Zombie D.O.A. (42 page)

“What is the deal with Kelly?” Yonder asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen such a pretty girl try so hard to be a frump.”

“Girl?”

“Yeah of course. Why? Did you think she was a….boy?” She smiled then, “You did, didn’t you?

“That’s what she...he told me.”

“And you couldn’t see past it? Come on, those oversized t-shirts, thick plaid shirts in the middle of a Texas summer.”

“A girl,” I said with many pieces of a complex puzzle suddenly clicking into place.

“You probably haven’t noticed either that she has a massive crush on you.”

“A crush?”

“Massive,” Yonder confirmed, then no doubt responding to the confused look on my face, she added, “You really are clueless, aren’t you, Chris Collins?”

I finished off the lukewarm Miller Lite Yonder had given me and then told her I had to go. “Early start tomorrow,” I said as she followed me to the porch.

“You be careful out there tomorrow,” she said and took my hand.

“I will be.”

“Good,” she said and moved in closer, “ Because I couldn’t stand losing you.”

She moved her lips towards mine and when I pulled back a hurt expression flashed across her face and then turned to embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said turning away, “presumptuous of me.”

“Wait Yonder,” I said taking her hand, “it’s not that.”

“What then?”

“Nate.”

“Nate?” she said, with an expression on her face that was at once incredulous and extremely cute.

“Now, who’s clueless,” I laughed, “You don’t know that Nate’s in love with you?”

“Of course, I know,” she said. “I was just under the impression that I had some say in the matter.”

“Maybe Nate should know that too.”

“Maybe so,” she said.   

After leaving Yonder I took a circuitous route home, skirting the town and then walking up A Street and down B. I told myself I wanted to check out the lie of the land once more, to run over the plan Nate and I had hatched. But I found myself thinking of Yonder and even more so, of Kelly. What Yonder had said, made perfect sense of course, and it also cleared up the mystery of the photo Babs had given me.

And it also made perfect sense why a teenaged girl would want to disguise herself as a boy in these insane times. Little clues kept popping into my mind, things I should have spotted that now seemed obvious, like when someone points out to you a picture hidden within a picture.

Yonder had also said that Kelly had a crush on me and that was even more difficult to take on board. She was only a kid, a young girl, hell I still thought of her as a young boy.

With these thoughts doing circuits round my brain, I headed for home.  Somewhere in the distance a coyote howled and Giuseppe growled in response.  

I woke before dawn from my nightly dream about Ruby and got myself to the bathroom. I could hear Nate snoring behind his closed door, and from the number of beer bottles littering the house, some of them smashed, I figured he was going to be nursing one hell of a hangover. I just hoped he was okay to ride, and that he’d be there to back me up if I needed him.

I didn’t want to bother with getting the fire started in the stove, so I opened a can of corned beef and shared it with Giuseppe. Then I went out to where the Harleys stood waiting.  Nate had a chosen a red Nightster and I had a black XL 1200.  Not that I knew much about motorcycles. I ‘d last ridden one as a pizza delivery boy the first year Rosie and I had been married and before my first paying fight.

I turned the ignition and the engine rumbled into life with that familiar Harley splutter. I let it run a few minutes then went back inside where I found Nate at the kitchen table in his boxer shorts, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Mornin’,” I said in my cheeriest voice, “you up for a ride.”

Nate didn’t respond at first, then mumbled, “Yeah, give me five,” and got up from the table.

We drove out as the sun had just started its arc across the sky, Nate in the lead, me behind eating his dust. After the initial wobbles I soon got the hang of riding the bike, and after a while I got to enjoy the feeling of freedom, the wind in my hair, the sun pushing over the horizon.

At the junction with route 83 we made a right turn and headed north. The road was fairly clear and we made good time, reaching to the outskirts of Whelan while the sun was still low in the sky.

We rolled into town and found the main street, which had the typical small town array of businesses establishments - a convenience store, a drugstore, post office, realty office, a couple of restaurants and a funeral home.

I brought my bike to a stop in front of a shuttered storefront, while Nate drifted past, did a loop and came back.

“First things first,” I said. “We need to find a vehicle that will run, we won’t be able to haul much on these Harleys.”

Nate nodded, which at least was progress. I decided to use the opportunity to clear the air between us, “Look Nate…” I started to say before he cut me off.

“It’ll keep,” he said, “Let’s just get this done.”

He was probably right so I let it drop. The problem of finding a vehicle was a very real one. In the past I’d found cars that had been protected from the elements, like those on showroom floors, and been able to start them with a new battery. But I doubted this burg had a new car dealership, and it was something I should have considered.

I didn’t even bother with the cars parked at the curb, their engines would be long clogged with congealed oil, there’d be water in the fuel tanks and rodents would probably have chewed through the oil filters and most of the wiring.

But it did strike me as strange that the cars were all neatly parked at the curb, rather than abandoned in the middle of the road. And now that I came to think of it Whelan was the neatest town I’d come across in all my time on the road. No bodies on the streets, no burnt out vehicles, broken windows, not even any litter. In fact, other than the waist high grass in every front yard, the town looked like it could have been sleeping, rather than dead.

“Flag over there,” Nate said, “Could be the sheriff’s office.”

I followed where he was pointing and spotted a pole flying a tattered stars and stripes. Nate had already set off in that direction and I had to run to catch up with him. We rounded the block and found the flagpole rising from the unkempt lawn in front of the Town Hall. The Police precinct was to the side of it, with a brown Dodge pickup parked in front. It was branded with the logo of the Whelan Sheriff’s Department and had a rack of red and white lights on its roof.

We entered the precinct building and it was as orderly as the town’s streets, a counter to one side, desks with computer terminals and files lying open on them, a water cooler turned green, it’s contents long since evaporated. There was a gun cabinet that had been emptied and a storage closet that had some ammo, but no weapons. We did find some stuff that might prove useful though, a couple of tire spike chains and a set of two-way radios with spare batteries.

Outside, I checked the police cruiser and found a pump action shotgun and a couple of boxes of shells.  I left the gun where it was, making a mental note to pick it up later if we didn’t find anything else.

Sitting in the cab, I caught a glimpse of Nate entering the town hall and I headed after him. Being separated in an environment neither of us knew was not a good idea and I was getting a bit pissed off with Nate and his childish behavior.

Any anger I felt evaporated the minute I entered the building. Call it sixth sense or survival instinct or plain old gut feeling, but over the years I’d developed a sense of when things aren’t right.  And right now that sense was setting alarm bells jangling in my brain. I wanted to call out to Nate, but I knew that if there were Zs around that would be a fool thing to do.

Instead, I stopped in the middle of the foyer, stopped and listened.  The place was as quiet as a predator lying in wait. As though the building itself had lured us in, and was now preparing to slam its jaws shut and swallow us whole.

My instincts told me to back out, that Nate wasn’t here. That he was probably waiting for me back at the Harleys. And I may even have taken a backward step and turned towards the door. But then I heard Nate screaming.

I sprinted in the direction of the sound, following it down a corridor that terminated in a pair of swing doors. Nate had now fallen silent and I had to resist the temptation to burst through the doors, guns blazing. Instead I edged the door open with the barrel of the M-16 and slid inside with the carbine nestled in my shoulder.

On the other side of the door was a large hall, a stage to one side, skylights above, letting in dusty light.  Nate was kneeling on the floor, both hands held to his face, sobbing.  

Around him, in row upon row upon ordered row, were the former citizens of Whelan, men, women and children, families together.

The corpses had desiccated with age but it wasn’t difficult to work out what had happened here, even before I saw the trestle tables with their punch bowls at the front of the room.

No doubt the residents of the town had waited for rescue, had scanned the horizon for the military convey they’d expected to roll in and save them. No doubt they’d seen their family and friends attacked and turned, and when all hope was gone, they’d made the awful decision.

They’d gathered in the town hall, said their prayers and their goodbyes, and then, like the followers of Jim Jones in Guyana, they’d drunk the Kool Aid. 

I got Nate to his feet and dragged him from the room and we headed back to the Harleys. We’d almost reached the main street and I was giving myself another mental kicking for not having thought this through properly, when we heard the sound of a heavy machine gun firing.

In the next moment, a cream-colored Ford pickup came skidding around the corner with a man standing up in the bed, firing wildly. The pickup teetered on two wheels before righting itself and coming to a screeching halt. The man swung the machine gun on its mount and got off a burst that flew dangerously close to our heads.

“Sons of bitches!” he screamed, “Drop them guns. Sons of bitches.”

I placed my rifle on the ground and saw Nate do the same.

“Get your hands up!” the man said, then repeated, “sons of bitches,” just in case we’d forgotten his opinion on our parentage.

“Look mister,” I said, “we…”

“Shut up!” the man screamed, “I want your opinion, I’ll yank the chain.” He looked left and right then said, “Where’s the rest of you?”

“Where’s the...?”

“You fucking deaf,” where’s the rest of you? Your compadres? Your amigos? Your…oh for fuck’s sake habla ingles?

“Yes, we speak English”

“So why won’t you answer my fucking question.”

“Because we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man looked uncertainly at me, then said, “Them your hogs back there?”

“What?”

“Them hogs, they yours?”

“I don’t…”

“He means the motorcycles. Yeah, those are our hogs.” Nate said.

“Then where’s the rest of you boys?”

“If you mean the Dead Men, we ain’t them.”