Fountain of the Dead (19 page)

“What’d you find?”

“Two shotguns, a few dime bags and a couple briefcases with 9 millimeter ammo.”

“Not bad, Frank.”

“All the booze was gone. I really wanted a beer.”

“Forget the beer, some hard liquor would be better.”

“I don’t do shots anymore.”

“I meant to sterilize things.” Catherine said. She patted his arm on her way around the car. One last look at the willow and the wrapped bundle beneath; Sam and his dog were in the front of the Explorer. Sharon was talking quietly to Micah in the back seat. Catherine waved to her and Sharon headed back to the Monte.

Chapter 6

“
At all costs, avoid the following areas, Gouldsboro State Park, Tobyhana State Park and Lackawanna State Forest. At all costs, avoid the following areas, Gouldsboro State Park, Tobyhana State Park and Lackawanna State Forest. At all costs, avoid the following areas, Gouldsboro State Park, Tobyhana State Park and Lackawanna State Forest.
”

Gerry switched off the radio and sat back in the seat; the rifle across his lap. “Just keeps repeating, doesn’t say who or why. Frustrating as hell,” Gerry said.

“Maybe they got them all rounded up down there or something,” Frank added.  “I’d kill for an old CB radio and antennae. The range on the walkies is shit. There could be people trying to contact us and we’d never know.”

“How do you round up zombies?” Williams asked from the back.

“Maybe with chum, like you do for sharks? Get a bunch of rednecks chopping up the dead, leaving a trail of meat for them to follow?”

“You need help, Frank,” Gerry said.

Frank looked at his hands and remembered sliding his fingers over Lily’s lifeless eyes, closing them with her death.

“Any of you guys know how to pilot an airboat?” Pierce asked.

“Not me,” Williams said. Gerry and Frank shook their heads.

“I did a few times, I’m not good at it. It’s the only way to get across the lake to the lab buildings. We had a generator to keep the samples cold and the fans running.” Williams turned and stared at him.  “There’s a lake to cross, bog and swamp to get through, and then my facility.”

“Did your crazy gene just go dormant?”

“There’s more than the dead in those swamps to be afraid of. People have dumped pet snakes and rats and worse in there, before the meteor storm.”

* * * * *

“You know it wasn’t my fault, Micah? Right?” Sam looked in the rearview at his passenger. Micah was slouched down in the seat, leafing through his photo book. “Next time we stop, mind showing me those?” Micah looked up and sighed. He stuffed the book back in his bag, reached for a journal, and changed his mind. He leaned into the door, his head against the window; the cool glass felt good against his skin. Sam’s dog whined from the front seat.

“Figured, since the airport, you might be a little chatty.” Micah watched his breath fog on the window and then wiped it away. “I used to be a barber, you know, before the storm. Had my own little shop in Baltimore. Shaves, haircuts and trims. None of that fancy shampooing. Man, I was great with beards. Had a collection of straight razors too. You’re too young to remember those.”

Micah closed his eyes and rubbed them; he shook his head and leaned back against the seat. He listened to gas sloshing in the plastic containers as they drove.

“Reach back and get me some water, would you?”

Micah reached back and pulled a bottle from the package and handed it up to Sam. The dog sniffed his hand; Micah cracked a small smile. “All I ever do is talk to my dog there. He must be tired of my voice by now.” The dog wagged its tail and turned back to Micah who scratched him. “Found him on the road a few years ago before I got to the village. I almost shot him, thought he was a zombie.” Micah turned his face away before getting a mouthful of dog breath.

“I like your dog. What’s his name?”

“I call him Boy or Buddy or just Dog sometimes. He’s never far from me.”

“So he doesn’t have a name?”

“I’m sure he did, but I never felt right giving him a new one.” Micah pulled out the journal he’d been working and drawing in. He teased the pages with his fingers. Sam watched him through the mirror for a brief moment and went back to watching the road. He searched for a pencil…

We lost Danny early on at a rest area. We got nothing at all useful from it. No fuel or food. I know we need ammo, we took a lot from the village and wasted a bunch of it clearing out a park. Frank was convinced we were going to get ambushed and I think he used the term “royally fucked.” We stopped to refuel at a police station and were trapped outside. The place looked like a war zone. At least what I imagine a war zone to be like. Then we went to an airport for fuel and we lost Lily. We’re down two friends and Pierce is still alive and crazy.

* * * * *

“Ten years, ten years. I keep him safe. Take care of him and not a word. Not one damn word. And the first words from his mouth are anger and hate,” Sharon said, venom tainted her words.

“He must have had reasons, Sharon,” Beverly said.

“I feel so...awful inside. That’s maybe the third time I’ve heard his voice. He must have screamed and cried for hours when I pulled him off the street. He’d be another stain on the road if I hadn’t helped him.” Sharon looked out the window at the passing road, keeping her watch. She glanced at Tony tapping on the steering wheel and when he wasn’t tapping, switching hands on the wheel. “We all took turns teaching Micah and Meredith to read and write.”

“Some library time, real library time would have been nice,” Beverly said. “Maybe a bookstore. All we had was whatever was left in the houses.”

“Sharon, don’t let this tarnish your time together. I’ve seen you two together. He’s all smiles.” Catherine smiled and reached a comforting hand for Sharon’s shoulder. Tony looked over from the driver’s side and forced a smile. He could hear a rattle coming from the trunk and it was driving him apeshit. Something was rocking around.

“What do you think is going to happen when we hit Scranton?” Tony asked. “We’re getting close.”

“We’re going to get inspected and checked out. Get insulted at the very least. Have guns pointed at us while we’re questioned and then we’ll get past the guards. You think Boston was bad? If nothing else Crenshaw keeps his little area safe. Zombies are the least of our worries in Scranton.”

“You’ve been in there, Catherine?” Beverly asked turning.

“I didn’t start off in Massachusetts.”

* * * * *

Crenshaw fiddled with the remote, until the music was so loud he felt the bass in his teeth. He stuffed a cigar in his mouth and looked at the radio on the desk, the one that should be sending out blaring reports but remained silent. Crenshaw paced around the office then looked through the telescope at his city. Staring at the radio did not make it crackle or hiss. There was a knock at his door that he didn’t hear due to the rising crescendo of the music. On the third time, the door slid open; one of his thugs was there.

“Boss!” He shouted. Crenshaw jumped and bit through his cigar and gagged at the lump of wet leaves in his mouth. He spit them on the floor and muted the music.

“What could possibly cause you to barge in here?” Crenshaw dropped into his desk chair and wiped tobacco spittle from his mouth. “That was my last cigar.” He held up a finger and motioned the thug over. “You’re one of Crowe’s men?” He nodded. “What did he tell you about disturbing me?” The thug went to speak and Crenshaw silenced him with a gesture.

“Never interrupt Mr. Crenshaw.”

“Now what was so important?”

“We found squatters, living in one of the basement offices.”

“How many?” Crenshaw rifled through his desk, not paying real attention.

“Two men, one woman, three children.”

“Ah children. My soft spot.” Crenshaw chuckled, it sounded like dry bones rubbing together. “When I first took over this complex, Crowe was my right hand man. He used to do some special jobs for me when we were corporate.” The thug looked on confused. “Don’t think. Ask yourself what would Crowe do?” Crenshaw wrinkled his brow tried to remember the man’s name. “That’s right, drop them in the pit.” The thug nodded and went for the door. “Lock it on the way out, or you’re in the pit, after them.”

Crenshaw spun in his chair and snapped his fingers. “What is his name? Peters? Phillips? Smith?” Each name brought a new snap. He gave up trying to remember with a scowl across his face.

Crenshaw reached back into the depths of the center drawer. His fingertips brushed against something cold and metallic. He pulled on it until it came free. The picture had notes taped all over the glass, covering the figures in the photograph; he pulled at the tape and the notes. Rubbed at the smudged glass and sighed. He kissed the picture and burrowed into the chair.

“Ah, Catherine, my first ‘love’. The one that got away. The one I chased away.” The black and white 8x10 showed Richard Crenshaw and the new Mrs. Catherine Crenshaw on the steps of a church from their wedding.

* * * * *

The thug, James Waters, and his cronies pushed at the squatters, forcing them down the stairs of the parking garage. They went down the ramp past the street exit, where they screamed and cried for help. The other guards smiled and waved. Waters slapped them in the back of the head, almost turned on by the children’s cries. The ramp opened up to the bottom floor. Faded yellow, painted arrows on the concrete gave directions in and out. Grime crusted signs hung from each of the parking spots, “Reserved parking.” There were no vehicles in sight.

The family, dirty and dressed in tattered clothes was led to the furthest corner of the bottom level. The ramp up to the street level was clear of obstruction; warning signs that read “Clearance 7 feet” were bolted to girders and support beams. A sign on a post read simply “Garage Full.” Waters watched his steps when he walked, not wanting to trip up and somehow land in the pit, even from this far away. He’d seen too many people thrown in there over the years. The intruders walked an arm’s length in front of Waters, his gun leveled at their backs.

“Keep walking.” He yelled. “Beg for your lives.” In the middle of a ring of Jersey barriers was a pit. Waters stopped them.  Outside the barriers was a ring of saw horses as a precaution; though smart people would run off from the stink of rotted flesh coming from the pit. The pit was ten feet deep, cut right through the floor of the garage. From the pit came shuffling and groaning. A pack of zombies bumped into each other and slipped on the old butchery scattered across the bottom.

“Here’s the thing,” Waters said. “You get out of the pit, we put you on the street. Mr. Crenshaw isn’t totally heartless.” Waters winked at the kids. “What I would do, is have the two men get gnawed on, while the lady there gets the kids out. If you kids are quick, maybe you get her out too.” The ragged woman looked back at the men and then her children.

“Look, I can be good to you.” The woman said. “Let us go, you and your boys can have some fun while everyone slips out.” She licked her lips, ran her fingertips down Waters’ chest. He stepped forward, grabbed her hair, sniffed her neck, and licked her from throat to forehead. Her clothes were threadbare and like the others, needed a shower. Waters could smell the fear rolling off her in waves.

“Throw them in.” She screamed as the men were forced into the pit. Her kids wailed and clawed at the guards’ legs. Waters dragged her by the hair to the edge. The dead looked up desperate and hungry. He yanked her head around so she could watch the men get pushed in. Then it was her turn and before she could get up her kids toppled over the edge on top of her.

“Better hurry.” The men formed a weak barrier as the dead descended. The woman lifted the first child, her eldest son and the heaviest, desperately trying to get him up above the lip of the pit. He climbed up her and got on her shoulders. The first man screamed as he was ripped into, the dead tore at his arms and legs. One chewed a chunk of flesh from the side of his neck. He started to fall as blood fountained out from the bite.

“Not yet,” she screamed. The woman grabbed for her daughter as the second man started to scream. She pushed her up as her thigh was bitten into screamed and staggered back. The boy reached out and grabbed the girl’s hand as her mother fell into the feeding frenzy. She hung there while she struggled for purchase. Her hand started to slide out of his. The woman fell watching her youngest being ripped apart.

“Pull harder,” she screamed.

“I can’t! Your hand is slippery. Use your legs, try climbing!”

The harder he pulled the more she slipped, until her fingers disappeared over the edge. He peeked over to see her small arms flailing against the attackers. He curled into a ball and blocked his ears against the screams.

Waters lifted him easily from the ground and turned him in his arms, looking at his face and build. Tears and snot rolled down the boy’s face. He was escorted up the ramps to the exit, and pushed towards the road.

“What are you nine?” He looked back into the pit. “The little one didn’t have a chance. They dropped on him first.”

“I’m eleven.” The boy sniffled. Waters rubbed his chin thoughtfully and shrugged his wide shoulders.

“Skinny for your age. Start running north and you’ll most likely live. Get out of the city and don’t stop.” Waters leaned in close and whispered. “If you see a patrol, tell them Waters said to give you a ride to the city limits”

“Please help me,” the boy whined.

The boy looked out the entrance to the garage; men armed with guns looked annoyed at him. He pushed dark hair from his eyes and wiped at his face. The city spread out before him and he looked pleadingly into each of the guards’ eyes. One of them, with a jagged scar across his neck handed him a map and traced a line with his finger.