Fountain of the Dead (2 page)

“
You run them over and you
’
ll kill this car, Frank.
”

“
I run them over and I kill the car and them too.
”

“We’ve been on the road too long, Frank. Do you think we can find another vehicle?”

“They’re all over the road,” Frank said pointing through the glass. “Granted some have bodies baked inside and others are smashed up pretty bad. One of them has to work.”

“Frank, I said no.” Catherine turned her attention back to the road.

Catherine slid her hand onto his, then down the steering wheel and turned the engine off.

“
What are you doing?
”

“
That street over there, the houses look mostly intact. There might be people living in them.
”
Frank took out his pistol and placed it on the seat between them. He looked at the street ahead of the car; the dead were closer. Frank slid the safety off on the gun.

“What’s the plan, Catherine? Drive through the cul-de-sac and kill anything that moves?”

“Let’s start with you driving down the street.” She started the car.
“
Go down that cul-de-sac, be ready for anything.
”
The little grey Impala had seen them on a chunk of their journey. It was getting tired.
Frank turned the car, the belts squealed in protest. Catherine looked at each house as they drove past it; they were in center of the suburbs before the meteor storm, now little more than a vacant waste.

“
What are you thinking, Frank?
”

Frank scanned the houses and the street ahead of them. It ended in a turnabout, a ragged street hockey net in a driveway. A dark stain discolored the road in front of it. Broken hockey sticks crusted with dried blood were discarded on an unkempt lawn.

“
I think we can hold up here once we sweep the houses, no surprises.
”
Frank gritted his teeth and stopped the car and shifted into park. “We play this right we can build ourselves a little prison here.” Frank looked through the rearview mirror again.

“
How do you want to do this, Frank?
”

Frank glanced in the rearview and spun in the seat; he pointed out the rear window.
“
I think I want to pull that Home Depot truck around before someone else gets at it. Stay here.
”
Frank leapt from the car and slammed the door shut behind him. He bolted up the street, keeping low as he ran, the pistol tight in his hand. He didn’t notice the curtains move in one of the houses. Catherine reached into the glove compartment and took out the revolver to cover him. He darted from the street to the main road and dove under an abandoned car. Something inside was thumping around above him. The truck was close; the zombies from ten minutes ago were closer.

Frank took aim down the road. He debated on taking the shot, there was no telling how many more would come once the shot echoed through the street. He dry swallowed and made a run for the truck. It was packed with lumber, cinderblocks and fencing. He patted the straps that held the payload in place affectionately and went to the cab. The driver
’
s door was open and airbag deployed a bloody smear across the deflated nylon.

He climbed in and took a deep breath; nothing smelled
“
off,
”
nothing rotten or bloated. Whoever had been driving was dragged out and eaten or escaped. There wasn
’
t enough blood inside the cab for a body to be ripped apart.

Spinning out of the seat he climbed into the rear compartment, small cot, empty cooler with a melted ice pack and a duffle bag under the cot. Frank reached into it and pulled out two shotguns and boxes of shells. He smiled and looked for the keys.

Catherine watched him through the window, after turning in the seat. She thought for a brief moment about rolling the window down and sitting on the door frame. A shiver raced down her spine at the memory of someone she witnessed yanked out of the window of a car and devoured while he screamed. She crawled over the seat into the back to get a better view. If something happened she’d have to shoot out the back window.

By the time she got situated in the back, Frank had just climbed into the truck. She waited for what seemed like hours, in reality it was a few minutes. When Frank stuck his head out of the cab and waved, a brief bit of relief came over her. Catherine slid back in the seat and sighed, then looked over to the closest house. A woman stood on the porch, long pony tail tossed over her shoulder, a young girl stood in the doorway, and the woman had a shotgun leveled at the car. A wooden plaque near the door read “Dandridge”.

“
Can I help you two?
”
Beverly asked. Meredith took a step closer to her mother and wrapped her arms around her waist. From the street the truck’s engine roared to life.

* * * * *

“Don’t make me start singing something,” Frank growled, walking back over. His hands were clean and he passed the jar of peanut butter away scowling at it. Gun shots boomed out from the front towers. Sharon looked over her shoulder at the northeast tower like she might charge over to it. Micah held her arm and shook his head.

“You want us on the gates, Catherine?” Frank asked.

“No. Let the snipers handle it. If it gets rough we have two more towers to draw shooters from.” Micah took out his journal and continued after his last entry.

The night got busy, it seems like that happens a lot recently. It gets dark and cooler and then they come out in packs. Really don’t see many single ones; there’s always groups. I don’t know if it’s the fire that attracts them, or us. Food and fuel are getting low. Gerry and Tony were talking about hunting and joking. But I don’t know where they can go, every time they go out, the hunting parties have to go farther and farther away. Each time they come back to camp, the trailer has less on it. Tony keeps talking about finding this giant cache of food and water. Every time though Frank shoots down the idea and tells him to go to back to playing scratch tickets, whatever those are. If my count is right it’s up to twelve dead zombies since tonight’s bonfire started.

Micah looked up from the book; scanned around the fire and met Meredith’s gaze. She was watching him. She blushed and turned away. Frank nudged him in the shoulder and winked. Next to Meredith was Grace, a thin girl with dark hair and darker eyes, new to the village. They’d found her wandering down 93, glassy eyed, in a daze. There was nothing physically wrong with her, no concussions, or bleeding, or breaks.

She rarely left Meredith’s side and was probably ten years older. She leaned in and whispered something to Meredith which caused her to blush more. Grace turned her head to Micah and smiled and they both erupted into giggles.

“Hey, kid” Frank said looking down to Micah. “How about tomorrow we take the Monte out and look for some deer to hunt?” Sharon looked over and frowned shaking her head. Micah shrugged. He turned his attention back to the flames and watched until the colors stayed on his retinas through closed lids.

Micah stretched his arms over his head and smiled; the chatter around the fire had slowed as had the gunshots. There were new noises, beyond the groaning and shuffling feet. Louder than the tinkle of rifle casings bouncing off the street, or the wet thud of a decomposing body falling on the pavement. There was yelling, crazed shouting from a strange voice at the gate. Someone was pounding on the fence and shaking the hell out of it and screaming. Someone was trying to get in.

“Tell me some damn fool isn’t trying to get through my gates,” Catherine said.

Chapter 3

Micah stared at the stranger
shaking the fence. In back of him, the dead loomed. It would take a few minutes but they’d get there, find the man and dig in. They’d chew straight through skin and bite down with jagged rotting teeth until nothing remained, but quivering scraps of flesh and gore drenched bones. Micah stared at the man, who screamed incoherently and shook the fence. Danny drew a bead down his scope and took aim on the man’s head, the cross hairs perfectly aligned above his right eye; small hole going in, back of the head gone on the way out. The apprehension was tangible on Catherine’s face. She’d taken in every misfit that rattled her gates. The village had started with barely six people and now they were up to almost forty.  Could another mouth to feed really hurt? She sighed, looking at the dual fences.

Micah laced his fingers through the chain links of the inner fence and felt the cold of the metal seep in. From three feet away Micah saw the crazed look in his eyes, the spittle flying from his mouth and the desperate mouthfuls of air between screams. The voices around the fire grew quiet as the man’s yells got louder and more hectic. Danny released the safety and put a shot over the man’s shoulder, a zombie fell, knees first, then face planted in the soft earth. The crazed stranger wasn’t forming words, just incoherent screams and noises.

“Mister, you got ten seconds to move your feet away from this fence. You hear?”  Danny yelled. He shook the fence more, teeth gritted, eyes focused at the safety beyond the interwoven strings of steel. It looked for a moment that he might try to chew his way through the fence. The stranger was in full panic mode, no cohesive thoughts, running purely on survival instinct. Micah stepped back; dead leaves swirled under his feet and exposed cracked pavement.

Micah reached into his pack and pulled out a journal and quickly sketched the man, best he could in the dimming light through the fence. Black smudged lines captured the face, but not the terror.

“Please, let me in,” he yelled finally forming words.  “I’m not bit. I’m clean.” Lily from the other front tower examined the man through the rifle scope; he was ragged, dirty and when she turned her attention back to the street, Lily dropped an undead postal worker behind him. Brains exploded through the shattered skull as the dead fell again through a flurry of blood stained letters. The stranger turned and he shook the fence more and then put his foot into one of the links and started to climb.

Danny lit up his laser scope and put a red dot on the man’s forehead. The stranger let go of the fence and jumped down. He knelt on the ground and let go of the fence links. Through her scope Lily saw bite scars on his arms, nothing that penetrated, just old bites that hadn’t healed over yet. There were no fresh bites. No blood, just scars.

The stranger was a mess, dirty red hair soaked with sweat, despite the cool air, ripped blue jeans, torn Adidas shirt and a lab jacket with more stains than the dead postman. Out beyond the fence the dead were coming; from behind abandoned cars and through the doors of ravaged homes. Someplace out in the distance, a goose called, followed by others, the familiar “V” appeared in the sky followed by calls and the flap of wings. Micah glanced up, mesmerized by the birds and absently drew the “V” on the page above the man’s head.

“Are we safe?” Danny called out.

“He looks clean, no blood,” answered Lily. “Micah, get your skinny ass back.”

Micah shuffled backwards until he bumped into someone; he looked up to see the moonlight glint off the two wedding rings on Lily’s hand. Comforting hands rested on his shoulder; he turned back to see Beverly, Meredith at her side. Tony and Frank stepped from the crowd. The sparks from the bonfire crackled and popped, flames reached towards the sky. They slung their rifles and drew pistols from shoulder holsters; Beverly pulled Micah close, and Meredith slid her arm through his. Tony and Frank approached the inner gate. Danny dropped another beast outside.

“We clear?” Tony called out.

“Be quick, they’re gathering in the streets,” Danny yelled. Out on the roads, they came, with ripped clothes and torn flesh. They gaited along with enough dexterity to get them to the next warm meal. “Silly son of a bitch led a metric fuck ton of the things right to us.” Some lacked limbs, others mindless to holes that gaped in their midriff or missing more skin from their exposed parts than they had left. Tony rushed to the lock and opened it, while Frank waited. When the lock was disengaged, he uncoiled the steal chains that kept the inner gate closed. They each grabbed a handle and pulled the gate’s doors inwards.

They rushed to the outer gate, guns drawn and aimed, Tony at the zombies and Frank at the stranger. Another shot rang out and a car exploded, flames shot into the sky and spilled out onto the road catching on to the nearest shambling forms. Lily cheered. The stranger turned to see the flaming bodies inching closer, each step brought the stink of burning rotted flesh. Black smoked billowed into the sky from the car.

Tony and Frank took keys that hung from chains around their necks and inserted them into control boxes in each of their towers. A mechanical whine filled the night and for a moment, everything went quiet, no birds, no popping sparks, even the people held their breath. The outer gates opened, run by two garage door openers rigged to run off keys instead of remotes. The stranger jumped to his feet, waited for the gate to open enough for him to squeeze through. He jogged in place, tried to squeeze through, convinced that the cold, dead breath of hell was right over his shoulder.

Something in the burning car popped and crackled; a fire engulfed monstrosity came from inside and fell to the street and sizzled. The dead, smoldering and on fire, got closer. The stranger forced his way through, Lily’s aim never wavered. She kept black hair in a loose pony tail, one almond shaped eye was closed, and the other pressed to the scope. The gears in the gate squealed as it reversed and started to close. The stranger pulled on the links, trying to force it to move faster.

“Hey, you there, take your hands off that gate.” Catherine said. The stranger loosened his grip and raised his arms in the air as the hammer clicked into place, from the gun firmly in Frank’s hands and pressed into the back of his head.

“I’m friendly, really.” The stranger wheezed. His chest heaved with the effort of drawing breaths.

“We’ll decide if your friendly or zombie fodder,” Catherine said.

A barrage of gunshots rang out, Micah and Meredith jumped a little. The adults, never flinched, far too used to the gunfire. Micah shook his arm free and took out his journal and quickly sketched the scene:
the stranger on his knees in front of the fence and Frank bearing down on him, waiting to fire and splatter his face across the cracked road and dead leaves.

“Stranger, the only thing you are, is a danger to yourself and more importantly, us. How long you think they were following you? How many did you bring with you?” Frank’s finger tensed on the trigger, he was ready to end this newcomer that had no worth to the village. Frank’s lip curled down. “You ain’t nothing.”

The outer gates closed and locked. Danny and Lily climbed down from the towers and reinforced the gates with steel bars propped and wedged against the concrete. They turned and judged the threat. Frank looked over his shoulder at Micah’s sketch. Lily and Danny took homemade spears from the ground near the towers and jabbed the business end through the fence, killing anything in arms’ length.

I’ll be so happy when we’re stocked on ammo again,” Lily said.

Let’s hope this stupid asshole didn’t bring every zombie in the area with him,” Danny replied.

“Those pictures make me look fat,” Frank growled.

“Bring me a hose,” Danny yelled. Together the snipers took out their side arms and dropped a dozen undead still on fire that fell to the ground, out of reach from the spears; dead leaves caught fire and danced on the wind.  Tony came up from behind and laid a shower of water on the road. The fires went out, the leaves no longer danced and the stench that filled the camp was unreal. Micah covered his face after dropping his journal back in the satchel. Meredith pinched her nostrils and backed away into the thrall of bodies, stopped and staring. She bumped into Grace standing so close they could have been conjoined.

“So what’s a stranger, who’s led the undead to your doorstep, got to do for a drink of water?”

Danny turned the hose on him.

“Son of a bitch stinks worse than the damn zombies,” Tony said. The stranger took the hose when offered to him and let the cool water from the well pour over him. He drank deep for a few seconds before it was pulled from his hand.

“Turn off the pump,” Tony yelled.

“I thank you for the drink.” The rattle from the generators echoed down the street as timers activated; lights in house windows blinked to life. The sea of people parted like Moses had churned the waters. Catherine approached; her long hair, braided past her waist, and despite the slightest limp, her steps were quiet. She looked over the stranger, poked him in the chest.

“Hello Catherine,” Beverly said taking her hands off Micah’s shoulders.

“Hello Beverly,” Catherine answered her eyes never leaving their “guest.”

“Hell of a nerve this one, interrupting dinner.”

“Wasn’t much of dinner, fruit and a picked over peanut butter jar.” Micah smiled at the banter. Catherine ran her fingers through his hair. “What are you grinning at?” Micah shrugged and looked back at the stranger. “Well, I guess we should feed him. Despite the fact he almost got us all killed. That’s what happens when you go beyond the gate.”

Catherine turned her sharp gaze back on the stranger. Any show of hospitality gone from her features. She was stone faced. Frank took a step back. “Tomorrow you and Frank will go outside and clear those bodies up. Dump them in one of the houses across the way.” She waved her hand at the houses beyond the gates in the darkness. You’ll get that road cleaned in case we need it.”

Frank muttered curses. “What did I do?” Frank asked. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Tony and Sam take too long and throw up too much.” Sam blushed and turned walking his dog back towards his shared house.

“I’m gonna leave him in a ditch,” Frank muttered.

“I can tell he likes you already.” Catherine said.

“You all going to stand around all night like a bunch of lookie-loos? Get on with your lives.” The crowd dispersed at Catherine’s words. They knew better then to hang around when she used that tone. She crossed her arms on her chest and watched the people disperse. Some walked slowly back to their houses, others returned to their seats around the fire, now noticeably smaller. Micah helped throw more logs and stirred the coals. Catherine pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She sat in an old lawn chair, and waited for fresh coffee.

The stranger sat on a log next to Catherine, he held up his hands to the fire to warm them. The sleeves of the lab coat slid down and Catherine grabbed his wrist and he winced at her un-expected strength. She twisted his arm and looked at the bite marks by the fire light, not caring what if any pain she caused him.

“How many times have you been bitten?”

“Dozens that I know of, probably more,” he gasped. “I’ve been on the road a long time.”

“How is it you didn’t turn?” Catherine asked. She cranked his arm around again for a better view of the bites.

“I’m a scientist and I have the cure.”

The camp went silent at the crazed man’s words. The only sounds were the cracking fire, the distant groans of the undead, and breaths from the gathered. Catherine took a second staring at him before realizing she wasn’t blinking. She let go of his arm and focused on his eyes.

“Say that again.” Catherine said matter of factly.

“I’m a scientist and I have a cure.”

“What’s your name?” Catherine asked. She gave the man another look-over.

“Pierce, my name is John Pierce.”

* * * * *

Frank hovered over Pierce; the rest of the village stared their mouths agape waiting for more info. It’s not often, or ever someone ran into the village with his claims. The normal night time, fire side conversation still hadn’t re-started. Pierce looked content to sit near the fire and eat and drink the town’s resources. He was handed a plastic cup filled with water, which he guzzled and held it out for a refill when empty. Frank scoffed and shook his head when the cup was refilled. The next cup full he sipped. A dish was handed to him; he poked at the various lumps with the spoon. A chunk of bread was dropped in the bowl.

“You said something about a cure?” Catherine asked.

“You’re very self sufficient here.” Pierce said avoiding the question. He tore into the bread and dragged it through the stew, then nodded in approval at his meal, barely stopping to breathe between bites.

“We have to be,” Catherine answered. “You make what you can for yourself, because no one else will.” The stranger shoveled a spoonful of stew into his mouth and grimaced a little as he chewed. “That food is a little old, go easy with it.” She looked at him expectantly, waiting for the cure to flow from his mouth. “No one is waiting outside to save us or keep us safe and fed.”

“What am I eating? Exactly?” Pierce asked and forced down the mouthful.

Micah smiled knowingly.