Fire Birds (9 page)

“Dumbass,” I said under my breath. Then I yelled, “Dammit, just drive down the road and come back!”

The creature turned and stared at me.

“Yo, man,” said a faint voice.

“Julio?” I said.

“I’m in the tree,” he said.

I looked up over the zombie’s head, and behind a clump of leaves, I could just make out one of Julio’s legs hanging down.

“Are you hurt?” I asked as I holstered my weapon and looked around for a big enough stick to club the creature.

“They got me good,” he said.

I picked up a fallen tree limb. It was about twelve feet long, forked, and still had the finger-like branches and dried leaves on the end. I held it up to keep the zombie from getting closer.

“Can you climb down?” I said.

He didn’t answer me.

The zombie walked into the limb, breaking off many of the smaller branches and wedging into the fork.

“We have a van out on the road,” I said. “You need to climb down if you can.”

Then I heard rustling in the leaves in the tree, then small branches snapping, and then Julio spilled out. He hit the ground with a loud thump! He had fallen at least ten feet.

“Julio?” I said. “Julio, are you okay?”

He didn’t move.

I steered the zombie around and pushed it against a large tree. Then I jammed the end of the limb into the ground, pinning it there. It leaned against the limb trying to reach me, but it was stuck there for the time being. I ran over and got on my knees next to Julio. I rolled him over. He was unconscious. His yellow t-shirt was torn and blood-soaked at the bottom, and he had bites all over his face, arms, and stomach. The corners of his mouth were foamy. I checked his pulse, and it felt weak. I heard the van returning. Grant was on the horn again.

“Come on, Julio,” I said. “Wake up.”

I tried to lift him, but I just wasn’t strong enough. I was about to go get the others to help me, when Grant came running into the woods.

“Over here!” I yelled, waving my arm.

Grant rushed over, “Please tell me he’s not dead.”

“He’s not,” I said. “But he’s really chewed up. Help me pick him up.”

“Maybe I can lift him,” Grant said. “I was a volunteer firefighter. We train for stuff like that.”

“I don’t think you can,” I said. “He’s heavy and–“

“Move over,” he said.

To my surprise, Grant hefted Julio up on his shoulders.

“He’s definitely heavy,” he said with a grunt.

I led the way back to the road, which wasn’t far. The minivan wasn’t there; I saw it farther down the road.

“Shoot your pistol,” Grant said. “I told Christine to drive back when she heard the gun.”

I pulled my pistol, and not wanting to waste a bullet, I stepped just inside the tree line and fired it off at the zombie pinned to the tree. I missed. The van pulled onto a side road, turned around, and headed back.

When it pulled up to us, Grant set Julio in through the side door then we climbed in. Then we lifted him up into the second row seat, and Grant crawled over to get one of the bags from the back.

“Is he still alive?” Christine said from the driver’s seat.

“Barely,” I said.

She shifted the van into park and was about to come back to us.

“Go,” I said. “We’re going back to the stables.”

“I want to see him,” she cried.

“Get us to the main highway first.”

After we reached the main road and away from the group of undead, I took over as the driver. There was a first aid kit in one of the bags. Grant and Christine did the best they could with the limited medical supplies.

“He’s not waking up,” Christine said, stroking his cheek.

“Do you have any antibiotics?” I asked. “Doctor Barr said the bites get infected, and they have to be treated with antibiotics.”

Grant held up a tube of medicated ointment, “Neosporin, bro. That’s it. It’s just topical, but it’s all we have.”

“I don’t think that’s good enough,” I said, shaking my head.

“I’m more concerned about the Seebees,” Christine said.

The Seebees. The last, and only, person I’d heard use that term was Bern, the young woman from Alabama. It was a shortened version of Canton B (Bern had said, “C for Canton, B for B–the Seebees.”). Another familiar term had come from Christine–“goons.” The last time I’d heard that word was from Wheeler and his men.

“Get him awake and get him drunk,” I said. “I was bitten, and I didn’t catch it. I’ve known others that were bitten that didn’t get it.”

“There’s no booze in here, bro.”

“We took the vodka with us to the bait shop,” Christine said. “Julio must have dropped his bag.”

“I didn’t see his bag in the woods,” I said. “Why didn’t you have more alcohol than that?”

“We did,” Christine said coldly. “It was all in the van. Grant didn’t leave us any.”

Grant didn’t respond to that.

“We could stop at houses on the way,” Sara said.

“How would he drink it anyway?” Christine said. “I can’t get him to wake up.”

“I have plenty at the Lassiter place,” I said. “It’ll be close to an hour before we get there, but I’ve never seen anyone turn that quickly.”

“If he dies, it’s all your fault,” Christine said to Grant.

“Christine, don’t,” Sara said.

“I’m sorry,” Grant said. “I would never hurt either of you.”

“You’re a selfish child!” Christine shot back.

“Enough!” I said, giving Christine a sharp look in my mirror. “Grant isn’t any more to blame than Sara or I. Those things that tried to eat Julio used to be people too. Should they be blamed or should we blame the people that gave them the disease? Shit happens–it happens every damn day–and the last thing we need is to be eaten up with guilt because of it.”

“If he had taken us with him, or not gone at all then–“

“Then you might be okay, or you might not be,” Sara said. “We don’t know. Let’s try to focus on waking Julio. Talk to him.”

I was quiet after that for several minutes while Christine and Grant did their best to coax Julio back into consciousness. I was surprised with myself that I had taken up for Grant like that. I think it might have been less about him, however, and more about me. There had been numerous times when I had been responsible, directly or indirectly, for the death of another person. In the beginning, I had let the guilt of that affect me, but I didn’t anymore. That was not to say that I was cold or indifferent to others. I just knew that for me to survive in this new world, I couldn’t allow room for guilt. There were too many opportunities for it. For instance, when I thought back on losing Jen, I could easily see the mistakes I had made that led to it. Perhaps if I had not insisted that we help Brenda and Hunter get off the roof of the drug store, Jen would have never been shot and would have been better able to defend herself. I could have played it from many angles and found others to which I could have pointed to for blame. The fact was, however, that I did not hurt her. Even though Brian had been the one that committed the act that took her life, I could not place the blame with him either. Canton B was the cause of all bad things in the world. Canton B was to blame.

“I think he’s coming out of it,” Grant said.

“Julio?” Christine said. “Julio, open up your eyes for me.”

I heard him moaning.

“It’s okay,” Christine said. “You’re safe. We’re going someplace safe.”

“They got me good,” Julio said hoarsely.

“No big deal, bro. We’re taking care of you. We just need to get some booze into you.”

“Did you drag me out of there?” Julio said. “Man, that’s three I owe you.”

There was a thick silence for a moment.

Then, softly, Grant said, “You don’t owe me anything.”

As we approached the entrance to the stables, we found that the group that had gathered there that morning had mostly dispersed. There were still five standing out in the road by the gate. Since we planned to stay put for several days, until the end of Christine’s and Sara’s menstruation, I saw no need to be quiet. I put the van into park, and then Grant and I got out and shot the five creatures. Then we lifted the gate away so Christine could pull the van inside. She drove up the house, while Grant and I tried to make sure the gate was secure and able to withstand the press of a crowd.

“Will your fences hold?” he asked, looking around at the property.

“The zombies have gotten in before,” I said. “But I’ve reinforced them since then. They won’t keep the living out, but they should hold up against the undead. In case they don’t, we should make sure we have extra supplies on the upper floors of the house and both barns.”

“I hope Julio’s bites don’t get infected,” Grant said. I could tell he was still bothered by Christine’s accusation.

“I have some antibiotics left in the house,” I said. “I know antibiotics expire, so I don’t know if they’re still good. I only have enough left for one person for about a week.”

He nodded.

“Let’s drive your van on up to the house,” I said. “We can leave your supplies in it.”

We climbed into the red van he had used to crash through my gate, and I had him park it just inside the barn with the office. Then we went to help Julio into the house.

“We’ll put him in the downstairs bedroom for now,” I said. “There’s an open bottle of whisky in the kitchen. Get him started on that, and I’ll go upstairs and get the main medical supplies.”

When I came down with Doctor Barr’s old bag, Julio was sitting up in the bed in his boxers drinking from the bottle. He had bites all over his body, and many of them were bleeding through their bandages. Grant was kneeling next to the bed examining the soft spot just below Julio’s ribcage on his right side. When I got closer, I could see the wound. It was much worse than the others. There was a piece of flesh missing about the size and shape of a chicken egg.

“Bro, this one is a bad one,” Grant said. “Even if we had sutures, I don’t know if I could pull it together. There’s just nothing there.”

“They got me good,” Julio said in a pained voice and took another drink.

“Has he lost much blood?” I said.

“Not enough to lose consciousness or go into shock,” Grant said.

“I don’t see how. Did you see the seat in the van? It was soaked,” Christine said. She was picking up Julio’s clothes from the floor.

“Grant,” I said, “do you want to take a look in here and see if there is anything you can use?”

Grant stood and reached for the bag with bloody hands, “We’ll need antibiotics, more bandages... Do you have any I.V. bags in there?”

I nodded, pulling the bag out of his reach, “Yeah, and tubing, but your hands–.”

“Syringes?”

“Yeah…some,” I said. “Wash your hands first then take a look. There’s a jug of water in the kitchen.”

“Babe,” Grant said, “Go heat some water on the stove. Get it good and hot.”

Sara nodded and left the room. I was angry that she would just obey like that without correcting him for calling her “babe,” but that moment wasn’t a tactful time to express my thoughts on the matter.

“Pull the stuff out so I can see it at least,” Grant said to me.

I pulled the items out and put them on the desk by the door.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked him. “Have you had experience with this?”

He shrugged, “I’ve patched up some people, but nothing like this. I’m not a doctor, bro, but no one else in the house is either.”

Julio spoke up, “Jus’ do the bes’ you can, and God will do the res’, man.”

Grant looked over his should at Julio. “Dude…you’re a poet.”

Julio raised a fist, did his best to grin, and winked.

“Yeah, but I don’t have any of the premixed fluid for the I.V...Do you know how to mix it? Isn’t it dangerous to mix it wrong?”

“I’ve got some of my old textbooks in the van,” he said. “I don’t know that I’ll need the I.V.s. If Julio stays conscious, I can get fluids in him. It wouldn’t be as effective, but...” He shrugged.

I was dubious.

“I’ll go see if Sara needs help,” I said.

I found Sara sitting in one of the kitchen chairs holding a can of Budweiser and staring at a blue enamel stockpot that was on the stovetop. The flames from the gas range danced beneath the pot.

“It’ll never boil if you keep watching it,” I said.

She gave me a patronizing smile that faded quickly.

“How do you feel?” I asked, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Can I get you some of the pain pills?”

“I’ve felt better,” she said, putting her hand on mine. “But I’ve felt worse. We can save the pain killers for Julio.”

“He’s almost polished off that bottle,” I replied. “I don’t think he feels a thing. Besides, I have first aid kits in every room in the house. I put some ibuprofen in all of them. There’s plenty.”