The Remnants of Yesterday (7 page)

19

EMILY SAW IT FIRST, A curl of dense smoke wafting up from beyond a cluster of tall trees.

We’d been following a narrow dirt road for what seemed like forever, chatting sporadically, but mostly wallowing in our own thoughts. After the events at the college, it seemed we were all left a little shell-shocked. It wasn’t every day you saw a person ripped to shreds in front of you, after all.

“Maybe it’s a campfire,” Emily said. “There might be people.”

“They might have real food that isn’t candy bars.” Clara added. “I’m so hungry. What I wouldn’t give for one of those gas station hot dogs now, piled high with chili and melted cheese.”

“Ew.” Emily wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.” Clara retorted.

“I have tried it. Why do you think I said gross?”

“I don’t think it’s a campfire.” I had been watching the smoke as we drew closer, and there appeared to be too much for something as innocuous as a campfire.

“Please tell me it’s not another burned car,” Clara said.

“It’s not a car either,” I replied. We were approaching the trees, drawing closer to the source of the smoke, and now I could see what it was. So could the others.

“A house,” Clara said.

“At least it was a house before someone torched it.” Emily slowed down, her eyes riveted on the smoldering structure.

“More like a farm.” Beyond the destroyed house, I could see a patchwork of neatly tended fields separated by hedgerows. A path snaked back from the road to a large red barn that stood about a hundred feet away. A green tractor was out front, and along the side of the barn were several pieces of equipment I could not identify.

“What do you think happened?”

“Who knows? Maybe Crazies.” I could see it all in my head, playing out like some bad movie. Mom in the kitchen cooking a meal ready for her husband when he comes home from the fields, the kids up in the bedroom playing with their Nintendo, or on the computer. And then it happens. The headache. The blackout. Maybe the kids vanish like so many people seem to have done, or maybe they come down with a bad case of the Crazies. Mom, in the kitchen, has the gas going, pots on the stove and a roast in the oven, only now she’s nuttier than a bag of almonds. She flails around, confused, bumping into things, knocking stuff over onto the stove, and the open flame. It only takes a moment to catch something alight. The rest, as they say, is history.

“What if there are Crazies still here?” A look of panic crossed Emily’s face.

“I don’t think there is.” I reasoned. By now we had reached the path leading to the barn, and there was no sign of life. “They probably burned up in the house if there were any.”

“I hope you’re right.” Clara eyed the tire iron.

“So do I.” Now that I thought about it, I was not so sure.

“Shame it burned,” Clara said. “Would have made a great place to stop for the night.”

“We could stay there.” Emily nodded toward the red barn.

“The barn?”

“Why not.”

“It does make sense,” I said. “There might not be another house for miles, and it’s starting to get dark.”

Clara didn’t look convinced.

“Come on, let’s just check it out, and if it looks too bad, we’ll move on.”

“Fine.” Clara stepped off the road onto the path.

At that moment, the barn door opened and a figure stepped out with a shotgun slung over one arm.

I froze.

Clara gripped my arm.

“That’s far enough,” said the figure in a deep bass voice. He raised the gun and aimed it directly toward us. “If you take one more step, it’ll be your last.”

20

I POSITIONED MYSELF in front of the girls, acutely aware of the muzzle pointed at my chest. “We’re not looking for any trouble.”

“You can talk.” A look of relief passed across the stranger’s face. Even so, he kept the gun leveled on us. “You’re normal.”

“We are.” I had never been on the receiving end of a gun before, and it was not a nice feeling. “Please, don’t shoot.”

“What’s your business here?”

“We’re just looking for somewhere to stay for the night. We saw the barn and thought it might be a safe place to hole up.” I still clutched the tire iron. Deciding it was best to look harmless, I placed it on the ground. “See, we’re not armed.”

“This here is my place. I got to it first.” The stranger said, his eyes never straying from us. “Y’all need to move on, armed or not.”

“We’ve been walking for hours.” I pleaded.

“Not my problem son.”

Clara stepped out from behind me. “Please, we’ve been through so much. I can’t go any further. We’ll be on our way first thing in the morning. I promise.”

“First thing, eh?”

“Yes. You have my word.” She nodded.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t,” Clara said. “But you’re the one with the gun, not us.”

“Good point young lady.” He finally lowered the weapon, much to my relief. “You don’t have any of those zombie things on your tail I assume?”

“No,” I replied. “We ran into a bunch of them earlier today, but we gave them the slip.”

“At least most of us did,” Emily said, under her breath.

“Ah hell, I might regret this later, but you better get in here.” He motioned to us, speaking again when we didn’t move fast enough. “Hurry up then. Before I change my damn mind.”

21

TWO KEROSENE LAMPS lighted the barn with a soft yellow glow. Several hay bales were arranged like bench seats around a camping stove. A pot of what looked like soup bubbled away on top. It smelled so good that for a moment I almost forgot about our situation.

“Name’s Clay. Clay Norton.” Our host said, perching himself on one of the bales. He propped up the shotgun, keeping it within easy reach.

“Hayden Stone,” I said, offering Clay my hand. He looked at it for a moment as if deciding if I was worthy of a handshake, then grasped it and squeezed, the force of his grip almost crushing my fingers.

“Pleased to meet you Hayden.” Clay said, releasing me.

“This is Clara.” I rubbed my sore palm. “And Emily.”

“You’re a lucky chap, travelling with a pair of beautiful girls like these. Yes sir, lucky indeed.”

“Thanks.” I eyed him, wondering if he was going to be trouble.

“Don’t look at me like that boy.” Clay said. “I’m not gonna cause you any grief. Unless you start something first, that is.”

“We’re not.” I wished I’d retrieved the tire iron, but it was too late now.

“Alright then. You kids hungry? I got some chicken soup cooking and there’s bread in that pack over there.” He nodded toward a frame backpack near the door, the serious kind with metal supports, wide cushioned straps for hiking, and space for supplies, clothes and even a sleeping bag. “It’s not much, but you’re welcome to share it with me.”

“Thank you.” I let the girls sit down, and then positioned myself between them and Clay.

“You want a beer?”

“You have beer?” I said. “I’d kill for a beer.”

“Me too,” Clara said.

Emily nodded.

“Don’t joke.” Clay stood and went to the backpack, pulling out a loaf of sandwich bread. He reached behind the pack and lifted a six-pack. “I did kill for these here beers.”

“You killed someone for a six-pack of beer?” Clara edged closer to me.

“Nah. More like four or five someone’s.” Clay said matter-of-factly. Then, seeing the look on our faces, he added. “Don’t fret yourselves. It was zombies, and they were trying to make me into their lunch.”

“Just how many people have you killed in the last twenty-four hours?” I asked. It seemed to me that Clay was a little trigger-happy.

“A few.” Clay passed the beers around. We each took one. “There was the group in the supermarket where I found the beer. I bagged another two up by the farmhouse.”

“The burned one?”

“The same.” He picked up four plastic throwaway cups and ladled soup into them, then handed one to each of us, keeping the fourth for himself. “Sorry about the choice of dinnerware, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“It’s fine. I’m just happy to eat something other than chocolate,” I said. “So what happened to the house?”

“Don’t know. It was like that when I got here.” He twisted the cap off his beer and took a swig, smacking his lips in satisfaction. “Shame really, would have been more comfortable than this place.”

“Anything is better than spending the night outside.” Clara ate her soup, dunking the thin sliced bread into the liquid and munching with vigor.

“Damn straight.” Clay said. “Too many zombies running around out there.”

“I wouldn’t really describe them as zombies.” He’d called them that a few times now. It seemed a little dramatic.

“Well what in the hell do you call them son?”

“Crazies.”

“That’s a piss poor name.” He finished his soup, and then helped himself to another beer. “Crazy don’t eat people. Eatin’ folk is a zombie thing and that’s all there is too it.”

“So what, you’re some kind of an overnight expert on this stuff?” I said.

“Reckon so.”

“Let me guess. Because you go to Comicon every year?”

“No son, because I watched a gaggle of em’ chew up some poor gal like she was their dinner buffet.”

“Yeah. Well join the club.” An image of Rob, his arms reaching out for help, as he was pulled screaming into the throng raced through my mind.

“And because I put a bullet in the brain of every last one of them.”

“I thought you said you only killed two groups. One at the grocery store, the other at the farmhouse.”

“I did. I watched them eat that poor woman, then I popped em’ all before I went shopping.”

“You let them tear her apart and didn’t do anything?”

“She was dead the moment they got their hands on her. Better they do the job quick than leave her to bleed out.”

“Seems to me a bullet would have done the job quicker,” I replied.

“I ain’t no murderer son. Zombies are one thing, normal folk, well that’s another kettle of fish.”

“I was just saying…”

“Well don’t.” Clay sipped his beer. “Killing a person is something you have to live with a very long time.”

“Still, it would have been better to shoot her than let her get torn apart.”

“Back seat driver huh?” Clay smiled, although there was no mirth to the gesture. “You wait until you have to make that choice, then we’ll see.”

Emily sprang to her feet. “Stop it.” She looked from me to Clay, her eyes wet with tears. “That’s horrible. I don’t want to listen to stuff like that.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” I reached out and took her hand, pulling her back down. “We won’t talk about it any more.”

“Good.” She looked pale.

”I’m sorry.” I met her gaze.

Clay looked down at the ground, ashamed. “Yeah. What he said.”

“Thank you.” Clara downed the last of her beer and pushed the bottle into the dirt. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I just want today to be over with. I think I’m going to find somewhere to lay my head and put it behind me.”

22

I SLEPT FITFULLY, drifting in and out of consciousness. Our accommodations were better than the previous night, but just barely. Clara pulled one of the bales of hay to the back of the barn and spread it on the floor, creating a mattress of sorts, then put her pack under head as a makeshift pillow. This seemed like a good idea, so both Emily and myself followed suit, all three of us sharing the same space. Clay opted to sleep near the barn door, his shotgun resting in one arm. I wasn’t sure if he was afraid of zombies, as he called them, or if he thought we might incapacitate him while he slept and steal his meager possessions.

Normally a beer would relax me enough to fall asleep easily, but not tonight. It was hardly surprising after what I had witnessed in the last twenty-four hours. Judging from Emily’s unsettled tossing and turning, she was suffering from a similar affliction. Clara fell into a deep sleep almost immediately, which I envied.

Eventually my body won the fight with my mind and I fell asleep. I dreamed I was back on the highway, walking among the burned and wrecked vehicles, trucks with their contents spilled across the blacktop, cars crumpled and scorched. There were more bodies here now, and they refused to die despite horrendous injuries. I recoiled, backing away as they dragged themselves closer, broken limbs trailing behind, useless and grotesque. But it was their faces that scared me most, for I knew all of them. My brother and his wife, my parents, both of whom died years before, Clara and Emily, along with most of the other people I had known during my 26 years on the planet. Each hideous creature bore a recognizable face.

There was something else too, something that scared me more than the slowly approaching figures. A blackness hovered behind the crawling corpses. More than a shadow, but less than a shape, it felt threatening and dangerous. I watched as it swept past the disfigured bodies and advanced toward me, features shrouded in dark obscurity. I tried to turn and run, but my feet refused to move. Panic rose from the pit of my stomach and as the blackness reached for me, I began to scream.