radar appeared before his eyes. All the lines jerked and
pulsed, and there were dozens of blips racing across the
screen.

"Oh, shit."

Brad took a step back and kept his eyes glued
on the trees. Nothing had moved yet. He took another step. His
breathing quickened. How far away was he from the barrier? He was
afraid to check. He took another step, dropped a jug, and pulled
the gun from the back of his pants. Maybe if he walked backwards
slowly enough, whatever was in those woods wouldn’t notice him.

Another shriek.

Brad dropped the other jug and started
sprinting back toward the barrier. Through the noise of his
heartbeat thrumming in his ears, he could hear the beating of feet
behind him.

They were
running
.

* * *

Adams jerked awake at the first scream and
his feet hit the rooftop running. He yanked open the access door
and skidded down the stairs.

Where’s
Brad
? he asked himself,
knowing he was really going to pay for that but also knowing he
didn’t have time to wait for Mort or Izzy to ask him a simple
yes-or-no.

Howling feedback filled his head and his
sinuses were lit on fire. "Son of a
bitch
," he said,
grabbing his forehead. He raced across the parking lot and almost
stumbled up the porch steps when he asked himself the same question
again. "Stop that!"

Mort and Izzy were gathering weapons in the
kitchen when he found them.

Adams panted, "He’s outside the barrier," and
a drop of blood fell onto his upper lip.

"I know. Take this." Mort handed him a
shotgun. "Izzy?"

She took the small revolver he held out to
her.

"Let’s go." Mort led them to the barrier.

They could hear several screeches of
different tone and duration. They followed the sound until they
came upon a spot where they thought the screaming dead were located
on the other side.

"Here?" Mort asked.

Adams nodded. "Yeah." Then he looked around.
"Where is he?"

"I don’t know. Do you?"

"Yes."

"Is he in the woods?"

"No. Hold on, just let me do it. Otherwise
it’ll take too long." Adams grabbed the shotgun by the end of the
barrel and planted the butt on the ground. He leaned against it,
lowered his head, and closed his eyes.

Where’s
Brad
? he thought.

A sharp stab in the back of his head. Adams
groaned.

Where
.
Is
.
Brad
?

Pressure behind his eyeballs. Burning in the
sockets. Needles in his ears.

"Mort?" Izzy whined.

Mort motioned for her to be quiet as he
stared hard at Adams. All of his mental snapshots were fuzzed out.
Too many dead, too close.

Adams grabbed his head and pulled his hair.
Blood that had only dripped before was running freely over his lips
and down his chin. A hammer pounded against the back of his skull
from the inside.

WHERE
.
IS
.
BRAD
?

Adams screamed, his ears popped, and he fell
to his knees. The shotgun slipped from his other hand. He bowed his
head until it touched the ground and gripped his hair with both
hands.

Mort knelt next to him and put a hand on
Adams’ back. "Got him?"

"Upstairs." Adams stretched out one arm and
pointed to the house next to them. "Trapped."

"Are you gonna make it?"

"Need. Minute," Adams whimpered, then he
threw up.

Mort struggled to his feet and motioned for
Izzy. "Help me up there."

Izzy tucked her gun into her waistband and
gave Mort a leg up onto the trunk of the Civic beside them. The
older man swayed. Izzy grabbed both his legs to steady him and
after a moment Mort was climbing into the bed of a pickup parked on
the other side. Izzy followed behind like a squirrel.

Mort raised his gun, but Izzy saw him lower
it just as quickly. When she finally reached Mort’s side, she saw
why.

"God help us," she whispered.

Mort answered, "I don’t think He’s listening
anymore."

The treetops directly in front of them boiled
with dead. It was very clear that these were not the same corpses
they’d dealt with before. The noise they made, for one. It was like
nails dragging across a blackboard, amplified by a thousand. No
human could make that sound. It reminded Mort of a trapped rabbit,
only much louder. These things didn’t react to the trees like the
slower versions had either. These corpses kept clawing with their
hands and digging with their feet, quickly gaining purchase and
dragging their dead bodies closer to where Mort and Izzy stood.

Further down the line, in front of the house
they used to go outside, another crowd of these loud and furious
corpses threw themselves against the windows and door.

Mort tapped Izzy’s shoulder and moved to
leave the pickup’s bed. She helped him down and together they
jumped to the ground.

Adams had pushed himself up and was resting
on his knees. His face and neck were a red mess. "We should have
reinforced those windows."

Mort looked to the house in question. "We
should have reinforced the door."

A cracking boom added emphasis to what the
older man had just said.

"They’re going to get in!" Adams forced
himself up, staggered and fell against the Civic, regained his
balance, and ran ahead of Mort.

"We need to brace that door!" Mort’s eyes
darted around for anything they could use.

Adams leaned against the back door the group
had used too many times to count. It bucked and groaned as the dead
inside beat against it. Mort added his weight, knowing it was only
a matter of time. Izzy came tearing around the corner of their own
house carrying a hammer and an armful of lumber. It was clumsy and
she kept dropping lengths of the wood. Mort met her halfway and
took part of the load. They fumbled and tripped until they reached
Adams, who grabbed one end of a 2x4 and held his hand out for the
hammer. Izzy dugs nails out of her pocket and passed them over.
Mort held the other end and together the two men were able to nail
up three boards. The door was splitting by that time and fingers
were slipping through the cracks. Adams yelled in frustration and
beat at the dirty and gore-caked digits with the hammer.

Mort bent over and braced his hands on his
knees. "Brad’s still in there."

Izzy whirled. "We have to help him!"

Adams paused before bringing the hammer down
on the last set of fingers. The splintered door was smeared brown
and black with chunks of gray, scaly skin pasted through it. "We
can’t. But he’s barricaded in a bathroom. They can’t get in, at
least not right now."

"But he can’t get
out
," Izzy
cried.

Adams turned to her. "I know."

Mort straightened and wiped his mouth. "See
these windows?"

The other two glanced to where the older man
was pointing and saw two large windows on the ground floor, on
either side of the door.

Mort nodded to them. "We need to board those
up. I don’t know if they’ll break through, but we don’t have to
make it easy for them."

"There’s some plywood in the store’s
stockroom." Adams stumbled and ran off in that direction without
waiting for a reply.

Mort nodded toward the store. "Help him."

Izzy jogged away.

Mort’s eyes drifted back to the second story.
"Hold on, boy."

* * *

Brad’s back was pressed to the door and his
feet were braced against the edge of the bathtub directly in front
of him. His legs felt like they were about to explode. His teeth
jarred each time the corpses slammed into the door.

"Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into."

He heard pounding downstairs but it wasn’t
made by the dead.

They’re
nailing
the
place
up
.