Dahmer Flu (10 page)

I realized that her question covered a lot of ground. She was asking about those creatures, those that were once men, women and children that had just killed her mother and brother. More so, I also realized that she was talking about Aimee and Job directly; if anything was left of them, they’d be mindless abominations by now. A mother that would kill her child without a thought, it was a horrible concept. My mind drifted, thinking about those children that were killed by parents that they trusted; how confusing it must have been for the youngest of them…

“Dad?” Madi broke in.

“Honey, come here,” I turned to reveal my lap as she obediently trotted around the table. “Those things, they aren’t people any more. And you can’t let yourself think that they are. The people they once were, they’re gone. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “So Mommy and Jake…?”

I pulled her tight to my chest. “They’re not here anymore. They’re together in Heaven, baby. They’re together. And someday, we’ll get to see them again. But not soon.” I wondered if that was true; Anymore, I wondered if there even was such a place.

She held tight to me, her face in my chest.  “Good,” I heard her mutter.

With Dinner over, Madi settled into the couch with a blanket pulled over her shoulders. She had explored the children’s bedrooms and collected books and toys from the children’s bedrooms. She had piled her favorites next to her, and was reading a SpongeBob Squarepants book that was too young for her.

“I’m going to get some things out of the garage. Stay here.”

“Okay, Dad,” she replied, not looking up from her book. I couldn’t tell if she was escaping from reality or acting like a normal girl; for my own sanity, I assumed the latter. I laid her small revolver on the couch next to her. She didn’t react to it, but I could see her head move slightly towards it. She knew it was there.

I unlocked the garage door, and took a deep breath at the memories of what was inside. I pulled it open a crack and entered, the flashlight leading the way and competing against the thin beams of light streaming in through the dirty window. Assuming, correctly, that I would regret doing so, I lit the interior of the vehicle. Nothing had moved. The nightmare fuel that I had seen inside was still there.

I was next to the driver’s side window when I saw movement in the doorway. Madi slipped inside, flashlight in one hand, her revolver in the other. She had the sense not to look inside the car, and I felt somehow comforted by another person’s presence. Without looking from the man’s corpse, I felt for the ignition, the keys jingling as my fingers brushed them. I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Keys in hand, I crossed to the trunk under the watchful eye of my daughter. I turned the key and the lid sprung open, revealing a small treasure trove inside, at least compared to our present situation. With the flashlight between my teeth, I began greedily pulling items free and stuffing them into the pair of backpacks that I had found- a large green camping bag for me, and a smaller pink “princess” one for Madi.

I took special care to fill Madi’s with enough for her to survive on her own if, God forbid, she had to. A small solar blanket, a sealed bag of beef jerky, some toiletries, a small multi-purpose utility knife; although they were corpses, I liked this family, they had planned ahead- for all the good it did them. I filled both bags to full, leaving the non-essentials that every family seemed to pack. The photo albums, makeup and bank information… they weighed a family down, and meant nothing without survival itself.

I carried both bags into the house, past Madi who held the door before following me in.

“Whadja find?” she asked.

“Good stuff,” I answered, handing her the small pack. She struggled briefly against its weight before dropping it hard to the ground.

“It’s too heavy!” She complained, “I don’t want to carry all that.”

I looked sternly at her, directly in her big soft eyes, “You need to be stronger, then. The weak die. Never forget this. You cannot be weak any more- you don’t have that luxury. You will always know where this bag is.”

I walked away with my own bag slung over my shoulder- mine was heavy, too, but I didn’t show it. I could feel her eyes follow me as I dropped the bag near the front door. What I said was harsh, I knew, but the reality was harsher. After a moment, I heard her grunt and I turned. With effort, she lifted the bag and fixed it to her shoulders, then walked resolutely towards me where she dropped her bag next to mine.

“It’s not all that heavy,” She said. I was proud of her.

We filled our stomachs that night, and the next several after, with the food that we had found in the car. The idea of ‘rationing’ was forgotten for the first time in too long, and I began to feel stronger with the nourishment. It still surprised me how quiet and dark the world was now, which always made the nights seem later than the time that it actually was. That also meant that we tended to rise earlier now, much like how I imagined our ancestors lived.

With our appetites satisfied, we cleaned up for the night as best we could and shut ourselves in the bedroom to sleep. In the dim light, I watched Madi until her breathing slowed and she fell deep asleep. I had promised her that I’d always stay with her until she fell asleep- it was the only way she would any more.

I lay next to her in a bed that wasn’t mine- a bed that was once enjoyed by the family that was now dead and sealed in the garage. It was a surreal feeling, which perhaps accounted for the dreams that I faced moments after closing my eyes. Brief, flashing nightmarish images flashed across my subconscious; gnashing teeth, blood, being surrounded by seas of the undead… My final moments with Aimee and Jake. I had the feeling that I would be reliving that for some time to come.

I woke drenched in sweat, as I did too often. I had dreamed that our safe house was being invaded, that we were no longer safe here. The noises continued quietly from somewhere in the house- it wasn’t a dream. Grogginess was forced from my head, leaving a sharp fear focus accompanied by the throbbing of my heartbeat in my ears.

I sprang to my feet, pulling the pistol from under the pillow as I rose. Mercifully, Madi stayed asleep, breathing softly. I quietly crept to the door, and pressed my ear to it, holding my breath. Without a doubt someone, or something, was in the house; danger had intruded. Carefully, I placed the pillow on the side of Madi’s head, covering her exposed ear to muffle any sounds, hoping she would have the opportunity to say asleep.

I turned the knob painstakingly slowly, cracking the door and peering into the hallway. A silent beam of light danced across the wall, reflected from the family room. The living- that was worse. I watched from the relative safety of the doorway, hearing the sounds of the intruder searching the home, pausing periodically to, I assume, load our hard-won possessions into something of his own.

I remembered with the slightest sense of irony that Madi and I also were intruders in this home. Whoever was out there was probably here for the same reason- to find what they need to survive in this harsh world. While I could sympathize with their motives, these were not times for social graces- survival was paramount, with Madi’s own a promise I intended to keep. Perhaps I would answer for my actions someday, but I intended to do so after a long life.

I slunk into the hallway, careful to stay in the shadows, and crept forward towards the noise and the light reflect from the kitchen. Whoever it was, they were loud; loud meant careless, careless meant a liability. Having the benefit of knowing the layout of the home, I moved forward, crouching low, sensitive for any clue that the person wasn’t alone or would stand and turn around. The pistol slipped in my sweaty palm as I advanced on the sound.

As I ducked behind the dividing wall, outside of the kitchen, I thought of Madi and what she’s experienced so far. Seeing the creatures; seeing them getting shot, maimed and still growing in number, that was enough for the child. The death of a living person would be too much, I was sure, for her young psyche. I stole a glance around the corner and could see the man crouched in front of the pantry, sorting foodstuffs with his back to me. I knew what had to be done, it was a matter of survival, and I knew I had to do it before the figure became a person in my mind, when they would be harder to kill.

Inspiration struck, and I tucked my pistol into my waistband and reached to the nearby shelf to pull down a small, heavy sculpture. Its weight became a reminder of the guilt I knew I would feel. I pressed my body tight against the wall as I heard the pantry door close. I winced with the sound, hoping Madi wouldn’t wake.

I heard, from across the room, the crack of joints as the man presumably rose, then his footsteps rising as he walked closer to the doorway. I came closer, unsuspecting of his fate; I held my breath so it couldn’t be heard, and waited. I knew I would only get one clean shot, and prayed that it would be enough. For the man’s sake- a victim of chance, I wished him a clean death.

I raised the sculpture high. As if in slow motion, I saw movement as the man rounded the doorway. I was poised to strike and was turned to the man and we faced each other directly. His eyes grew wide with shock and his jaw dropped as he drew in a sharp breath. The moment froze as we locked eyes. With treacherous sentiment, the emotion that I tried so hard to deny, I delayed from killing this man. He was older, perhaps my father’s age if he were still alive. Much like my father, his face was weathered from hard living and age, and his thinning hair was beginning to grey.

Neither of us moved, each locked in our unique sensations. Perhaps, I thought, he would simply leave. Perhaps, against all hope, he could stay with us peacefully. The moment was broken when his hand flashed to his side. My eyes followed it to a holster that I hadn’t noticed before. In it was a massive silver revolver.

Not a word was spoken as he stepped back started his draw in a fluid, practiced motion. I couldn’t let him win any distance between us, where he would have the advantage, so I closed in and brought the sculpture down hard on the wrinkled forehead. His hand froze in place and the revolver fell noisily to the floor. His body tensed and I saw his face fall flat as his head whipped back, leading his body to the ground. He fell in a crumpled heap, and was still. I kicked the revolver away from his form and leaned in close. I barely heard a shallow, raspy breath, followed by a gurgled moan.

“You were going to kill me,” I said to the man, not pausing for nor expecting a response. “Then what? What would you have done with my daughter then?” I paused then, reflecting. “I wish things could have been different. I’m sorry.” Out of mercy, I brought the statue down a final time, directly on the man’s temple. I felt the skull give way; he convulsed once and was still.

Breathing heavily, I sat next to the man wondering what to do next. I left the body where it lay and went to check on Madi. Although she had rolled in her sleep and knocked the pillow to the floor; she still snored softly. Like an angel, she slept the sleep of the innocent, something that I would never again know.

I worked quickly, pulling a sheet from one of the other bedrooms and a towel from the bathroom, and brought them to the body. Taking a moment to move the pistol and his satchel out of sight, I wrapped him in the sheet and carefully mopped up the small pool of blood. I had imagined that a living person would bleed more, but that was something that I hadn’t needed to think about before.

I opened the back door and pulled, with great effort, the body into the chill night. It was important to me that I move the body from the home, far enough away that Madi wouldn’t accidentally see it; I didn’t want to have to explain why I did what I did. With my muscles straining, I pulled the body across the uneven ground, staying in the large open plain. While it was perhaps it was a better hiding spot, I couldn’t quite work the courage to return to the nearby woods at night.

Further I walked, my muscles threatening to give way with every step, determined to crest the gently rising hill until I was out of the line of sight. Gradually, the crest grew closer, until I reached the top and started down the other side. I stopped, dropping the sheet, only vaguely aware of the sound of the body falling limply to the rocky ground. Ahead, lit by the moonlight, was a new nightmare- a field of carefully placed bodies lay before me in neat, long rose. There was obvious care in the way they were placed, which was juxtaposed by the brutality evident on the bodies themselves.

I guessed that it was the man inside that had done this; a husband and father, acting with a calculated efficiency to create this sea of death. Being closer, the smell of decay reached my nostrils, and I realized that the wind hadn’t yet shifted since we had been there, effectively keeping the smell from the home. It appeared that they had held out for some time, while dispatching the small groups and single creatures that had come.

I admired the man for that, in a way, and added another body to his collection.

I dreamed that night of the time that I was, as a young child, visiting my grandparents in Wisconsin for Christmas. There was a record blizzard that year, and we were housebound for most of the time.

When the snow finally stopped falling and began to clear, I went out with my little sister, Serena, to play in the drifts. While we were exploring, she spied a sleek black cat partially buried under the snow. As we grew closer, the cat didn’t move, and I knew that it was dead. With a child’s curiosity, we came closer to see. 

What we found was tragic, to a child. The cat was curled in a ball around two kittens. Each was still.

Serena started to bawl. “We have to help them!” She pleaded.

I knew that the chances were slim, at best, but indulged my sister. I took off my coat, feeling the cold biting my skin, and gingerly picked up the family of felines. They were stiff, but light enough to carry. With Serena running ahead, I pushed through the deep snow towards the house.

When we arrived, the home was empty, my Grandparents having left for town to restock on firewood and food. Serena ran from the bathroom, the sound of rushing water following behind her. “We need to warm them up, come on!” She yelled as she ran back into the room.

Carefully, we placed the cats in the rising warm water. They floated, but otherwise didn’t move. “Come on, come on,” I heard Serena behind me. I could hear the tears in her voice. I focused on trying to warm the cat and her kittens.

“What are you two doing?” I heard Grandma’s soft voice behind us, and I pushed the water lever to off.

Serena ran to her and buried her face in her grandma’s waist. “Grammy, we found a cat and her babies and they’re frozen! Please help us; we’re trying to warm them up so they’ll come back to life.”

Grandma kneeled down to Serena, and she and I exchanged knowing looks.

“Jack?” Grandma called. A moment later, my Grandpa appeared in the doorway.

“Hi, kids!” He smiled. He always smiled. Sweat glistened on his forehead- he had been loading the firewood.

“Jack, could you please take Serena to the kitchen for some hot cocoa?” She asked as she gently pushed her towards Grandpa. She turned to Serena and smiled, “I’ll take a look at the cats.”

When Serena and Grandpa left, I told Grandma the story, about how we found them and how important it was to my sister. My Grandma was a tough, practical woman, a product of the depression, but she had a heart of gold. As far as my sister ever knew, the cats went to the vet that night and were enjoying a cat-food breakfast, safe and sound in the kitchen when she woke in the morning. In reality, the local animal shelter supplied the identical replacement cats; coerced to open early by a loving grandma and the originals received a brief, but respectful burial in the backyard.

That story, that brief snapshot from my youth, had stalked my thoughts recently, although I wasn’t sure why. Finally, it made sense. If anywhere was actually “safe”, it would be the extreme north, well above the snowline. The undead, they wouldn’t have the sense to protect themselves against the harsh elements, and would most likely freeze in place.

Or so I hoped.

Madi was watching me, as I was lost in thought. We had been eating breakfast, as always supplemented by apples, when I came back to reality.

“Whatcha thinking about?” She asked innocently.

“We’re going to move on tomorrow. We’ve stayed here long enough, and it’s time to move,” I answered. I was still shaken, and struggling to hide that fact, from last night.

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“We’re going up North, to the snow. We won’t have to worry about those
things
anymore, and we’ll be able to live a normal life, away from all this. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.” What I didn’t mention was the inevitability that we’d never be able to truly feel at home here- if it wasn’t the undead, it would be the living; and I still believed that the living were worse.

She seemed a little concerned at the idea, but she was trusting. “Okay, that’s a good idea,” she consoled me with a smile.

She was silent again as I returned to my thoughts, considering our upcoming trip.

I made the day as normal as possible for my daughter, so that she might not have to dwell on the next day like I was. We ate sparingly, but filled our time harvesting and packing the remaining ripened apples, reading books and playing with her new-found toys. It was always good, anymore, to see her acting like a child, something that I took for granted a lifetime ago. Something that I knew was already lost forever.

The time we spent together that day was quality, the kind of time that one spends when they don’t know how much more of it they have left.

It wasn’t until Madi was sound asleep that I began to pack. I packed light, emptying both of our bags to start fresh. I still believed that she needed enough food and supplies to survive on her own, if something happened to me, and weighed that carefully against packing light so we didn’t tire too easily. I noticed that she had slipped several toys and books into her bag at some point- a small selection of her apparent favorites. I left them in.

I pulled out the intruder’s belongings and set the holster and weapon aside; it would fit perfectly under my coat. The satchel I kept mostly as it was- the man had chosen his supplies wisely. There was ammunition set into speed-loaders, some first-aid supplies, a bit of trail mix and other necessities. It would, at least, be enough for a short time if we had to abandon our packs. I packed the small domed tent and camp shovel carefully, and tied the sleeping bags to my pack. I knew that, at some point, we would have to consider cold weather survival. What we had now wouldn’t be enough.

I wondered if that’s was what happened to the man- that he realized that he didn’t have enough to survive. I wondered, also, if he had a family that was still waiting for him to return. It was so easy in the movies… In real life, killing someone stayed with me. Maybe eventually I’d get used to it, but for now I was left putting myself  in his position- I would have done the same thing, to feed the family that my mind told me that he must have had, and I’m sure he would have done the same as I did. But, the worst part is that I didn’t know, for sure, that it was true. 

Readying for the next day was somewhat steadying, but it still felt late before I crawled into bed next to my little girl. As far as I knew, we were the only people left alive- I didn’t know for sure otherwise, which I realized was another comfort that I missed. It was a very lonely feeling to fall asleep to.

I didn’t dream that night, and woke up to Madi stirring next to me. We didn’t spend long getting ready; a light breakfast, then using the last of the water that we weren’t taking with us to clean ourselves, best we could. The opportunity wasn’t always available. We set off with nothing more than what we could carry, the cool morning chill still hanging in the air and the sun burning off the last of the clouds that had developed in the night. We walked generally north along an old, uneven cart path that wound into the woods. The canopy overhead was sparse, and the morning light streamed easily onto the ground, casting dancing shadows onto our path. It actually felt nice to leave the house, especially now that we finally had a destination.

We hiked briskly for a child and an out-of-shape man, resting only briefly when we needed to. In my mind, and I believed Madi’s too, there was a creature behind every bend or every tree but over time, as we grew further away from any civilization, that fear began to lessen. We began to talk lightheartedly; I was learning things about my daughter that I never knew- how she felt about boys, that she wanted to be a pilot when she grew up, her favorite TV show. I wondered if any of those things would ever exist again.

“Dad?” Madi said.

“Yeah?”

“Dad, I’m getting tired. Are we going to stop soon?”

The sky was beginning to darken; night was coming.

“Sure. This looks like a good a spot as any,” I said, motioning to a clearing a few yards of the path. There was room to conceal our site, and the ground was dry and overgrown enough that we should be able to hear anything approach. It seemed safe enough, which was all I really hoped to find.

As Madi collected firewood from the immediate area, I set up the tent and tucked our meager belongings inside before climbing through the flap. I saw that Madi had worked hard with sweat forming on her brow and a sizable pile of sticks, twigs and branches at her feet.

She saw my expression. “I didn’t want us to have to be looking around for more wood in the dark,” she explained.

I smiled. “Good work.”

I cleared a pit and got the fire lit just as the sun slipped over the horizon. We sat together on a fallen log, talking low, and forgetting for a moment that the world had gone to hell around us.