Fountain of the Dead (3 page)

“We call it critter stew,” Sharon said. “Rabbit, squirrel, whatever we find that scampers and isn’t undead.”

“Sharon is a hell of a cook. And if you don’t piss us off or cause harm to my people, you may live for another dinner.” She leaned in close to Pierce. “Now let’s have a chat.” Catherine stood. She nodded to the snipers and they went back to the towers; Danny put fresh clips into his pistols along the way. Lily punched him in shoulder and went back towards her tower. “The rest of you lot clear off, go to sleep, finish your dinner, and go to your houses.”  Catherine waited for the crowd to break up.

Sharon draped her arm around Micah’s shoulders and led him back to their small house. They were one of the few with their own house with no housemates. Some of the other houses had five or more people in them. Micah reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out the white board. He wiped it clean with his hand and scribbled on it.

“Busy night.”

“You know it, kiddo.” She kissed him on the top of the head.

“Tomorrow I need to update the journals,” he wrote.

“You update them every day,” she said and ushered Micah on to the stairs. “I think Meredith has a crush on you,” she whispered and closed the door behind them. Micah’s cheeks turned red and he locked the door after they were inside.

* * * * *

“Beverly, you need to check out our guest,” Catherine called out. She leaned towards Pierce and whispered into his ear. “If you bring anymore threat to my village and my family, I will end you myself.” Catherine took a swallow of coffee, shook the remnants in the cup out onto the ground and set the chipped mug down; she swung her braid around her neck like a scarf. “I’ll get a pistol and shoot you three times. Twice to make sure you’re dead and once for pleasure, and I won’t tell you which shot will come first.”

Pierce dry swallowed and placed his plate on the ground near the fire. He finished his water and was led off by Beverly. “Check those bite marks and the scars and report back. If any of them are very fresh or bleeding, call for Frank, he’ll know what to do.” Catherine leaned in close “and don’t get too close. You need us, scream. Don’t be shy about it.” Beverly led him away from the fire. Meredith took a seat near Catherine and the two ladies waited.

“What do you think?” Meredith asked in a soft voice.

“I think he’s more than a little crazy, malnourished, and exhausted. If his claim on the cure is legit, I don’t know what we’ll do. If he’s stringing us along for shelter and food, there’s going to be problems.”

“Do you think he’ll hurt my mother?” Meredith looked up at the older woman.

“I don’t think we have to worry about that. Your mother is no one to be trifled with especially when I have someone hidden in the shed with a pistol.” Catherine patted her shoulder and then looked down at her empty coffee cup. “It’s been ten years, and I still can’t find good coffee.” Catherine sighed and chewed absently on her thumb nail. “That bastard in Boston lives like a king and I can’t get coffee.”

Micah watched the scene through thin curtains from his and Sharon’s house. He kept the lights off. Upstairs he heard his mother walking to her room. For a moment he thought about sketching the scene, Catherine and Meredith in the dying firelight. He’d never be able to capture it properly with only black charcoals. He shifted in his chair to see Beverly headed to the shed with the stranger walking ahead of her.

* * * * *

Beverly opened the green canvas flaps that covered the shed and unlocked the doors; she held her arm out, and Pierce walked inside. The shed was between two houses, Frank’s and Lily’s. She flipped on the overhead light and went over to a table. “Sit down on that stool and take off the lab coat.”

Pierce slid it off his shoulders.  “Can you burn that?”

Beverly went to the stool and stood over Pierce. She picked the coat up with a stick and stuffed it into the wood stove. Lifting his arm, she examined each of the scars. Some were “fresher” than others, maybe within a week. Others looked like old, old scars. Then she poked the tender flesh with the tip of a pencil and did the same with Pierce’s other arm. The newer bites were surrounded by bruised and mottled purple flesh. Nothing oozed or bled. His fingernails were yellowed and caked with dirt.

“I can’t believe you weren’t infected,” Beverly said.

“I have the cure and I hope that I can convince you all,” Pierce answered.

“Are you bitten anywhere else?”

“Just the arms. I’ve been lucky.”

“Convince Catherine.”

“Is she like the mayor or something?”

“Something like that.” Beverly rubbed her eyes and Pierce lowered his arms. “You have some scratches on your back and legs; I could bandage those up if you want, they’re not serious.” He stood and stretched, his joints cracked and he almost fell over when his knees popped.

“You know, I’ve come a long way to find anyone, anyone at all who would listen.”

“Catherine will listen you just need to go slow. You’ll have to excuse us if we’re a little suspect.”

Pierce stifled a yawn and jumped back when Frank came out of the corner with a drawn pistol.

“I think you’ve told him enough, Beverly,” Frank said coming out of the shadows.

Beverly spun at the voice. “How long have you been there?” The lab coat flared in the stove.

“The whole time. You think Catherine would leave you alone in here with this lunatic?”

“All things considered my new friends,” Pierce said. “Is there someplace I could sleep? You can torture and interrogate me in the morning.” Frank took a step forward pressing the pistol barrel against Pierce’s forehead.

“We need to keep your strength up. After breakfast we have a pile of corpses to move. And we’re not your friends.”

“Why after breakfast?”

“Because Catherine told me to move corpses with you and I hate the dry heaves. I’d much rather puke something up when it happens.” Frank holstered his pistol and left the medical shed. They watched him walk to the fire and sit next to Meredith.

“You can sleep on the floor in here,” Beverly said. There’s a spare blanket on the table over there and a few logs left in the basket for the stove.” Beverly reached for the light switch.

“If I may ask, what’s your training?”

“I was a high school nurse.”

“So that means...”

“That means I’m the only one in camp who can sew you up. So don’t annoy me with the questions.” Beverly heard the whispers of the “quiet talk” around the fire.

“Aren’t you worried I’m going to get to your supplies and run off?” Pierce said and sat on the floor, his back against the side wall. Beverly tossed him a water bottle.

“We have four sniper towers and some very militant folk in the town. You wouldn’t get out. Besides, what makes you think we leave the supplies in here?” Beverly switched off the lights. “Not to mention you’ll be locked in here, so you’re not going anywhere.” She locked the shed doors and dropped the flaps of cloth back in place. Meredith stood by the smoldering fire. Beyond the distance of the fence the dead walked, backlit by the moon. A gossamer layer of mist blanketed the ground.

“He’s a little crazy, maybe more than a little. Mostly harmless I think,” Beverly said.

“What about his ‘cure’?” Catherine asked.

“He said he had it, little more than that. Whether it’s real or not that’s for you to judge.” She looked around the fire and realized almost everyone else had gone. Beverly yawned and squeezed Meredith’s shoulders. “The bite marks look real, I can’t tell how old they are. A couple of them are still a little pink, so they’re still kind of fresh. He’s covered in scrapes and scratches and I think he’s been wandering or traveling for a long time.” Catherine looked out past the fence, past the sniper towers at the stars. They were brilliant bright dots in the sky.

“That right there,” she pointed at the view. “Is what gives me a little hope, that somehow there’s a fix for all this. I wish I still had my camera, not that I’d be able to work it.”

“What are you thinking?” Beverly asked.

“I’m thinking I’m a little too old for this. And maybe this needs further investigation in the morning,” Catherine replied.

“One thing though, Catherine,” Beverly said. “None of the bites are deep. So if he was bitten, I’d think the bites would be deeper, be flesh missing, his arms would be damaged more.” Beverly steered Meredith away from the fire back to their house. On the way in she straightened the “Dandridge” plaque on the wall.

* * * * *

Frank grunted and lifted the corpse; the flesh was charred from the car fire and it sloughed off with each grab. Pierce held the arms and looked green; he was going to blow again. Frank had a handkerchief drenched in aftershave wrapped around his mouth and nose. Pierce’s wild red hair and beard stubble were caked with vomit. When Frank lifted, the corpse’s foot came off in his hand. Pierce ran to the side of the road and vomited again in the patchy grass. Frank let go of the other foot and the burnt remains crashed to the pavement.

“Suck it up princess, we still have a lot left. You’ve puked more than moved corpses.”

“I didn’t eat much, I should be empty by now,” Pierce gasped.

“You’re never really empty doing this job.”

“How do you do it?” Pierce asked.

“Carrying them is easy. I’ve dragged them across the street, scraped up piles with a snow shovel. This one time,” Frank paused with a smile. “I was out here by myself and was pretty pissed off. So I found a junker car that started, and tied a bunch of corpses to the bumper and drove them across the road. Only thing missing was the ‘Just Married’ sign.” Frank waited for a response. “You know, like a car with a trail of tin cans trailing it?”

“I don’t get it,” Pierce said.

“Pick up your end, let’s finish this.”

They lifted and carried their gruesome freight across the road. They didn’t look both ways, and they didn’t wait for a crossing guard. Another reminder of their grisly job was gun shots from the sniper towers.

“How can you do this?” Pierce gasped for clean air.

“Practice. A clear road makes for an easier escape, need be.”

They maneuvered through what once was a well manicured lawn with the skeleton of a swing-set and a fort on wooden stilts with a green plastic roof. There were holes in the roof and part of one wall was missing. There was a small door with a plastic flap that led to a rickety wood bridge that led to a platform, ending with a stained yellow slide.

“Have you ever seen child zombies?”

“Only a few,” Frank answered and kicked open the door to the house and walked backwards inside, ankles firmly grasped in his gloved hands. The foot that had come off rocked on the body’s chest with each step they took. Pierce struggled with the corpse, his hands lodged in its armpits. They stumbled in and the buzz of what seemed like a million flies assaulted them. Boots crunched on bones as they walked through a maze of bodies stacked floor to almost ceiling and went to the kitchen. Frank opened the cellar door a crack after setting down his end.

“Why didn’t you check for them first? Zombies?”

“The door was closed, zombies don’t open and close doors. If the door was open, then we’d have trouble. Now get ready for this, there’s no ventilation down there. The stink will hit you like a mallet to the nuts.” He threw open the door and took a deep breath of aftershave soaked cloth. Pierce barely got his head around before the vomit exploded from his mouth. Frank took the body and pushed it down the stairs, listening to it crash against each step, bones broke and it came to a stop on the landing crumpled against dozens of dried husks. The landing was almost full of broken bodies. Soon the stairs would be full. Then they’d need a new house or start burning the corpses.

Frank slammed the door shut and handed the cloth to Pierce. He breathed deep into the cloth and handed it back. “How do you get used to it?” Pierce asked.

“You don’t. If you get used to it, you’re no better than them out there.” They walked out of the kitchen through the corpse stacked living room to the outside. Pierce took a moment to take deep breaths before following Frank to the next corpse.

“What do you do with your dead, Frank?” Pierce asked lifting the next one.

“Small unmarked graveyard in the very back of the cul-de-sac.”

They hauled bodies back and forth until the road and village gates were clear. When the last body was moved, they were greeted at the gate by Danny, with a bucket of water and a ladle. Frank poured the water over his head and tried to wash away the stink and bits of flaked flesh before drinking. Pierce turned the rest of bucket over his head.

“You two need to get inside, Catherine is waiting,” Danny said.

“Catherine can wait until I get this stink off me and burn my clothes.” Frank shook his head. Danny was young, barely drinking age, his face still too fresh to be lodged in a tower killing all day. Just showed up in camp one day, no one knew how he got there for certain, save for Catherine, who wasn’t talking. Danny stared at him and walked in back of them as the gate closed. Another gunshot rang out followed by the slap of dead meat against concrete.