Fountain of the Dead (26 page)

“
Please, take my wallet, take my money, everything.
”
He opened the folds and money spilled out onto the floor. A plastic fold out hit the floor. Crowe
’
s eyes glanced to it, full of pictures of a woman with children.
“
Yeah, I
’
m married, that
’
s her, we have four kids.
”

“
Kick that money out the way, Crowe,
”
Crenshaw growled.
“
I don
’
t want blood stains on it.
”
Crowe slid his foot through the bills; they scattered like leaves in the wind. He lowered the bat and the man relaxed for a minute. He turned to Crenshaw and winked.

Crowe hit him from the side; the bat slammed into his ribs. He fell over in a ball, pink foam bubbled at his lips. Crowe raised the bat, struck the man on the side again, heard and felt the ribs break and give away.

“
Please,
”
the man groaned. His free arm scratched at the floor for his photos. Crowe swung the bat, shattering his hand and then forearm.

“
Looks like you won
’
t be playing baseball with little Jimmy for a while,
”
Crenshaw cackled. Crowe looked at Crenshaw with steely eyes. Crenshaw nodded once and the bat came down over and over. Blood sprayed and pooled, bones broke and at the last, bubbly breath escaped his lips. Crowe brought the bat down one last time on his head.
“
It
’
s so hard to find someone like you, Crowe. With such loathing and disregard for others.
”
Crenshaw threw him a towel and he wiped his face and hands. Crowe dropped the aluminum bat on the floor; it echoed out with a hollow metallic thud.

“
Pick up that money, you earned it.
”
Crowe stuffed the fallen bills into his pockets, leaving the bloody ones behind.
“
You
’
re hired, Mr. Crowe, if you want the job.
”
This time Crowe nodded once.

“
I don
’
t have a place yet.
”

“
Don
’
t worry about it. I took the liberty of getting a condo for you. There
’
s an allowance in the envelope on your couch. We
’
ll talk pay tomorrow.
”
Crenshaw walked to his desk and shuffled around in the draw; he pushed a framed picture to the side.

“
Do you have a first name, Crowe?
”

“
Just Crowe for now.
” 
Crowe looked down at the corpse and then dropped the bloody towel on top of him.
“
Did he have a name?
”

“
Does it matter?
”

“
Not really. It
’
s not like I keep a diary. I was just curious. What did he do?
”

“
You don
’
t need to know.
”
Crenshaw handed him a card.
“
That
’
s your new address.
”

“
Can I get a gun?
”
Crenshaw raised an eye at Crowe.
“
I don
’
t mind the hands on approach, but it
’
s so fucking messy. Again what’d he do?
”

“Come in tomorrow, I’ll have a selection for you,” Crenshaw answered annoyed at Crowe’s insistence of what he had done. Crowe buttoned his leather jacket and pulled up the collar. He reached for the door and stopped.

“
Who recommended me?
”
Crenshaw pulled a bottle out of his desk and sat at the chair. He pointed at the windows.
“
I fought my way into this office for the view of the city. Amazing skyline, I love Boston, museums, concerts, plays.
”
He poured three fingers of Scotch into a glass and sipped. He offered the bottle to Crowe who only shook his head.

“The corpse on the floor had some info about my fondness for obstacles and empty elevator shafts.” Crenshaw took a sip from his glass and sighed. He hated giving away info even the tiniest scrap. “I knew your old drill sergeant. He
’
d done some jobs for me overseas. Businessmen have to travel; sometimes they meet with accidents. And sometimes the accidents get blamed on terrorism. He said you had certain skills I might be in need of.
”

“
That was very nice of him.
”

“
On your way out, Crowe, could you call in one my morons to clean this mess up? It
’
s starting to smell.
”
Crowe closed the door behind him; neither his footsteps nor the door made a noise. He looked up and down the office hall. People bustled from door to door. A mail room clerk approached Crenshaw
’
s office; he handed a packet of inter-office envelopes to Crowe, eyes down and kept on moving.

Crowe dropped them on Crenshaw
’
s secretary
’
s desk.
“
Call someone, Crenshaw has a mess.
”
She looked up at him, something in her eyes showed she
’
d been broken, stuck at this desk until fired or killed. Crenshaw had something on her.
“
The mess is still warm, better to get it before it cools.
”
She flipped through some cards on the desk and picked up the phone.

“
I
’
m going to like this job.
”
Crowe said and went to the elevators. He looked at the card in his hand and felt the re-assuring pressure of the wad of bills in his pocket. He pressed the down button in the elevator.
“
Yes sir, I am.
”

Chapter 8

Frank crossed into Rock Hill;
the wind whipped at his eyes. He leaned forward into the seat to get more coverage from the windshield. The road was dark and void of life, not a bird or a rabbit to be seen or heard. Gerry kept his eyes peeled for zombies and if they were lucky, a deer. Frank eased the Jeep around massive holes in the road.

“Looks like mortar strikes, or grenades,” Frank said. “If it were mortar, there’d be army or military vehicles right?”

“They’re old meteor hits,” Pierce said.

Frank talked to himself more than anyone else. Pierce leaned forward. “I can feel you breathing on my neck, Pierce.”

“I have to piss,” he said and then pinned his wild hair down to his head with his hand.

“Hold it.”

“I almost miss Williams being here,” Pierce muttered and sat back.

“I can arrange for you to be in the trunk of the Monte with him. You two can spoon.” Gerry fired into some trees on the side of the road. Frank didn’t slow long enough to see if he hit anything. “Are you trying to attract every zombie on this strip of road?”

“I’m hoping we left them all back at that rest area,” Gerry craned his neck trying to see if he had hit anything. “Thought I saw a deer. I’d kill for some venison steaks.”

“Not very restful, was it?” Frank asked.

“I can think of better ways to spend my nights,” Gerry said.

“Yeah, like what?”

“I used to be a cop. We used to play poker, go hunting. Had our own softball team.”

“You’re a hunter and we have no deer?” Pierce asked.

“Get me a tree stand, a cool fall day, and a forest with no zombies. You’ll be choking on venison.” Shadowy figures loomed in the headlights, staggering, lurching in the darkness. They turned to the lights and engines.

“Look alive, Gerry.” Frank slowed the Jeep. “How many you think there are?”

“More than we got bullets for. Way more than we have bullets for.”

“What’s up?” Came through the radio.

“Road is blocked, Catherine.”

“How many?”

“Déjà vu,” Pierce said.

“A lot. It’s like some tour busses exploded on the road.” Ahead of them the road seemed to end beneath the shuffling feet of the undead. Their moans and groans were soft, getting louder with each shambling step. The white dotted lines were blocked from sight as the dead advanced.

“Ideas?” Catherine asked.

“Drive through them at great speeds, in four wheel drive. And hope the engines and gears don’t get clogged with skin, hair, and entrails,” Frank said.

“Pleasant vision. Thanks, Frank.” Gerry said. “Besides, we’ve done that already.”

* * * * *

Micah took the radio from Catherine. He held it against his forehead. Trying to form thoughts into words and express them. He cleared his throat and winked at Catherine.

“Take one of the fuel cans, make it a bomb. Stick it on the hood of the Jeep and drive at them wicked fast. Stop the Jeep, the can rolls off the hood into them and explodes,” Micah handed the radio back to Catherine.

“That’s my boy,” Sharon said with pride edging her voice.

“For someone who didn’t talk for such a long time and seemed very passive, you’re kind of scary,” Frank said through the radio. “Everyone back up a ways. It will take them a while to get to us.” They watched the flare of tail lights as Frank slowed the Jeep.

“Thank goodness we got the slow zombies,” Catherine said.

The caravan rolled in reverse and stopped. Catherine and Sharon ran to the Monte. Sam opened the tailgate of the Explorer and pulled out a red 10 gallon, plastic container.

“That enough?” Sam asked.

“You ask like I’ve done this before,” Micah answered. Frank took off his shirt, leaving him in a stained wife-beater. He ripped off the sleeves and tore off long strips of cloth. He tied them together and stuffed them into the container, then taped them into place.

“I could throw this at them and run.” Frank said.

“You won’t get far enough away,” Sam said.

“Tell me, Sam. When did you become a munitions expert?”

“Just saying.”

Frank carried the container to the Jeep and set it on the hood. He set his hands on the hood for a moment feeling the engine’s warmth.

“I need to get this into the center. Otherwise we just char the outer fringe of them.” Frank climbed into the driver’s seat. He tossed the bag of guns and ammo to Sam. He spied Pierce’s bag tucked under the seat. “Just in case.” He patted his pockets and took out his lighter and handed it to Gerry. “For you, I have a plan.”

The others gathered around the Explorer. Sharon kept watch on the road behind them. Frank started the Jeep and headed towards them. Next to him Gerry stood, flicking the lighter. The flame flared to life and Gerry put the lighter to the torn shirt. Frank screamed like going into battle.

He cut the wheel, spinning the Jeep, scattering the front line. Gerry raised the can over his head, the smoke from the rag stung his eyes and he threw it hard as he could. Frank stood on the gas pedal knocking Gerry into the back seat. He spun the wheel knocking more aside and sped off towards the others. He watched in the rearview as the can faded from sight, blocked by the approaching dead. He held up his hand, and lowered his fingers, hoping the count was right.The can exploded on two. Frank swore. Gerry spun around to see the results. There were blinded for a moment by explosion. Great gouts of black smoke filled the air as the dead burned.

There was a ripple like a rock in a pond. The center of the group collapsed, the outer ring were pushed forward and knocked down. Organs, limbs, and blood rained down and covered the road. Frank howled in joy and shook his fist in the air. He stopped in front of the Explorer.

“Hell of a plan, kid.” He smacked Micah on the back. Sam threw the bag of guns back into the Jeep. They heard muffled screams from the Monte. Beverly banged on the trunk in response.

“We got some, not enough. But we did some damage,” Frank said.

“We can’t waste more of the fuel,” Catherine said. Frank turned to her, a strange glimmer in his eye.

“Let’s use the Monte. Rig it up like the gas can. The tank is mostly full.”

“Nice postal attitude, Frank,” Pierce said.

“You have any ideas, Captain Tree-hugger? Feel free to speak up any time.” Frank took a step towards him, fists clenching.

“You two need to stop, we still need a plan,” Catherine said. “There’s still a shitload of them coming towards us.” Catherine looked towards the blast zone. They were coming, stumbling and crawling and burning.

“Why don’t we switch lanes?” Beverly asked. “Cut across the median drive south on the north side. Go as far as we can. Rinse, repeat.”

Catherine kissed her on the cheek.

“It’s not like there are any state police waiting to pull us over,” Catherine said.

“I was hoping for an Earth shattering ka-boom,” Frank said. “Something to knock me back and rattle my teeth.” They got back in the vehicles. Sam tossed out bottles of water; he looked at Catherine and Sharon popped the trunk. Sam ran over and handed one to Williams seeing his hands and feet were free.

“You’re a sneaky bastard, Williams.”

Williams winked as Sam closed the trunk on him again. “You have no idea.” Sam slammed the trunk as Williams saluted him with the water bottle.

The cars lined up as the dead loomed. Frank popped the Jeep into gear and ran across the grassy median into the opposite lane. He stopped for a moment as Gerry shone the flashlight on the carnage. The twisted wreck of three or four dozen zombies, maybe more, lay ruined on the road, still grasping and reaching, trying to get the next mouthful of warm flesh. Frank flipped them off and headed deeper into South Carolina. Less than a quarter mile down the road was a convoy of overturned tourist busses. In front of the wreckage was the accident that caused it. The husk of a motorcycle stuck out from the undercarriage of a truck.

* * * * *

Frank crossed the border from South Carolina to Georgia. They stopped at the base of a bridge to read a massive bank of signs by the headlights. Gas stations, restaurants, hotels, Alligator Alley tours. An ad for Paula Deen. Pierce came up and snorted at the sign

“Alligator Alley,” he smiled and turned around. “They don’t know gators.” While the others read the signs, Gerry reached into Pierce’s bag and scanned the spine of the book.

The lowest row of sign panels, all hooked to the same pole infrastructure had been vandalized. Large black letters were spray painted across: “Abandon all hope.” Frank shivered and looked back at Catherine.

“What choices do we have?” Sam asked looking at the faces.

“How long will it take us to get through the city?” Catherine asked.

“I suppose Peach Pie and hush-puppies are out?” Frank nodded at a felled post with restaurant signs bolted to it.

“Barring anything ‘special’ maybe 45 minutes,” Sharon said she reached for Micah and squeezed his shoulder.

“Then what?” Gerry asked.

“Follow the coast go to Darien,” Frank said pointing at the maps. “Then we got about an hour to Florida.”

“It’s dark as hell and as quiet as it’s been the past little while; we’re not going into the city in the dead of night, ” Catherine said. “Give me options?” She said and looked to the others.

“Skip the city all together. I might be able to get us around. Have to go further inland. We’d be doubling back into that mess behind us. Without a roof for protection or lots of ammo, I’d rather not drive through that,” Frank said.

“Leave the Jeep here?” Sam said. “No one is following us. We would have seen someone.”

“I’m not leaving my vehicle,” Frank said.

“Doesn’t give us much choice then,” Beverly added.

“Let’s do this,” Frank said. “Sam, take point. You’ll be lead. Gerry get in the car with him. Pierce, Micah you’re with me in the middle.” He turned to look at Beverly, stifling a yawn. “You ok to drive a little longer?”

“I can try.”

“I’ll drive if she gets too tired,” Sharon added. She looked back at the Monte and the noise coming from the trunk

“For fuck’s sake,” Frank spat. “Let him out of the trunk.”

* * * * *

Frank growled staring over the wheel; tail lights blazed ahead of him. Williams was in the Explorer, riding shotgun, literally. He held on to the stock and barrel, ready to fire.

“Why’d you let him loose?” Micah asked.

“We need the extra gun right now. We’re short some people.”

“Where am I going, Frank?” Sam asked through the radio.

“Once we cross the bridge, look for signs of friendlies. They should be close once we hit the city proper,” Frank answered. “At least if I remember.”

They crossed over the bridge. Abandoned vehicles littered the road, at first spaced apart and then clogged together. Sam slowed and stopped.

“The road ahead is blocked, Frank.”

“Something we can move?”

“No. Looks like it was an accident, a pile up.” Sam peered through the windshield at the blockade of cars in front of them. On the shoulder of the bridge, near the walkway was an overturned police car. An ambulance blocked one lane totally, the back doors open and gurney halfway out, the other lanes blocked by a fire truck. In front of the emergency vehicles was the crumpled husk of a sedan, a mangled corpse, rotted and long dead pinned beneath the wheel. The sedan had been t-boned, by a pickup truck, its grill still touching the fallen car, the driver of the truck long gone.

“What do you think happened?” Micah asked.

“Going by the skid marks, the car up there switched lanes abruptly. The truck hit it and then the pile up. The road was probably closed to let the emergency crew through and they blocked the road so they could get to them. Then the survivors and others panicked and abandoned their cars as the dead moved in. Doesn’t look like anyone was ever pulled from the wreckage though.”

“I hate it here,” Micah added.

“You and me both kid,” Frank said. “Do we forage for supplies in the cars or double back?”

“I have a feeling there’s something, someone in there,” Catherine said. “But I’m not going through this to find it.  We double back across the bridge and work our way around. And we can find a place to rest.” Frank walked to the shoulder of the bridge and looked into the police car. The shotgun was gone. He triggered the trunk latch; everything of use had been taken, flares, jack, spare tire. He went back to the Jeep and waited for the Monte to back out of the way. He took lead of the caravan again; as they left the bridge, Catherine looked out the window while an overturned row boat bobbed in the river.

The walkway was clear, as far as Frank could see. There was no way he was going to have everyone abandon their vehicles and walk into the city. Even if there was a safe zone, everyone would be at risk.

* * * * *