All That I See - 02 (5 page)

I was in a redneck version of Thunderdome.

He took a drink from his rum jug. I wasn’t concerned about him. He was in no condition to be a real threat. What concerned me were the men outside. I didn’t see any way I could escape. Corndog screwed the lid on his jug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“C’mone now,” he said, motioning me toward him.

“Git ‘im, Corny!” one of the men yelled, laughing.

He put the machete across his lap and tried pushing on the wheels of his chair so he could come closer to me, but he didn’t have the strength. He pushed again and pushed himself out of his seat into the floor of the trailer.

The men outside howled with laughter. Corndog laughed, too, sadly under the presumption that they were laughing with him instead of
at
him.

“Hell,” he said, “I’m gonna cut off his nuts and ever’thang.”

“Cut ‘im, Corny!”

He pushed himself up on hands and knees. He was so wasted, that he didn’t even act like he felt the pain from his wounds. The bandaged stump was scraping around on the dirty trailer floor.

“Know what I’m gonna do, y’all?” he said, grinning. “I’m gonna feed ‘im cow pies.”

“Do it, Corndog!”

He dug around in a pile of cow manure that was caked along the inside edge of the trailer and pulled away a handful. He looked up at me and started laughing.

“C’mere you. Got sumpin for ya.”

The men outside cackled.

He threw it at me, but I easily dodged it. Some of the dried manure had reconstituted from the rain, and Corndog had it on his fingers like mud. He used it to streak his cheeks.

“Look ever’body. I got war paint. I’m a gol dern injun!”

Then he stopped laughing and got a serious expression on his face. His gaze shifted. It was like he was
looking at something miles away.

“Hell’s bells, y’all,” he whispered. ”Ever’thang is…ever’thang….”

He fell on his face and stayed.

“Corny?” one of the men laughed. “C’mone, Corndog! Cut his nuts off!”

I limped over to him and rolled him over. He was dead.

The men laughed. I looked up at them, wondering what was in store for me. They ignored me. They just kept laughing, slapping each othe
r on the back and left me, heading
back to the ExpoCenter.
I picked up his machete and jug of rum then went back up to the front of the trailer to wait.

I spent part of the night in the trailer. The men--there were eight that I could see--built a big fire near the ExpoCenter and stayed up late drinking, laughing, and sometimes fighting. When I was sure they weren't looking, I tried to pry the lock off the latch for the trailer's gate using the machete, but I couldn't get it to budge.

     I searched Corndog's pockets. I found a pack of cigarettes with three left, a Zippo lighter, and a wallet. It wasn't his wallet; it belonged to another man, or at least the driver's license did. There was $2
,000.00 in $100 bills in there.

I had not been wearing my coat when I ran out that morning. I had on a T-shirt with a long-sleeve denim shirt over that. It got cold that night, and I was miserable. When I was sure the men had all gone inside the ExpoCenter to sleep, I took some of the dry cow manure, splashed a little rum on it, and started a small fire. The stuff smoked a lot, but it kept the chill away. A couple of swallows from the jug helped, too. A couple more swallows, and my head, arm and ankle didn't hurt so badly. After a couple more, I was beginning to think again.

I was hunched over the cow patty fire with my hands near the flames when it dawned on me--the floor of the trailer was made of wood. I stood and looked toward the ExpoCenter to make sure no one was outside then I went back to the fire and fed it. While it burned, I chopped at the floor ear the fire with the machete. When the fire had used up all the cow chips, I fed it Corndog's shoe, then the wallet and cash, then the rum in small amounts, careful
to leave some for me to drink.

The floor boards finally caught, and the spot next to the fire where I'd been hacking with the machete was beginning to open up. I could see the ground. When the boards had burned for a few minutes, I stomped it with the heel of my boot, and a section of charred and burning wood dropped to the ground belo
w. The hole was just big enough.

I didn't waste any time. Using the machete, I pushed aside the small chunks of wood that were burning on the ground. Then I grabbed the jug, and eased down through the hole
,
feet first. The trailer couldn't have been more than eighteen inches off the ground. I had to get into a seated position on the ground then wriggle the rest of my body through. The wood was still hot,
and I singed my shirt and hair.

Once I was under the trailer on my back, I rolled until I was clear. It was still the middle of the night or early morning, but there was moonlight. I ran as well as my sore ankle would allow toward the highway. The race track and ExpoCenter
are
up on a hill and are accessed via long, narrow roads that curve around the hill on both sides and meet up at the main entrance to the highway.

When I got closer to
the
highway I saw why the infected had not entered the grounds; there was a ten foot tall chain link fence around it. I'd probably driven past that place a thousand times and never noticed that fence. The gate was shut. It was one of those that rol
led off to the side on a track.

The undead were on the other side--hundreds of them. They began to howl and moan when they saw me. I had to get out of there before Wheeler and Friends woke up. I ran along the fence, looking for a safe place to cross, and they ran with me. Even with a bad ankle, I was still faster. What ended up ha
ppening was I caused a pile-up.

I jogged along the side, and as they noticed me they would follow, but they were a little slow to decide that was what they wanted to do. The ones that had already started follow would bump into the ones still making up their "mind." There were a couple of domino falls which slowed them down further. Then, just when they were getting clustered together, I switched direction and ran the other way. That was all it took. They were a tangled mess after that. A few stragglers still pursued me, but I liked my chances.

A couple of hundred yards around the base of the hill, I found a place where a drainage ditch passed under the fence. There was enough space underneath for me to pass as well. The only problem was that with all the rain, the ditch was waist deep in frigid water.

I stripped down to my bare ass and held my clothes and machete over my head. I was shivering before I even got in the water. The shock of the cold water was unbelievable. I got under as quickly as I could, praying my bare feet would
not
step on a broken bottle or rusty piece of metal.

Once I was out of the creek, I dried off with my T-shirt. I was shaking almost uncontrollably. I put my clothes on and headed for the nearest house right across the street from the fairgrounds. I didn’t plan to stay long; I just need
ed
to get some shelter from the zombies, some extra clothes or a coat, and hopefully a bite to eat. I hoped to be on my way to Blaine’s within an hour.

CHAPTER 6

The door was unlocked, and it was dark inside. I’d learned something in the past few weeks about entering houses: if they were unlocked there was a good chance they’d be occupied. I knew this place was occupied as soon as I stepped in the door because of the heavy stench of death. I lit the Zippo so I could see. It wasn’t much help.

I was so cold, and I just wanted to take care of the resident zombies so I could get myself a coat, some supplies, and be on my way. They didn’t make themselves known right away. I lucked out that the house had an actual coat closet right by the front door. I opened it and pulled out the one that looked the warmest and put it on. I checked through the window to see how many had followed me. There were only four of them out there, so I wasn’t too worried.  There was a
decorative
candle on the coffee table, so I lit it, and took it into the kitchen.

I found a set of keys on the kitchen counter and took them. I needed something I could eat on the run. I didn’t have the time or the means to cook a meal, but I sure needed a hot meal right then. That dip in the drainage ditch really took a lot out of me. I just couldn’t quit shivering.
The kitchen didn’t offer very much in terms of fast food. There were a lot of canned goods, and if it had been another time, I would have cleaned them out. I got a
small
bag of corn chips
and three cans of potted meat and put them in the pocket of my new coat. I opened the refrigerator, but everything in there was perishable and had perished long before.

When I shut the refrigerator door, they were right there. It was an elderly couple, and like the contents of the fridge, they were well past their use-by date. They startled me, and I reacted by swinging the machete. I reacted a little slower than I might have, had I been warmer, but it didn’t matter. I took off the head of the first one with one swing. The second one took a bit more work, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. It didn’t bother me. I was past that. I didn’t feel any worse than I would have had I stepped on a bug. The decapitated head continued to snap its jaws, but it couldn’t hurt me.

I looked in some of the drawers in the kitchen for a flashlight, but I never found one. I got out a spoon then popped the top on one of those cans of potted meat. They smelled pretty bad, too, but I was hungry enough not to care. I ate the whole can in three scoops, and then took a swig of rum.

Okay.
Time to go.

I went outside through the back door then crept around the side of the house. I was able to avoid the creatures that had followed me. There was a Crown Victoria parked beside the house. The keys fit. It was slow to start, and I attracted an audience before I finally got it cranked.

I turned the heat on and backed out of there. I headed over to Lockridge Street then east until I connected to 8th Street. I was out of the city limits before the interior of the car started to get warm.

When I pulled into Blaine’s, my headlights shown on the little car Brian Davies had left there weeks before. There was also a gray pickup parked there, too. I didn’t see the church van in which Sara had escaped, but I figured she had traded it for the truck.

I got out and stumbled toward the workshop. The door opened and a flashlight beam hit me in the face. I squinted and held my hand up to shield my eyes.

“Stop right there,” said a man’s voice.

“Who are you?” I said.

“I’ve got the gun, so I ask the questions,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for my friend,” I said. “Has she been here?”

“Put you
r
hand down so I can see your face.”

I dropped my hand.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

The flashlight beam dropped.

“How the hell are ya?” he said.

“Not too good,” I said, trying to figure out who it was.

He p
ointed the beam at his own face.

“It’s me–Nicholas.”

“Mr. Somerville?” I said, relieved. “What are you doing here?”

“Judy and I have been here for about a week,” he said. “We’ve been wondering where y’all were.”

“Has Sara been here?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “We haven’t seen her. I heard a vehicle go by this morning, but I was out back splitting wood, and I didn’t get around in time to see who it was. Is everything alright?”

“No,” I said. “We had some trouble
this morning and got separated.”

“Come on in and tell us all about it. I’ll have Judy start some coffee.”

I entered the building with Nicholas. Judy Somerville lifted her .357 magnum and pointed it at us.

“Jesus, Judy!” Nicholas said, “I swear you’re planning to accidently kill me on purpose. Put that thing away.”

“Nick, if I decided to kill you, it will be on purpose on purpose.”

“Let’s get a pot of coffee going,” Nicholas said.

The workshop had not changed much since the last time I was there. The mattresses were still in the floor on either side of the room where Jen and I had put them our first night together. The Somervilles had a few of their things scatter around, and there was a makeshift clothes line strung up over the woodstove.

“I don’t really want any coffee,” I said. “I just want to find Sara.”

“What about that other girl?” Somerville asked. “Was it Jess?”

“Jen,” I said. “Jen didn’t make it.”

“Aw, hell,” he said, sitting down. “I’m sorry, man.”

“She and Brian Davies both…um…well, actually, Brian—“

“Brian Davies…” Nicholas said, looking over at Judy.  “Where do I know that name?”

“He was Michael Jackson,” Judy said. “You had your picture made with him at the telethon.”

“Aw, him too?”