The Zom Diary (30 page)
He looks at me. “Yeah, I’m ok.”
“Can you feel it anymore?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I turn back to the fire and collect my stuff.
“I’m heading in. My legs are still killing me from the climb and tomorrow is going to be busy. Can you make sure to lock up when you come in?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”
I trod over to the barn and duck into the big room. I see an old bottle on the work table and grab it. I step back out and work the pump for a minute until the water is really, really cold, then fill it up. I grab it and watch as Bryce passes me, before closing the door and securing it with the bar.
Bryce is already asleep on the couch when I walk through and so I kill the lamp. I climb up to the loft and pull up the ladder behind me. I’m beat.
Rolling onto my bed, I set the Glock at arm’s reach from the mattress. It’s dark. In my mind, I imagine shapes coalescing in the darkness and then disappearing. At some point, I drift to sleep.
One image stays with me as I drift however, the prophet’s face, ruined, sagging froglike before that subterranean pool. It changes as I watch. The burst skull reforms, with only black seams to show the prior damage. Hands caress his hair, and when they come away, his locks are now slick and black. Black drool runs from the corners of his mouth and eyes flutter open; glassy, black, and casting back my own reflection.
I wake up, gasping for breath. I must have rolled onto my face or something. Yet my throat feels tight and sore. I wonder, after Bryce’s dream the night before, and drift back again to sleep, puzzled by the experience.
Chapter 30
Dawn breaks with the slow dance of sun dapples. A fruit fly, small and brilliantly reflecting blue-green light from its metallic carapace, dips and settles on the corner of my mouth. Others join him in some demented mating dance, incensed to a mad frenzy by the drying fruit juices trapped in and around my flowing beard.
My hand swats at them, an act separate of my consciousness. The act rallies my remaining senses and startles me to wakefulness. I taste fly bits, though I don’t know it.
Blinking my eyes, the world comes into focus, only to be pushed out of my active thoughts by a brutish hangover that had been waiting next to the bed for me to wake.
“God bless you, Kyle.” I mutter softly to myself. Not for the first time, I wonder about my mortality and undeserved knack for survival. My best trick. No vomit-choked death for this puppy.
A voice calls up through the open space, “What’s going on up there?! Keep it down!”
Shaking my head, I roll off my mat and get dressed, boot shod, and gun holstered. Stepping up to the rail, I peek over at Bryce’s form still lying on the couch. He has his arm draped over his face, as if to hide from the day. I pour a splash from the jug, aiming for his face. I hear curses.
He rolls off the couch and bangs his head on the table leg. I call down to him, “Good morning.”
I walk softly over to my meditative space and seat myself in the lotus position. Sun patches strike my knees and warm my hands. I clear my mind and ignore the sounds of Bryce muttering and moving below.
My mind is still. No intrusive pressures of undead minds, no errant thoughts. Just stillness. I am a vessel for the air surrounding me. Something bounces off my shoulder and clatters to the floor. My eyes open, spell broken.
“Asshole.”
I let the ladder down and descend to the big room. I pause as I pass the couch and wipe at some drops of water. Turning, I enter the storeroom and grab the can of .45 auto.
I hear the well pump creaking, and as I step outside, I am greeted by a bright morning, small yellow butterflies pass me in a swirl, and Bryce is washing his face. When he is done, I pump some water for myself. He stalks off into the trees, past the still smoking ash of the fire pit. I walk over and grab a seat, rubbing my eyes. Bryce returns with an armload of fruit and aims a pear at my head. I catch it.
“Thanks.”
Bryce joins me across the fire in the same seat as last night. He bites an apple and chews while he speaks, “Are you ready to head to town today?”
“Yes. As soon as we’re packed up.”
“Right.”
I take a bite of the pear and chew it, even though it is so soft I really don’t need to. I carry it with me over to where we had both shot at the zombie last night. Bending over, I collect the spent glock clip and wipe dew from it. The ground is littered with brass; it sparkles in the sun.
I carry the clip back to my seat and start to fill it with rounds from the old tin coffee can. Bryce pipes up, making me lose count, “You see anything over there?”
“No, but I haven’t really looked, let’s check it out.”
I toss the remains of the pear onto the grass and walk over to the woods. Bryce follows, still eating his apple. I inspect the trees as we pass them. Nasty bullet holes, but nothing they can’t survive. I continue, stepping over some splattered fruit and fallen branches.
No sign of a body.
Bryce and I exchange puzzled looks, but after a long search, we both come up with nothing. No corpse, no blood, no footprints. Nothing.
“That’s strange.”
My thoughts exactly
“What do you make of this, Bryce? False alarm? Or, has someone cleaned up while we slept?”
Bryce is silent, kneeling next to a tree that we had both assumed hid a lurking foe last night. He tosses a ruined orange and stands, turning to me, “I don’t know. Could we have imagined it? I mean, both of us? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, it’s not here now. Let’s get our stuff.”
“Right.” He seems troubled by the lack of any physical evidence of our phantom visitor. I am too.
Back at the barn, I stuff some essentials in my pack and lock up. Bryce borrows an AK and loads up his .308 from the store of ammo in my closet. He wants to ride shotty again and pick off any zoms along the way. Sure.
I’m topping off the gas and giving the truck a once over, when Bryce reminds me of something. He’s wiping the windshield with an old rag and examining the wipers. His comment catches me off guard.
“When are you going to see that boy and bring back those bones?”
I pause and set the gas can down, “I was hoping to do it after we blow the tunnel. That’s all I can think about right now. Besides, I think I might have misplaced the bones. They’re back in Salem, somewhere, I know that”
“Yeah, I stashed them at my place, so that’s not a problem. Kyle, it won’t take more than ten minutes. I can take you out there, if you are worried…”
I turn back to the tank, a little queasy from fumes, “It’s not that. Let me do it when I’m ready, ok?”
“What if you don’t make it back from all this? That kid deserves an explanation from you, don’t you think?”
“Another week won’t matter. And, I will be back, don’t you worry about that.”
“I hope so.”
The conversation ends, thankfully. I keep telling myself that dealing with those bones won’t be a big deal, but each time I think on it, my heart jolts a little bit, electric adrenaline anxiety pulses… damn. I push these feelings somewhere deep in my psyche and stomp on them. They join the remnants of other small and large guilts, so much like the pit out beyond the orchard heaped with corpses. I have only time to forget these things… forget and move on. But this set of bones won’t go down.
Once the truck is ready, I back out and Bryce closes the doors. I wait for him to jump into the back of the truck before pulling out and onto the road. I have a quick thought of visiting Nathan’s place, but I am not alone and respect his wish for privacy. A hard thing to hang onto once people know you’re out there, as I am learning to my sorrow.
We travel down the road.
Bryce pounds the roof as we near the green sedan, driver inside, still reaching, for us—for someone. I stop the truck, and he calls out to me, “How long are you going to leave this guy like this?”
I call back, “Don’t waste your ammo. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Whatever.”
I put the truck in drive and pass the car, peeking in on my little science experiment. Someday buddy, but not today. I feel another presence beyond the one in the car, ahead and on the right, moving toward us. I slow as we get closer. I can’t see it, but from Bryce’s perch, he must be able to. The rifle goes off and a casing rolls down the windshield and pings off the hood.
I shout out the window, “Get him?”
“Yeah.”
The rest of the drive is rather uneventful. It’s odd to see the burnt patch up close. Bryce is right; this was pretty reckless on my part. Fuck if I care. What’s done is done. Maybe that’s what I’ll tell this kid. Short. Simple. “Sorry kid, what’s done is done.” Drop the bones and leave. It could have been worse for him, right?
Around noon I see the wall of Salem and take a right, circling the town to get to the gate. We pass a lot of boarded up homes and shops. I still wonder about the symbols painted on the doors, reminiscent of FEMA search codes that I had seen after Katrina. Some kind of scavenger hobo-code?
I don’t recognize the guy at the gate, but he sees Bryce and opens up for us. My eyes linger on a fresh burn pile, maybe twenty yards to the right of the gate. Remnants from the zom-mob from the past week. How many in that pile were homesteaders?
Once the gate closes behind us, I pull down the street and pull a u-turn, parking in front of the library. I cut the engine and revel in the quiet. The truck shakes when Bryce hops down, boots clacking on the pavement.
He comes around to my window. “You want to come in?”
“Nah, go find Molly. I’ll be at Silas’ place. You want me to keep quiet about our trip, or what?”
“You can tell him about what happened. In fact, I’d like his help, but tell him to keep it to himself. I don’t want to worry folks.”
“Got it. See ya later.”
He turns and trots up the steps to the library fetching a key from somewhere and going inside. I grab the keys from the truck and cut diagonal across the street to Silas’. It’s early afternoon, but there are already a couple guys at a table by the door, drinking dark beer from a pair of growlers. They look me over and go back to their drink. The box is playing something quiet and reminiscent of country and western. I can only make out the slide guitar. I blink in the sudden darkness of the room, dim despite the sun outside. Silas is leaning behind the bar, head resting on his arms in front of him; he straitens himself and nods when I walk over.
“Long time, friend, where’s my soap?”
Shit.
“Sorry, man, I forgot. It’s been a crazy week.”
He shakes his head and pulls out a glass for me. “Tell me about it.”
I watch him pour, and I take a sip. “Yeah, I heard you guys had a rough time here.”
“Rough time?” he sucks at his teeth, “that asshole got people killed, not to mention scaring the ever loving shit out of me. I was ready for the morning market rush, and somebody comes banging on my door. I thought maybe it was some early drunk and then in lumbers some dead pieces of shit, all trying to make breakfast of me. I’ve never run so fast.”
He pauses for the first breath since starting, and continues, not missing a beat. “Course I didn’t want to grease them in here, too messy, so I grab my 12 gage and try to lead them out back. Guess who’s out back?”
He waits for me, so I guess, “Uh, more dead people?”
“No! that damn cave-bitch, about to torch the whole fucking town. So, yeah, I crack her once over the head and shoot the zoms out in the alley.” He points behind him, over his shoulder…”and drag that crazy bitch back inside. Meanwhile, all hell breaks loose, but you’ve heard about that, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, Bryce told me some. I take it that kid didn’t make it?”
Silas puts his hand on my arm and looks past me, then, softer, “Hey, not so loud, that’s his dad and uncle out front. Been at drinking for a whole week. Won’t stop talking about going after that punk-ass. Did you guys find him?”
I take a long sip of my beer. It’s dark brown ale. Where the hell does Silas get the supplies to brew this stuff?
I reply, in a whisper, leaning close, even though I don’t think anyone can hear, “Yes. He’s dead. Really dead.”
Who got to him? Must have been you, Bryce would have brought him back.”
“Neither. He killed himself. It’s a long story, but I think I’m figuring out why I get so much foot traffic out my way. Well, maybe not why, but now I know where they all are headed.”
Silas’ eyes narrow and he nods, obviously Bryce keeps him in the loop.
“The desert?”
“Yeah, some kind of cave or something; that’s where they go. Bryce wants to go back and destroy it.”
“Explosives?”
“Yeah.”
A smile creeps across his face then disappears behind it. “You guys need to go see Dirty, he’s the man with the plan as far as bombs go.”
“Dirty?”
“That’s what we call him. Bryce will know where to go. Good luck.”
“You don’t want to go?”
He laughs, “Gee, can I really go to the fucking cave of death with y’all, strapped with bombs? Out in the desert? No, thanks. I have too much on my plate here. I’ll have a cold one waiting for you if you get back.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. That’s what I do. Hospitality. I’ll let you and Bryce have all the fun.”
“Yeah…”
I polish off my pint, and Silas starts to pour another, but I hold up my hand.
“No. Thanks. Bryce will be here soon; we’re in a hurry to get this done.”
“Alright, don’t be sore. Anyway, here he is.”
I turn to the sound of the jangling door chimes and see Bryce’s silhouette enter the room. Molly is with him, looking furious. I get up and meet them in the middle of the bar. The box starts to play some forgotten punk song at a woefully low volume.
“Kyle, good. You ready to get moving?”
“Yeah, sure. Hi, Molly”
She pauses from scowling at Bryce’s back to smile at me. “Hi Kyle.” And then scowling again. Bryce ignores her.
“You talk to Silas?”
“Yes, he’s out. Says we should go see someone named, Dirty, about getting our bomb.”
