DEAD: Confrontation (35 page)

“God,” was Dustin’s one word response.

“I don’t get it.” Ronni stepped forward, but she wasn’t challenging the man, she seemed to be asking an honest question.

“Time for labels and doctrine is long past, missy.” Again Dustin had a smile that went all the way to his ey
es. “We simply read from the Bible, sing a few songs, and then somebody usually begins the prayer. Any who have something on their hearts can speak up during that closing prayer.”

“I don’t get it,” Ronni said
again with obvious confusion.

“We don’t call ourselves anything,” a female voice said, tossing the hood of her poncho back and stepping up beside Dustin. “We simply share in the word of God, have a belief that Christ died for our sins, and wait for his return.”

“And this is the End Times,” Scott muttered.

That received a ripple of good-natured laughter from Dustin and the rest of his people. Dustin shook his head. “There may be some that think so. Even some of the folks at the farm, but I don’t th
ink this is exactly what God has in mind. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Not for me to say one way or the other.”

“Brett said you people were a little crazy and that me being a girl might be a problem.” Chad almost sprained his neck whi
pping his head to his daughter so fast.

“Yes,” Dustin nodded, “I imagine he might have said ple
nty. When he was working for us, I was running things the way I thought was biblical. There are certain passages about the roles for men and women.”

Now here it comes
, Chad thought. He prepared himself for the crazy.

“But there is a lot more about love and forgiveness and d
oing good. Also, folks have a tendency to read the parts of the Good Book that suit their own ideas and keep the parts they like…ignoring what they may not care for. So, when somebody quotes a verse to me saying that the Bible says we should or should not do something, I ask them to read me the verse before and after the one they quoted.”

That seemed to satisfy Ronni. Chad found himself nodding. Only Scott looked to be holding on to some of his skepticism.

“So, if you all want to bundle up, I think we have a clear run to the farm,” Dustin offered.

Thirty minutes later, the trio were walking throug
h the front door of a large two-story farm house. On the way in, they could see the beginnings of what looked like small houses. Even in the rain, there was a bustle of activity as people went about their routine.

Chad was not sure what to be on the lookout for; he e
xpected to see a bunch of people dressed in rough-cut conservative clothing with grim expressions. What he got were people who smiled and waved. The capper was when a small gaggle of children rushed out of the house to greet them with smiles and laughter.

Inside the house, the smells of baking bread and something savory drifted on the air. Warmth poured from a fireplace big enough f
or a person to stand upright inside of and still have room.

Heads turned as the door closed behind them. Dustin walked past and called out, “
Everybody come and welcome our new guests! Make them feel at home.”

Chad looked down to see Ronni’s hand reach for his and hold it tight. They had been through so much. Could this really be their new home?

***

“Up the stairs…run!” Vix yelled.

Gemma yanked her blade free from the skull of the zombie she’d just finished off. Looking around, she saw Harold was shoving zombies back with one hand and lopping off heads with the long, slender sword that Vix had made such a big deal over when he showed it off just before they set out for the museum.

The trio reached the huge doors to the museum. They had long since been shattered, allowing looters and zombies alike to roam the
corridors and open display rooms as they desired. As Vix rounded the corner, she raised the lit torch she carried in her non-weapon wielding hand. She glanced around, struggling to get her bearings in the place with it being so gloomy and full of shadows.

She passed a few side chambers until she reached the stairs, and then took the next hallway that led off to her right. It was even darker here as
she left behind the final vestiges of ambient light for the long, narrow hallway that took her past a dozen doors on either side.

At last she reached the one she sought. Producing the keys, she began to flip through them, trying each one. Footsteps ru
nning down the hall caused her to glance up. A bobbing torch pointed her way made it impossible to actually see who it was, but guessing by the speed, it was probably Gemma. Vix felt bad for thinking it as soon as it came to her head, but she seriously doubted that Harold could run at all. In fact, she was still amazed that he was alive. It just did not seem likely that anybody who made it this far had not been required to run at least once.

At last, one of the keys opened the lock. Vix held her breath and pushed the door open. The room was pitch black and had absolutely no windows.

“Well of course it doesn’t, you silly git,” she murmured. Wouldn’t do good to lock a historical treasure or piece of art in a room where any cat burglar could just pop in through the window.

Moving into the room, Vix waved the torch around slowly. It was just an office! She saw a desk and a bench against one wall. Moving in further, she discovered another door. Just as she began trying the keys again, Gemma entered.

“You have to come,” Gemma managed through ragged gasps for breath.

“No,” Vix countered,
“what I have to do is open this door.”

A scream from down the hall cut off whatever Gemma was about to say next. Vix spun at the scream.

“Is that Harold?” she asked.

“Yes, that is what I was saying. He is trapped. The big—”

Another scream cut her off, this one much louder and full of fear as much as pain. Vix snarled and bolted for the door, practically knocking Gemma aside in the process. She stepped back into the dark hallway and looked towards the rectangle of dimness that indicated the end of the corridor. As she looked, a handful of dark figures shambled past towards the direction they had come in from.

Vix began to jog to the end, her grip tightening on the hilt of her machete. She could hear somebody, obviously Harold, as he cried and swore. She didn’t need to look to know what she would see when she stepped around the corner.

Just as she reached the end, another zombie stepped into view. Vix stabbed the monster in the side of the head and yanked her arm back in preparation of what might come next.

When she stepped out into the open chamber that had seve
ral halls leading off of it as well as two flights of stairs leading to display rooms above, she saw Harold standing in a long-since dried up fountain’s collection pool. He was bleeding from a nasty rip on his sword arm just below the elbow. A dozen bodies were sprawled at his feet. She ran up behind the closest zombie between them and split its skull.

“Vix!” Harold exclaimed. “What the blazes are you doing?”

“Coming to save your worthless arse.”

“No,” he insisted. “Go back…I’ll catch up.” To emphasize his point, he decapitated one zombie on the word “no” and a
nother on the word “up.”

“You won’t be doing much more than bleeding to death.”

“You don’t understand,” Harold wheezed as he chopped down another and kicked one away with his big, booted foot.

I understand I’m talking to a dead
man
, Vix sighed inwardly. She took out another, but she saw several dozen coming in from the main entry. That would be the pack that they had gained while running through the streets.

“I understand that you have a finite supply of blood, Mr. Wentz. I
was
a nurse before all this.”

“Hey, you two,” Gemma called from the hallway. “Could you both pick a time to run…like now! Those filthy things are pouring in the front door. Pretty soon you’ll both be joining them provided they leave enough.”

“You heard her,” Harold said as he stepped over the lip of the tile-lined fountain pool, the sound of skittering coins mixing in with the growing volume of the cries of the undead.

They ran down the hallway and into the room Vix had u
nlocked. She closed the door behind them and locked it again, hoping that it would keep the horde of zombies on their tail from gaining access.

Once through the second door, they were greeted by a flight of stairs going down. Vix had Gemma lead the way, making an excuse to be in the rear. As they wound their way down the
spiral stairs, Vix steeled herself for what she saw as her duty. While she didn’t really know the young man that well, he seemed like a nice enough bloke.

What a shame
, she thought as she drew her arm back in preparation of splitting his head down the middle. Without warning, Harold spun on her and caught her wrist.

“How about you not do that just yet,” he said. “And next time you want to take a fella from behind, make sure you aren’t casting a five meter shadow on the wall.”

Vix looked up to see them perfectly cast by the torchlight as dark characters on the gray surface of the wall. She pulled her hand away and gave Harold a nasty scowl.

“I wanted to save you the suffering,” she said
.

“And I appreciate it.” Harold let go of Vix’s arm and stepped back.

He rolled up the sleeve on his other arm. Vix let out a gasp and staggered back a step. Harold actually had to reach forward and grab her to keep her from falling over.

“Me own mum,” he said sadly. “But I didn’t even hardly get sick. Took forever to heal, but I feel good as ever.”

Harold’s left arm looked like it had lost a fight with a food processor. The skin was all puckered from elbow to wrist with big divots. In the torchlight, it looked purple.

He tugged the sleeve down and raised an eyebrow at the arm Vix still held partially cocked back as if to strike. She looked at it like she hadn’t realized it was there and gave a sheepish grin as she dropped it to her side. They continued down the stairs and joined Gemma on a landing that looked out into an open storage room about the size of two tennis courts.

“This?” Gemma turned to face the other two. “This is what we came for?”

“You damn right,” Vix said as she passed the open-mouthed girl and came to a stop at the first Plexiglas case. It stood just about seven feet tall. Inside
was a sparkling suit of armor with its mailed gauntlets holding a long sword that seemed to double the reflection of the torch in its polished blade.

“I give you…
Excalibur,” Harold breathed.

***

Teams worked around the clock on the canal. It didn’t take long for the noise and activity to attract unwelcome attention. Jody and Danny spent every waking moment either killing zombies or helping with the back-breaking work involved.

“This is a lot more difficult than just digging a ditch or l
atrine hole,” Danny grumbled one day. He climbed up out of the trench and looked first back towards their community, then back towards the river that was their ultimate destination.

“Got anything left in that canteen?” Jody asked, shaking his to show that it was empty.

“A few swallows.” Danny shook his own to indicate how low he was on water.

“Wouldn’t think you could get so damn hot when it is so freakin’ cold,” George said as he
stood up and took a long draw from his canteen before passing it to Jody.

“Doesn’t help that we ran out of gas with less than a quarter of this thing done,” another
man grumbled as he drove his pick into the ground and stood to join the others in the water break.

“Yeah, great idea to be out in this rain and cold,” another voice jo
ined in.

Jody felt his hands tighten on the handle of his shovel. Not for the first time, he wondered if anybody would really be that upset if he just took Mister Remar Jenks out once and for all. From what he had seen, the man was not popular with anybody. Anytime there were “community functions” like the weekly po
tluck supper, he either complained…or didn’t bother to help with anything but the eating.

That comment seemed to put an end to the pleasant little break. The work resumed until near dark. Each man climbed out of the trench with a resigned sigh, knowing that he would be back at dawn to resume. The other teams involved in
other aspects of the canal such as compacting, laying gravel and the eventual concrete fell in beside the diggers as they passed.

“Been sorta quiet,” Danny said to nobody in particular as they reached the barricade to the town.

“Why’d you go and say that?” George moaned. “We all know it has been sorta peaceful…no walkers in almost a week. Now you went and jinxed it.”

But that did not prove to be the case. The days continued with the hard work and the gradual warming as winter began to loosen its grip. As the canal neared completion, the entire little community became more and more excited. The lack of walkers eventually had folks venturing outside of the relative safety of the perimeter to watch and even help where they could.