Revenence: Dead Silence, A Zombie Novel (4 page)

"I got a few earlier while you were asleep," Fauna informed her.

"Zombies?" she inquired, wide-eyed.  Fauna nodded in confirmation.  Shari walked over to the balcony railing and looked down.  They were there, sure enough.  One was about twenty yards out, the other two about ten feet from the garage.  "Head shot," she said quietly, noting the arrows embedded in the craniums of the three bodies that lay sprawled on the ground.  "Is that what kills them?"

Fauna nodded.  "I think so.  Though to tell you the truth, I didn't even mess around with body shots, so I can't be sure.  I figure a head shot's more likely to take anything down, be it man, animal, or monster.  Plus," she said, grinning, "they always tell you in the zombie movies to go for the head.  Still, I guess some experimentation is in order.  Next ones to come along, I'll go for the heart, see what happens...but I got a hunch says it's head shots we need."

"They all chewed their lips off," Shari observed, squirming and grimacing.

"Yeah," Fauna said, "I guess they got hungry."  She laughed.  "They ain't got the mentality to know any better, or care.  Another thing I realized--I don't think they can see.  The ones I saw yesterday at the campground, they were obviously lookin' around, you could tell.  But it seems they go blind after awhile."

"So...that means they're probably not getting blood flow to their eyes?" Shari asked.

Fauna shrugged.  "I guess so.  I couldn't say for sure what's doin' it, but they're blind as a bat, at least if they're not fresh."

"Huh...interesting," Shari said.  "So what do we do with the bodies?  If we leave them there, the smell will most likely make us sick."

"Drag 'em out to the other side of the property for now, I guess.  I'm inclined to say let's burn 'em, but there's still the possibility that they'll get this shit under control, in which case somebody might come lookin' for  the bodies, maybe for documentation or research, or so the surviving family members can bury their dead.  I gotta say, though, I highly doubt that.  Still, if I leave the bodies intact, it covers my ass in the event of that highly unlikely scenario.  I'll hitch 'em to the horses, have them do the dirty work.  Take 'em clear across the property, about 150 acres to the north.  The smell won't bother us there.  Hell, maybe if we're lucky it'll be a warnin' to the next fuckers that try to mess with us," she joked, snickering.

Fauna appeared to be deep in thought, eyes ahead.  She seemed to struggle to articulate her words, attempting to speak three times before she actually got any words out.  "Zombies or not, it don't feel right shootin' a person in the head.  You and  me, we were safe up in the loft.  They did bite one of the horses, but apparently they weren't too dead-set on it.  Just a bite on the neck, not really gouged like what they'd do to one of us.  I don't know if it just didn't like the taste of horse, or if the horse fought back, but for whatever reason, that zombie didn't stick around to finish the job."  She paused.  "Those things...I
know
theyr'e dangerous, I
know
they ain't people no more, I
know
they couldn't be saved.  But still...it don't feel right.  I wish I didn't have to do it."

Shari stopped and looked her in the eye.  "Don't feel bad, Fauna.  They were goners before you shot them.  These are desperate times, and desperate times call for--"

"Desperate measures,yeah," Fauna finished, frowning and looking over at the bodies.  "Besides, you're right.  Some of these injuries are real horrific. You don't heal a jugular that's shredded and torn that bad. Ain't none of these people coming back to life, even if you give 'em the zombie antidote, and that's if they ever even come up with such a thing.  Sounds ridiculous to me, personally.  And we've yet to see what happens if you get bit and it's a non-life threatening injury.  I guess in theory, if somebody just got scratched or grazed, they might still turn into a zombie eventually.  And if that was the case, maybe those ones could be cured...as long as they haven't died yet, that is.  We just don't know enough about this yet. That old man back at the campground, he could've already been walkin' around with a bite for all I know, doin' like a lot of people and cleanin' it then not thinkin' too much about it.  Maybe not even tell no one about it.  Or could it be he died of a heart attack, no bite involved, then got back up?  We won't know the answer to that question 'til we see someone die of natural causes...or at least not anythin' zombie-related...and see if they get back up or not."  She shook her head.  "Not knowin' the answers to these questions is real troublesome.  But how many people are sittin' around at the CDC, or some lab somewhere, tryin' to figure this shit out?  Probably not a lot.  And at any rate, even if someone finds a cure, I doubt there's any infrastructure left of the government, or society in general.  Who's gonna take charge and clean this up, and go door to door distributin' a cure?  Anyone higher up in the government is doubtless hidin' their sorry asses in a bunker somewhere.  Can hardly blame 'em, really.  Hell, for all any of us know, they could be on a spaceship headed for some other planet untouched by any of this.  Nothin' would surprise me at this point."  She rubbed her face vigorously, as if to snap herself out of a particularly gripping daydream.  "There's no point even speculatin' about any of that.  The point is, even once people can begin to come out of hidin' again, it's gonna be a  lawless world.  Too much has gone to shit way too fast for it to be any other way.  It's gonna be the Wild West everywhere you go.  Ain't nobody comin' out to make the world right."

"Maybe it's local, or at least just regional," Shari offered hopefully.

"Let's think about this for a second, darlin'.  How many planes do you think leave every day just from our little regional airport?  Now, they couldn't have known in the earliest stages of this to inspect every damn person gettin' onto the plane, see if they've been bit, not when it was before most of us had any inklin' that this shit was even happenin'.  And not everyone who
was
bit is gonna go flappin' their jaw to every stranger they come across, talkin' 'bout, 'Some crazy fuckin' chucklehead bit me!'  If it's not a gushin' wound, most of them might go to the ER, get disinfected, maybe get some bloodwork sent in to make sure they didn't contract HIV, and go about their business, even if that business includes gettin' on a plane.  Now, I'm sure once the ER has had enough cases of people bein' bit by other people, they probably started to admit some of those people, tell 'em they weren't allowed to go home yet.  At some point, they got some realization that it's an epidemic, or at least some kind of mass hysteria, and they wanted to contain it.  But that point, evidently, came too late.  Even if a handful of people got on those planes, who knows what corners of the country, or the world, they wound up on?  Now take that little dinky airport, and imagine it's O'Hare, La Guardia, LAX, DeGaulle?  It just gets more dire the more you think about it.  And these ain't no
Night of the Living Dead
, 'I'm gonna lumber up to you real slow'-types zombies, these some  'I'm gonna run like I don't care if I rip every tendon and ligament and muscle in my body'-type zombies."  She sighed.  "And you're assumin' it's an outbreak.  You're forgettin' one very important detail I remember mentionin' yesterday...that they were reportin' it the world over.  Don't get me wrong, this shit is bound to spread like wildfire...wildfire that seemed to pop up around the globe all at once." 

Shari snickered.  "And there have been all those fake zombie invasions lately."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Have you seen that on the news?  People have been getting professional makeup artists, the kind they have for the movies, and having people go out into the streets in major cities, pretending to be zombies.  They go up to people trying to scare them for fun, you know, make a video and put it on the internet."  She smirked.  "I don't know how all those jokesters managed to avoid getting their heads bashed in, or shot.  With all the zombie lore popping up in the media for the past forty years or so, you'd think somebody would get a little hasty and take one out before they realized it was a joke.  But I always wondered if it would have a 'boy who cried wolf' effect.  I mean, I didn't  think it was too likely real zombies would ever show up, but what if they did?  Would people laugh, try and put their arm around the zombie so their friend could take a picture, before they got their throat ripped out?"

"Oh, I guarantee it's happened," Fauna said, grinning darkly.

"'OMG, that's hilarious!'" Shari exclaimed obnoxiously, morphing at once into a vapid airhead.  "'Your make-up is super-realistic.  It looks just like your mandible has been torn off!  How on earth did they do that?  Oh wow, it feels
just
like you tore my throat open!  So cool.  I can't wait to put this on Facebook!"

Fauna stopped and pointed.  "Here we are, the stream that marks the boundary between my property and the Jensens'.  This is where we dump 'em."

They untied the dead from the horse and started back south toward the house and garage.

"I know this should be the least of my worries, but I can't stop thinking about the date I was supposed to go on next Friday," Shari said.  "This guy named Tim...tall, masculine, easy to get along with.  I wonder what happened to him..."  She spaced out for a moment, staring absent-mindedly into thin air, then snapped back into the present reality.  "It was our third date, and I think I'd have gotten some."  She looked at Fauna, and they both laughed.  "Am I wrong for thinking of sex at a time like this?"

"No, I think it's only natural.  When we're afraid we might die, our reproductive instinct kicks into high gear.  Our libido doesn't understand the danger of bein' pregnant in a world like this, or for that matter, bein' a frickin'
infant
in a world like this.  We feel our personal survival may be threatened,  and next thing we know, we're bombarded with unconscious thoughts of survival of the species.  Our collective consciousness's way of makin' sure that we survive as a species, I suppose.  Make sure there's always some new people to take the place of all the ones who are dyin'."

"I didn't know you were into psychology!" Shari teased, grinning.

"What, you think a plain-spoken country girl can't be well-read?" Fauna said, grinning back.

"No, I just didn't know, that's all."  Shari stopped for a second to pick a wild rose growing up an ancient piece of fence.  She tucked it into her hair, which was secured in a ponytail at the top of her head.  "I like that stuff, myself.  I'm kind of a bookworm.  I guess it makes sense that I wound up being a librarian."

"Don't let the cowgirl facade fool you, I've got a good collection of books myself.  1,342, at last count.  All subjects, too...fiction, reference.  Lots of science, some different kinds of theology.  And yes, some psychology.  A couple hundred books up in the loft too, in case you didn't notice."

"I didn't know you had that many up there," Shari said.  "I'll have to have a look later, see if I see anything of interest.  I have a feeling we'll be spending a lot of time up in that loft, probably get bored out of our minds."  They walked on in silence for a moment.  "So how did you get to be so skilled at survival?"

"Learned a lot of it from my daddy and granddaddy," Fauna responded.  "Spent a lotta time with 'em, campin' out, bowhuntin', fishin'.  Learned a lotta useful skills, like how to make a homemade bow, how to follow tracks, what plants in the wild are useful or edible, and which ones'll kill the shit outta you.  Me and my husband Mitchell, we share a lotta the same interests, too.  Met on a survival tour here in Kentucky."  She gazed off into the distance absently.  "That man knows how to handle himself.  I'm sure, wherever he is, he'll be alright.  Our whole lives, we've been preparin' ourselves for somethin' like this.  Not zombies, per se, but our whole philosophy on life has always been that, well...you gotta be prepared for
any
thin'.  That way, nothin' can take you by surprise.'"

They approached the garage.  "So when are you going to give me this bow lesson you were talking about?" Shari asked as they entered the building and climbed up to the loft..

"To be honest, I think I'm ready for that nap I mentioned last night.  You mind keepin' an eye out while I'm asleep?  We'll get some target practice in after that."

"Yeah, sure."

"Just wake me up if you see anything."

"Will do," Shari replied as Fauna flopped down onto the bed, setting her bow down on the blanket chest.  She decided to look through the collection of books before she headed out to the balcony to keep watch.  She found the large, double-sided bookcase in the far corner of the room opposite the bed.  She gazed at the titles on the spines.  There were books on astronomy, physics, automotive repair.  There was a lot of reference.  A volume on ham radio caught her eye. 
This might be useful at some point,
she thought, her mind flashing back to the radio setup she had seen in Fauna's garage
. 
She went out, book in hand, to sit on the balcony lounger.  She was about twenty pages in when she heard a vehicle tearing down the road and into the driveway, and then a commotion near the house.  She went back into the loft to look out the window where she had a better view of the front porch, and her face went pale.  She ran over to the bed and shook Fauna awake.