The October Light of August (27 page)

“That's what makes it
so bad
,” her sister said, and the tears flowed. So Lori had no choice but to cry as well. They held each other, but could not cry for long. They had been through far, far worse in the last two years, after all, and those scars would be bold and ragged for as long as they lived.

“I just wish,” Ashley said into her chest, “that he could have seen it over there.” She tipped her head east.

Lori nodded her head.

“Me too,” she said.
Maybe he wouldn't have been so...
negative
if he could have seen people living together, helping each other, fighting
for
each other, and not against.

“Dad is going to be pissed we didn't bring him back,” muttered Ashley.

“Dad is pissed anyway,” laughed Lori, and her sister chuckled.

“Mom won't talk to us for years, I bet!”

“Is that so bad?” asked Lori, and they laughed some more.

Yes, they had seen horror. But the unimaginable joy discovering your parents alive at your grandparent's house had...well, not made up for everything they had went through, but it sure helped. Dad walked with a cane now, mom had a patch over her right eye. Neither would talk about their wounds – Lori sensed they would have been embarrassed to after learning what their daughters had gone through to make it home.

“You should see the other guys,” her father had quipped, and would say no more. The attempt at humor could not hide the raw, naked guilt she could read in his eyes. No matter that their parents had raised them to be independent-minded, they had let their babies out of their sight, and look at what in the hell had happened...

We all have our guilt to carry, daddy
, she had thought. But she knew he could never forgive himself for not helping to protect his daughters.

At first wintering in Rathdrum, Idaho, had been kind of heaven. Friends and family were in awe of their journey, and never complained of them waking at night with a shout – it seemed almost everyone did that, too. They took the easier life for granted. Surely, they deserved it? A neighborhood had banded together, fought off the dead – and the living – and seemed to have made it through the worst of the pandemic. It had been what they had hoped for, trudging all those miles across the tracks.

But they had grown restless - it was hard to keep
still
after being on the move for so long. Both of them had insisted on taking shifts patrolling the borders of the neighborhood, doing whatever busy work they were allowed. But staying in one place for so long and not having the pervasive fear always gnawing at them, always keeping them on edge and sharp... It felt wrong. And they felt
guilty
. Dead friends and boyfriends could not be brought back to life, but maybe they could help someone else?

So they had asked to borrow a truck – a quick trip to Spokane and back. Absolutely not, they were told – a waste of gas. They were here. They were safe. They should be happy. Their parents should have remembered throwing down absolutes usually backfired, and so the sisters had filled up their backpacks as their father fumed and pleaded, practically grinding a hole in the floor with his cane. He had threatened to follow them all the way, unarmed and defenseless. They took his cane away from him, and said they would be back before he could crawl a fraction of the way there.

The neighborhood had watched them leave one cold spring morning – following the railroad tracks, naturally. Ashley turned once, and flashed them the peace sign.

A crow dove across the rooftop, silent except for the flapping of its wings. It circled back north and scolded loudly as it spiraled down near the office supply store then shot over to them again, cawing. Others soon joined it, and they settled in the dead trees of the parking lot. Lori moved to the north side of the roof and looked down, but couldn't see any dead down there. Her sister joined her, and they looked out over what was their old world, gray and motionless and soon to merge back into the earth as if it had never been there at all.

The mall –
that
damned thing was still around. Many wasted days were spent there, for sure. The innocent, giggling girls who prowled its stores were gone, but Lori held no contempt for them.
We were only a product of our times. Much like we are now
. This world was dingy and overgrown and deadly. But she could still see glimpses of the old one, and it tugged at her heart so she turned away and stared at their backpacks. A disturbingly sharp yard tool lay on the rooftop next to them.

How they had missed it on their first inspection of the roof Lori didn't know – they were probably just in a hurry, and sloppy. But as they had set up camp, Ashley spotted the spear jammed deeply into the rooftop, as if daring them to draw it out. The only thing that had been missing was a shaft of sunlight spotlighting the damned thing. They had laughed, and walked over to it.

“Who so pulleth out this – damn it, Ash!” Her sister had snatched the spear from the roof before Lori could finish intoning her speech.

“Dibs!” Ashley had laughed.

“Okay, grabby,” Lori had muttered, then laughed. “I guess that makes you the rightwise queen of all...” She had waved her hand absently, but didn't finish the remark.

Lori gazed at the spear with a new perspective, and smiled tiredly.

“So,” she said. “What's the plan?”

Ashley shrugged.

“We heading back to Idaho?”

“Not a whole lot else to do,” Ashley said, shrugging again.

“Oh, I don't know,” Lori replied. “We can take the long way home, at least.” She tipped her head south. “See what's across the river?”

“
Maybe
,” her sister said, “we can plant a flag?”

They both grinned wickedly.

Postscript

Zack studied the girls on the roof, and licked his lips. Damn, he was hungry. He had followed them yesterday, but was scared. They were heavily armed – he could see that – and he was down to his last two rounds. Precious, precious bullets...

When he and Nick had emptied the gun safe, they had thought they had all the arms in the world. Two AR-15s, the M1 the bitch had dropped into their laps, a .30-06 and Jesus - more handguns than they could pack. Now...he was down to just a 9 mm and two fucking rounds. He was lucky the dead-heads were so sparse up here, and easily avoided. Weak as he was, he could still out run a dead-head...

He shook his head, and tried to stay focused. He knew he could ambush these chicks - two quick pops – and they were his. But he was scared. No goddamnit – he was
careful
. Big difference. He looked around nervously. He was crouched under a burnt-out trailer at the loading dock behind the office supply store. They couldn't see him, he was sure. Didn't know he was there at all! The crows did, though, the little bastards...

But the girls ignored the crows. Jesus, they looked fat and healthy. Well, as fat as you could be these days! He shook his head bitterly. How come
they
had it made? It wasn't right, goddamnit. Not right at all. Two girls, strutting around as if they owned the whole world. They probably wiggled their asses up to some guy, sucked him off and then slit his throat. Took his stuff. Shit, they probably didn't know how to use those guns!

Jackie did though
.

The thought bubbled up and popped in his head, and he flinched. Jackie burned up, he was certain of it. Nothing of her house was left – the gun safe had fallen into the basement! He wasn't sure why he had returned to the house. He and Nick had taken all the guns. But maybe they had missed something, and maybe her house hadn't burned. But it had. He wondered if Mike cooked in the safe, or if their little trap had sprung him loose. It had been a long shot. He wondered what had happened to Jesse. Jackie, though... he hoped she burned. Or got eaten by Mike – that would have been
hilarious
...

The crows flew over him, calling loudly and he sneered at them. “They don't pay attention to you,” he whispered, and they flew up to the roof to land, muttering quietly.

The girls disappeared from view, and Zack's heart fluttered. He should go now! Wait by the back door, they step out – pop-pop! But there was a lot of open ground to cover, and it made him nervous. The battle at the falls had taught him that. Nick's head had exploded right next to him – right fucking
next
to him! Zack had wondered if Jackie's bullet had finally caught up with Nick – or if Nick had caught up with it. And then the dead had attacked from the rear – from behind, goddamnit! The
rear
sounded so
queer
. He giggled.

Zack inched forward, and stopped. A lot of ground to cover, and no river to sweep him away. He should have drowned, but he was a strong swimmer. Jesus, he had been ripped, hadn't he? A fucking
God
.

A strong swimmer, and a whole lot of luck
.

He flinched again. Bullshit! A strong swimmer was a strong
winner
, and winners didn't need luck.

Look at you now, though
.

Zack slapped his head until he was dizzy. Focus!

A year and a half on the wrong side of the river and you may as well be one of the dead-heads, you're so wasted!

He whimpered, and fought back tears. Just shut up!

They caught you and threw you in jail, fed you once in awhile...

“And I got away!” he cried, “And took a gun with me, so fuck the hell right
off
!”

Shit
. Zack hunkered down and peered from under the trailer. The crows took off in a rush, screaming at the world.

“It was them. They said it,” he mumbled, and was satisfied.

A lot of ground to cover. But he could do it, goddamnit. He
would
do it. He was a winner. A swimmer-winner. Zack scooted out from under the ruined trailer and darted over to the sporting goods store, creeping along the back of it until he crouched at the far corner. A car port blocked his view of the top of the office building, but he listened hard.

Just get to the back door and wait. Take 'em in the back door!
He giggled. Damn, he was funny
.

But right now he needed to
focus.
He stood, stepped boldly forward, and a movement to his left made him gasp – a dead-head nearly blocked his way. Jesus! Where did he come from? He had
looked
, damn it!

Zack whimpered, and stepped back, fumbling for the 9 mm in his jacket pocket. He tried to pull it out, but small hands were digging their way across the front of his Floyd t-shirt and he couldn't reach the gun – his left arm was pinned to his side, pushing the jacket pocket out of reach. For a moment he wondered where the extra arms came from, thinking that they had grown right out of him, but the pain in his shoulder as he was bitten brought a clarity of thought he hadn't had in some time and he tried to shriek, but only a strangled croak came out. A dead-head had grabbed him from behind – the rear was queer! But that wasn't very funny now. Not at all.

He stumbled as a weight grew on his back, and turned his head to see strings of dirty blond hair in his face, and then teeth ripped into his throat. He staggered, a leg in filthy gray fleece wrapped around his left thigh, and he went down. He tried rolling onto his back, but the dead-head clung to him with the tenacity of a pit bull and he just wasn't strong enough. He whimpered again.

It's not fair – why are the chicks so goddamned
mean
these days?

She gnawed at his neck, and as he rolled his eyes up he saw the other dead-head standing over him. Its left hand was wrapped in filthy bandages, and it wore a dorky vest – looked like something an old man would wear fishing! The dead-head's beard was tangled and wild, the hair on its head cut ragged and short. And Zack would swear to
God
it was grinning.

Crows flew in arcs behind the dead man, calling rudely as Zack's lifeblood drained onto the pavement. The dead-head leaned over, grinning, grinning, grinning. Then it lurched forward and down, its face filling his field of view until the last thing Zack saw was the mouth spreading, opening, the grin growing wider and wider until the only thing left to see was teeth.

Acknowledgements

Even if you're not a
huge
fan of the zombie genre (I wouldn't call myself one, really), if you're a geek, then you have some kind of a zombie story in you. Sure, debates rage on the best fortifications and weapons for the coming zombie apocalypse (why do we feel in our hearts that it is coming, I wonder?), but any card-caring geek worth his or her credentials wonders what he or she would do when the spit hits the Spam. This was my version. I think there's plenty of stories left in my particular universe – the sisters certainly would be miffed if their's never made it out someday, I bet.

I think we all owe a debt to George A. Romero for kick-starting this genre, and many thanks to him for giving us this playground. I still don't think the shock has worn off from watching
Dawn of the Dead
way back in 1979.

I guess a major character of this book is the city itself – Spokane, Washington. I deliberately withheld naming it outright until the very end for a few reasons. I felt that Artie would assume whoever was reading his journal would know they were in Spokane already. Another was that if you're from Spokane, I kind of wanted it to reveal itself to you. I find it fun when I'm reading something and it dawns on me I'm familiar with the location. There are plenty of landmarks Artie explores that are real locations, and others that aren't so real. His mom's house, as well as Jackie's and Mrs. Clarke's, don't exist, and even the style of houses don't really fit what's in that immediate area. The big garage off of Post St. is likewise a fiction. Also, my apologies to the good people of the South Hill. This book is largely about perceptions, whether they're true or not. Both sides of the river have misconceptions of each other, I think, but we're all in the same city, so very isolated way out here in the wild east end of Washington...