White Flag of the Dead (34 page)

I went over to the smaller desk in the office and checked the drawers. I found nothing of interest except for an unusually large supply of chewing gum. Frustrated, I looked around and saw a door that led to the large garage next to the administrative building. Opening the door, I looked into the gloom of the garage and saw several plow trucks, so that part of the mission was accomplished. But the keys were elusive. Staying in the doorway, I looked around at what I considered logical places for keys. Finding nothing, I went back into the office and looked around again. I noticed something on the wall behind the open door of the office, a rack with keys. That made sense. The secretary and supervisor could see at a glance what trucks were out and what ones were still in the garage.

Grabbing three sets of keys, I went into the garage and started a slow recon of the garage. I stayed near the doors, as I could see better using the light from the windows in the garage. The plow blades loomed large in the waning light, the trucks waiting like dormant beasts. I couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, so I used the tried and true method of throwing something and seeing if anything moved. Picking up a pop can from a work table, I tossed it towards the back wall. The can hitting the floor sounded like a shot, and I listened intently for any sound.

Sure enough, I heard some scraping and sliding on the concrete floor. Something was back there. But I wasn’t going to go hunting in the dark, no matter how cold it was or how slow the Z’s were. I went to the garage door and unlocked it, shoving the door upward with a grunt. God, I missed electricity.

The open door cast a lot more light into the garage, and I bent down to see underneath the trucks. There was something moving in the back, but the truck’s tires kept me from seeing clearly what it was. I circled to the left and saw what was left of a man trying to crawl. He was wearing a blue jumpsuit, and when he raised himself up I could see CARL stitched on the breast pocket. His skin was nearly white, mottled with black streaks. His back around his kidneys had been torn out, and I could see his broken spine through the cloth. That would explain why he was crawling.

After checking to make sure he was alone, I hefted my crowbar and slammed Carl’s head to the ground. His skull cracked like a coconut, and his movement stopped completely. I hooked his collar with the claw end and dragged him outside. A quick look around showed he was alone, so I checked my keys and went over to the truck that had the corresponding number.

I climbed into the cab and looked things over. It didn’t seem too complicated, and I was thankful yet again that my parents insisted that I learn to drive stick shift when I was learning to drive. “Never know when a skill might be handy.” My dad used to say. I hoped he was alright, but I didn’t have much faith in that.

I put the key in the ignition and tried it. The engine coughed and turned over, but didn’t catch. I tried it again and the same thing happened. Hoping the third time was the charm, I tried it again. No go. Okay, one last time and I would try another truck. Once again I was rewarded with nothing.

It wasn’t until I tried the third truck that I actually got one running. It was a newer model, so I imagined it didn’t lose power as fast as the other ones. I got out of the cab to let things warm up and ran into Tommy and Sarah. They were both grinning like fools and I wondered what was going on. They had to have found something pretty neat to be smiling like that.

“What’s up?” I asked, giving the two of them a suspicious look.

Tommy nudged Sarah who smiled and pointed to the pickup. In the bed were two small devices, and it took me a minute to figure out what they were. When I did, I whooped and grabbed up Sarah, swinging her around in a small dance of joy. She laughed and it was a good thing to hear. For good measure, I grabbed Tommy and did the same thing to him. He didn’t laugh.

“Where the hell did you find them?” I asked, walking over to the truck and resting a hand on two of the most beautiful gas powered generators I had ever laid eyes on.

Tommy came up and slapped me on the back. “We found them just sitting on the side of that small garage. There was a bunch of other tools, and another welding torch, but these were the prize. I hear you have a truck running.”

I smiled. “Took me twelve tries, three trucks, and a crippled Carl to find it, but she’s warming up now.”

“Carl?” Sarah asked, arching an eyebrow at me. “Since when do we name these things?”

I laughed. “Ordinarily I don’t. But it’s on his coveralls, so he gets a name.”

Tommy spoke up. “So what’s the plan then? You want me to head back with the truck or the plow?”

I considered it for a moment, then said, “Take the plow back. I want to take the truck for a small side trip.”

Tommy cocked his head sideways like a dog looking at something that doesn’t seem right. “Where you going?” he asked.

I decided to add to his confusion. “Home.” was all I said.

26

Sarah looked at me strangely, but she got into the truck’s cab. I guessed she wanted to see what I was talking about. “I’ll be back at the building in an hour, no later.” I told Tommy as he jumped into the plow. I winced as he clanged the big blade on the ground, trying to figure out the hydraulics controls.

I climbed into the pickup and moved out to the gate. Sarah asked which way we were going and all I said was “Straight.” Which was odd as the road only went left or right.

But it immediately made sense when I pulled into the subdivision across the street. I had driven this road so many times it was easy to forget the how the world was now. The homes I passed were as familiar to me as my own, and even though I saw the wreckage and decaying bodies, I didn’t really see them. In my mind’s eye I was looking at my neighborhood the way it was, the way it was supposed to be. Part of my mind warned me that this was a dangerous trek I was taking, that the truth might be harder to handle than anything I could ever have imagined. But the other part didn’t care. I
needed
to see my house, I
needed
to see the place where I had built so many memories.

I turned the corner and went down the side street, my eyes taking in the broken homes and the smashed cars. This neighborhood did not seem to have suffered too much devastation, and I began to get the hope that I would find my house intact and unlooted.

Sarah was quiet the whole time I was driving, and I could see her glance at me from time to time in the corner of my eye. What she had to be thinking was anybody’s guess. But with the events of the last day and losing Chelsea, something was pushing me towards home.

I turned around the bend in the road and I could see my house at the end of the block. From a distance, it looked untouched and I began to harbor the hope that it had been passed by looters and the waves of zombies looking for food.

I pulled up to the house and initially it looked okay. The windows weren’t smashed, and the door was still in place. I looked at Sarah and she smiled, although I could see she was troubled by this visit, for some reason. I got out of the truck and Sarah followed, the both of us instinctively scanning the area and looking for threats. Seeing none, I went to the garage door and turned the handle. Still locked. I reached down to my knife sheath and unsnapped the small pouch that held the sharpening stone for the knife. Pulling out the stone, I reached into the pouch again and pulled out the key I had stashed there months ago.

Showing the key to Sarah, she just grinned and shook her head at me. I opened the door and let the light spill into the garage. My car was still there, the tires a little lower, but still drivable. I signaled to Sarah to pull the truck into the garage, as I did not want to leave it outside in case someone went by and decided he wanted the generators more than we did. After I had pulled down the door, I looked around and went over to the tool wall. Grabbing an axe and hatchet, as well as a hand saw, I put them into the bed of the truck. As an afterthought, I put in the kukri machete I had bought to control the runaway English Ivy that tried every year to choke out the lilies. Sarah eyed that machete, and decided she liked it better than her knife. I smiled and said nothing.

I went to the garage door that led to the house, and using the same key, unlocked the door. I hesitated for a second, more by habit than anything else, then opened the door. I had my gun out, because the experience of the last several months had conditioned me to distrust appearances. On the outside, my house seemed the same way I had left it. But the inside could house horrors and I was fooling myself if I didn’t think it was possible.

I stepped inside and quickly looked around. The overcast skies did not allow much light in the best of circumstances, and my barricaded windows allowed even less. But even in the gloom, I could see that the house had miraculously survived intact. Everything was exactly as I had left it when Jake and I had fled, hoping to escape the worst of the zombie hordes. Looking at the house, I wonder if I had made the right decision.

I was prepared for the house to be destroyed, and I was prepared for the house to be looted. What I was not prepared for was the flood of memories and feelings that surged as I moved around the house. I went upstairs and looked in on the bedroom Ellie and I had shared. I gently closed the music box where she had always put her rings when she went to work. I stopped in Jakey’s room, looking at the small crib and dresser, and the rocking chair that I had spent so many nights in. I looked into the front bedroom that Ellie and I had planned to give to Jake when he graduated to a “big-boy bed.”

I went back downstairs to find Sarah looking around the family room, taking in the pictures and looking around.

“Nice place. Where did you find the wood for the windows and doors?.” was all she said.

I sighed. “It was, once. I used the wood from my porch. There’s a lot of memories here.”

“I’ll bet. Good idea, by the way. It explains a lot.” Sarah said. She was being more quiet than usual, and I had a suspicion about what was bothering her, but I wasn’t going to address it today. Not the time nor the place. But I did know what I needed to do.

“I am going to go downstairs and get what ammo and guns I left here when I bugged out. Do you want to come down and grab the food and water I left here?” I asked.

Sarah seemed to shake herself out of her mood. “Sure.”

We went downstairs and it was so dark we needed to use a flashlight. I led the way to the back area, pushing the cabinet aside and revealing the opening to the room under the garage. I used my knife to scrape away the caulk I had put in, and Sarah looked over my tools as I worked.

“I didn’t know you were handy.” She said, running a hand over my tool belt and miter saw.

I answered from the floor. “Yeah, I picked up a lot from my dad and grandpa. I was taught to try and fix something myself before I called a professional and spend hard earned money. I had a lot of unfinished projects that used to drive Ellie nuts.”

Sarah murmured to herself, but loud enough for me to pick up, “I never knew her name.”

Finishing with the caulk, I removed the first piece of wood, then went to work on the second. It came out in a minute and I slipped into the gloom of the room, lighting my way with the flashlight. I showed Sarah the water bottle supply and she immediately began bringing cases up to the truck. I went to my safe and opened it, after spending a minute trying to remember what the combination was. Opening the safe, I pulled out the cases of ammo for the M1 Carbine, all of the reloaded ammo for the SIG, and the boxes of .22 ammo. I hauled it all upstairs, bumping into Sarah on the way down, whose eyes opened wide at the haul.

Passing Sarah again on my way down to the room, I went and grabbed my Walther PPK and my GSG-5 .22 rifle. Tucking the Walther into my pocket, I put the GSG-5 into a rifle case with its extra magazine, and brought it out, bumping into Sarah once again. I put it in the truck and went back to grab the plastic bins of clothes that Ellie and I had for Jake which we had inherited from my brother. Jake was running out of clothes and these would be just about ready for him.

I passed Sarah one last time, grabbing my Winchester and bringing up my extension cords. I had four of them, and they should be enough for our purposes. Heading out into the garage, I realized we had seriously loaded the truck. The bed was full and the back seat was full as well.

I went back into the house and stood in the kitchen looking around. Sarah came in from the garage and stood by the door. Her eyes met mine and I could see she was impatient to go.

I didn’t want to leave, not yet. But I couldn’t stay. There was nothing for me here. Sure, I could live here and survive, and Jake could survive, but that would be all we would be doing. We wouldn’t be living, just scavenging an existence on the fringe of oblivion. And what would happen to Jake if I was to pass from infection or illness?

I looked at Sarah. “Anything you want from upstairs? You’re about the same size as Ellie, except a bit thinner.”

Sarah scowled for a minute, then a thoughtful look came over her face. She went upstairs and came down a few minutes later with an armful of clothes. I followed her lead and went and grabbed a lot of clothes for myself, mostly cold weather stuff, but also essentials like jeans and cargo pants and sweatshirts.

Heading out to the garage, I found Sarah stuffing the clothes into a garbage bag. Doing the same, we tossed our booty into the truck bed.

“We need to get going, the weather is getting bad.” Sarah said, pointing to the large snowflakes that were starting to come down.

“You got it. I have one more thing to do.” I said. I went back into the house with a puzzled Sarah following. I went to the fireplace and took down the picture of myself, Ellie and a two month old Jake.
What we didn’t know then
, I thought, my heart suddenly heavy. I stared at the picture then replaced it with a sigh. I straightened up and took my wedding ring off my finger. I put it on the mantle next to the picture and patted the picture, much the same way my grandfather patted the coffin of my grandmother when she passed away. It was a final goodbye, and I was doing the same to the life I once had. This was my house, but it would not be my home for a long time, if ever. I had work to do. My dad hated funerals, his thought on it being
“The dead are dead. They don’t care about us and we shouldn’t cry about them.”