Dahmer Flu (24 page)

The walk to the river was short, but harrowing. I carried the crowbar with me, gripped so tightly that my hands began to ache as I made my way through the town, halting with every unknown sound and the skittering animals that heard my approach as I followed the signs for the ‘Tam River Swimming and Recreation Area’. I wondered how many of the dark stains that I saw along the way represented deaths that Robert had to watch. 

The area surrounded a small natural pool off the main run, and included rusted barbeque stands and rotted, cobweb-infested picnic tables; one of which had hosted a meal what was still in progress, although the food that spilled from the basket had long since been eaten by animals and insects or rotted away. I pulled a sealed bottle of water from the clutter, wiped it, and stored it in my satchel, then walked through the overgrown grass and onto the coarse sand; the water flowed lazily, disturbed only by the occasional worn rock that formed slow rapids. Caught in those rapids, firmly wedged between two stones, was a bloated corpse floating face down. I’d seen enough carcasses in my recent life to know that this particular one was fairly recent- it still had some of its long hair attached and tattered clothes that still barely covered the discolored flesh- but not so recent that it would be recognizable; I guessed no more than a few weeks old. Balancing across an irregular pattern of rocks, I prodded at the body until it lodged free and washed down the riverway like a misshapen Huck Finn’s raft.

Satisfied it was safe, I brought Lisa, Madi and Robert back to the swimming area, and we spent the rest of the morning in our underwear, enjoying the cleansing cool water while keeping a wary eye for threats. Once clean, I used the razor to painfully shorten my beard to a low-stubble, most likely finishing off the blades that were already slightly dulled by Lisa- we would need more.

Uncharacteristically clean and fresh, we began the short walk back home.
Shelter
, I reminded myself,
not home
- when you have a home, you have roots. And when you have roots, you’re less likely to leave it. We still weren’t in a safe place, so we didn’t yet have a home.

“Can we go to the playground?” Madi asked innocently. It was easy to forget sometimes that my stone cold, hardcore survivalist was also a little girl. She had come a long way from that little child that I knew not long ago- I missed that girl, but I was proud of her for rising to the challenges of a post-apocalyptic world.

I thought for a moment as we walked, considering the risks and the rewards alike. “Is it safe, Robert?”

“Sure,” he answered. “I used to go there once in a when I was alone. It’s fine.”

Lisa responded to my glance with only a half-cocked eyebrow.

“Okay. For a little while,” I answered.

The playground was no better up close, but the equipment was serviceable. The metal joints groaned audibly as they played, creating a sound that carried an uncomfortable distance. Aside from that sound, there was no other; the children played in eerie silence, afraid to laugh or yell, as Lisa and I looked on.

A young cat watched from a distance, partially hidden in overgrown grass. I hadn’t noticed at first; the children had seen it before I had, and I followed their stare and pointing fingers. They knew not to go far, but they approached the edge of the playground and kneeled to the ground before calling the kitten. Slowly, cautiously, it approached and then allowed them to pet it, then to carry it- it didn’t seem to be entirely feral, probably a pet at one time. The children returned, triumphantly, with the cat in hand.

“Look! We found a kitten. Can we keep it?” Madi asked.

The idea of yet another mouth that had to be fed, and another life to risk losing wasn’t something that I welcomed, but small pleasures can make all the difference.  “Okay. But you’re taking care of…” I lifted the tail. “…her.”

“Deal!” She smiled.

We walked back to the safe house, with the children trading the kitten between themselves at arbitrary points. We had all developed an appetite but there was no food left, so I was compelled to leave again after they had settled into the safe house. Life had once again developed a strange approximation of normalcy- grocery shopping was now in abandoned stores and homes, recreation at the swimmin’ hole and overgrown playgrounds and evenings spent as a family with a beloved pet; each a perversion of a distant past.

I searched through the nearby homes and shops, pulling whatever was useful or edible.  The homes especially told the story of the town’s final days, its death throes- an older television had been thrown through a window of one home, and a set of filled suitcases were stacked neatly at the bottom of a staircase of another- I took the duffel bag, emptying the contents on the floor. Most disturbing was the home where the family forgot to let the pet free. The dog, now no more than a bone frame, lay drawn into itself near the front door like a skeletal fetus. Before it died, it had raked long, panicked trenches in the wooden door and its paws had been worn to dull points. Further into that home was an abandoned birthday party, frozen in time. The decorations were bright and festive and the presents remained unopened.

While this child never had his party, Madi would. Today, I decided, was her birthday; and if it was going to be hers, it would be Robert’s as well. Life itself was well worth celebrating, not necessarily restricted to an annual event. I took down some of the better decorations and tucked them into the bag. The presents weren’t quite right for either child, so at each of the homes and each of the stores I looked not only for food and supplies, but also for meaningful mementos that would make a suitable present.  I found clothes for Madi that, perhaps, fit better than what she now wore, and a small electronic game for Robert with batteries that still worked. Wrapping paper and other miscellaneous, compact items completed the collection.

I returned to the house as a hero, taking some pleasure in providing for the group in a very direct and literal sense.

“We named the kitten, Daddy.” Madi volunteered.

“Oh? What’s her name?” I asked.

“Maryanne,” answered Robert, before they returned to play.

Lisa pulled me aside while the children were eating. I saw that they were sharing their food with the kitten, which ate greedily. “Maryanne was his sister’s name,” she explained. “It seemed to mean a lot to him.”

I didn’t answer; didn’t know what to say, anyways. Instead, I let Lisa in on the birthday plan and we stole away to wrap the presents while the children played. When we returned, each of us proudly carrying a small bundle, Madi’s eyes lit up but Robert’s kept the same sad look.

“Happy Birthday!” Lisa and I echoed, before breaking into the traditional song. Robert’s eyes finally brightened when he heard his name in the chorus as well as Madi’s.

“Me, too?” He asked. “But it’s not my birthday; mine’s near Christmas.”

“Then merry un-birthday,” Lisa smiled, tussling his hair. He smiled. It occurred to me that he was most likely alone on his last actual birthday, although he must have been aware of its passage, given the season.

“Is it really my birthday?” Madi asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know what day it is, but the time of year’s about right. Of course, if you’d rather, we can wait until you feel sure,” I offered with a grin.

“It’s right!” she exclaimed, and we laughed.

The children opened their presents and compared the gifts. Other than the recent tradition of giving pilfered gifts, this evening was refreshingly ordinary. If I ignored the fact that every living human I had seen in the recent past was either with me now or had died a terrifying death, I could almost be content. But for now, I watched the children play with their new toys and wear their new clothes, and I enjoyed the fact that today they were able to be children again.

That night we fell asleep peacefully, if nothing else as living human beings, with the kitten finding a comfortable spot between Madi and Robert. It was still night when I was pulled from my sleep. Lisa and the children were still slumbering quietly, and I carefully climbed out of the bed, seeing the ethereal reflection of the cat’s eyes watching me move, and crossed to the window. I could hear the faint but distinct sound of a human voice.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” The disembodied voice called. “I’m hurt, I need help!” I looked through each crack in each window, but couldn’t see where it was coming from. Perhaps it was cowardice, perhaps wisdom, or perhaps something in between, but I wasn’t willing to go looking for someone who may already be injured; I had an obligation to protect those with me, and it didn’t include unknown strangers in the night. It went against every social grace that I had developed over the decades, but without society there wasn’t much use in social refinement. I stayed silent, and kept the lights off, until the voice passed and faded into the distance.

I didn’t sleep the rest of that night, wondering if the person had left or found another place to stay in Ashland. I hated the unknown, hated wondering if I’d encounter them the next time that I went shopping. But the worst was what had changed; living had become such a fragile concept that the smallest change could end it. It took me a few minutes to realize what was different, as I stared distractedly through the window cracks, it eventually dawned on me- the animals that I had gotten used to, the feral dogs and cats, the snakes, the rodents, and the birds- they were all gone. The streets were still and quiet. The realization made my blood chill.

I pulled Lisa aside. “We’re going to need to leave; we can’t stay here any longer.”

“The animals, right?” She asked. “I noticed that, too.”

“Get the kids ready, I’ll load up what we can carry.”

I started shoving our few possessions into the duffel, while I overheard Lisa trying to explain to the children. “Get dressed to go out!” She was trying to sound positive, and was nearly able to keep her own fear from her voice. When I looked through the window, I could see the first of the group appear on the slope of the valley, following the road- the fastest of the ‘stalkers, the ones that would be leading the rest like there was some sort of order to the madness.

“Swimming?” Madi asked, oblivious.

“No, sweetie,” Lisa replied. “We’re going to move on now; we’ve been here long enough and need to keep going to somewhere that we can stay for always.”

“Oh,” was Madi’s only response. She was disappointed and nervous, but there was no reason that she should be terrified, too.

“Where’s Maryanne?” Robert asked anxiously.

I swore under my breath at the damned cat; she probably had the same sense as the others outside. “I don’t know. If you’re going to find her, do it now.” The children raced around the room, calling her name and checking under the bed, behind the dresser and in her other favorite spots before rushing into the hallway. I whispered to Lisa, “We don’t have much time.”

“I know,” she answered, peeking through the boards. “Shit…” She saw them, too. “They’re coming down the road… there’s a lot of them.”

“How close?” I asked as I shoved the last of our possessions into the bag.

“We need to go. Now.” She answered. That meant they were close.

We followed where the children had gone- they were calling the cat and making sweet feline sounds. She didn’t emerge, as though she didn’t trust us to protect her from what was coming.

“Robert, Madi, we have to go,” I called.

Robert’s answer was muffled by the bed that he had crawled under, “But we have to find Maryanne!” He pulled himself from under the bed and brushed the dust from his clothing. I grabbed his hand as Lisa took Madi’s.

“They’re coming. I’m sorry,” I said. That was all it took; the children knew now that every moment was precious, more so than the company of the kitten that they had just started to care for. With tears in his eyes, Robert nodded, and followed me downstairs. Along the way, each of us kept an eye for the kitten, but none of us spoke and none of us slowed. I opened the back door and took a quick look, barely able to see the group forming up the road through the spaces in between the houses. If we were quick, we could break across the short end of the valley and into the tree line before they could see us.

With only what we could carry, including the crowbar and the bat, we left the house as a unit; Lisa, being the last one out, left the door open. “To give her a chance to get out,” she whispered.

Hearing what she had said, Robert whispered back, “thank you.”

I led the way, with Lisa trailing behind, watching our rear. Robert’s story had stuck with me, I believed for a reason, so we headed towards the tree line, rather than following the road itself out of the valley. While I had already done so, I futilely checked each of the cars that we passed on our way through the streets, looking for keys. Only one car, one I had already seen and discounted, had they keys still in the ignition, although they were covered in spider-webs. The hood was split and wrapped around a telephone pole, which listed only slightly away from the impact. The airbag had deflated like an old, rejected balloon, and could be easily seen through the open driver’s side door. An old pair of dress shoes sat on the floor, casually spilled under the pedals, and a broken pair of eyeglasses glinted in the sun from the ground outside of the door.

Having made the strenuous walk up the sloping wall of the valley, we were less than a football field’s length away from the relative safety of the tree line when Lisa gasped involuntarily, causing the rest of us to spin around to see what had affected her. I regretted it immediately. A large crowd of the ‘stalkers had emerged from the same roadway that led us to Ashland; it filled the street and spilled onto the shoulder, instinctively pressing towards the town, perhaps following whoever had been so vociferous last night. A small number seemed to have seen us, if that’s how they found their prey, and broke from the group towards our direction- others followed them for no other reason than they saw where others were going; we’d have to keep moving to stay ahead of them. The horde, however, kept coming long after I expected it to stop; it was massive, much larger than I had ever seen before, and spread into the valley, overturning the ‘FORSAKEN’ sign before finally ending. The stragglers soon followed; those that were too broken to stay with the herd- those were the ones that bothered me the most, those that were missing legs or those that were formally paraplegic, they would drag themselves forward with no regard to or awareness of the damage to their bodies.