In the Lone and Level Sands (60 page)

****

The survivors piled into Fred’s van. It held
eight people, so there was ample room. Before Fred could stop him,
Angus leapt into the van. He climbed all over the passengers. They
laughed when the ninety-pound dog tried to squeeze past their legs.
Angus turned his head and whined, then tried to squeeze through
again.

“Angus, come on,” Fred said. “There’s no
room for you up there.” He led Angus out of the passenger area and
to the back. “You can ride out of your kennel if you be good,
Angus.”

Angus whined and cocked his head. His jaws
opened wide, his big pink tongue sticking out, and he yawned.

“I’ll take that as your agreement.” Fred
patted Angus, who sat down while Fred pulled a latch on the kennel.
It collapsed and Fred slid it underneath the seats. Angus then
jumped into the van and made himself comfortable on his bed.

Ben was about to get into the van, but he
noticed Al was farther away, crouched in front of Ruth’s grave.
“Al, you ready to go?”

“Yeah, just a moment,” Al said. He kissed
his hand and placed it gently on the top of the old rocker, and
then stood up. “I’m ready.” He walked over to the van, but instead
of getting in, he pulled Ben aside. “Can I ask you to do something
for me, Ben?”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“I know you’re still a bit fuzzy since the
crash, but don’t stop trying to fix things, okay? Charlotte’s crazy
about you. I just don’t want you to have any regrets if something
were to happen, you know?”

“I won’t stop,” Ben said. “Don’t worry.” He
smiled.

“Good,” Al said. “All right, let’s get the
hell out of here.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The two climbed into the van and Fred drove
out of the back yard and onto the street. As they passed, Al’s eyes
were glued to the tree. It lay on the ground, still partially
inside the house. All that remained of the stump were sharp spikes
from where the trunk snapped, pointing upward like wooden
stalagmites. Al tried to look away, but he couldn’t until it was
out of sight.

The scenery was remarkable as the van
traveled along the roads of the neighborhood. The blood spilled on
the 22
^nd
had mostly washed away in the storm, but there
were still many bodies lying around. Leaves littered the streets
and houses, thousands of little twigs lay about. Zombies roamed the
neighborhood, but no longer bothered trying to catch the moving
vehicle.

Fred maneuvered around the bigger branches
and pretty soon came to a phone pole stretched across the street.
There was no driving over it, so he drove around it, into someone’s
yard.

“Such destruction,” Sara said.

Carah turned away when she’d had enough. She
looked at Richard, pantomimed grasping an object from the top and
bottom, then flipped it over. Her lips mouthed “chaos”.

Ben leaned his arm on the arm rest. He
looked at Charlotte, who sat in silence between the only two
members of her family she knew to be alive.

“Wonder how far this storm spread,” Richard
said.

“Who knows?” Fred replied.

Soon, Charlotte got to thinking. What would
happen if Ben stepped foot in his home? Could it bring his memory
back, at least make him remember her? These thoughts excited her.
She turned to Ben.

“How are you doing?” he said.

“I’ve got an idea that might bring
everything back for you!” Charlotte said.

Ben looked intrigued. “What is it?”

“Why don’t we try going back to Ashton?
Maybe seeing our house, going inside will help. We’re going in that
direction anyway.”

“I like it! Fred, do you mind stopping in
Ashton?”

Fred puffed on his pipe. “Just lead the way,
and I’ll go there.”

“Thank you!” Charlotte said.

“No need for thanks.”

****

The cars were more spread out on the
freeway, which made it easier to drive. Several zombies walked
along the edge of the road, some just stood there.

A semi lay on its side on the median. The
survivors passed by in the middle lane, looking at the downed truck
as they went. The driver’s body was hanging out of the smashed
windshield.

They didn’t spend much more time on the
freeway. Charlotte directed Fred to their exit.

Ashton was a quaint town, and not many
zombies were around, at least that anyone could see when they
pulled into a gas station on Feldton Street, just inside the city
limits. Fred pulled up to one of the pumps, climbed out of the van,
and got out his wallet. He slipped his card through the slot and
began filling his tank.

A little red car came down the opposite side
of Feldton street. It stopped at the pump next to Fred’s van.
Looking closer, there seemed to be metal caging separating the
front from the back. Fred thought this to be strange at first, but
he waved it off; he was more interested in the driver.

A loosely built man stepped out of the car.
His greasy midnight hair hung in his face. He bore a pompous smile
as he stood by his car, looking at Fred. Fred returned a friendlier
smile after a puff of his pipe. The man was about Fred’s height,
and looked pale.

“Hi there!” the man said with a deep German
accent. “Fancy seeing other normal humans out and about. You must
have a destination?”

“We’re headed someplace safe,” Fred said.
The sliding door of the van opened, and Al got out of the car to
stretch his legs. “You, Sir?”

“I’d be lying if I said anything different,
but for now, we’re just traveling. The name’s Edward.” He grinned,
with an outstretched hand. Fred shook, but pulled back as soon as
he could. The man’s hand felt cold and clammy. Fred nonchalantly
wiped it on his slacks. Edward rubbed a three-inch-long scar on his
neck, then lowered his hand.

“You said ‘we’,” Al said. “Who else is with
you?” He looked into the back window of Edward’s car. A set of
hands banged against the metal caging, unable to reach the glass.
Al jumped back. The hands disappeared and reappeared as the zombie
smashed its hands into the caging several times. It was chained and
had shackles on its wrists. There was blood on its shoulders, and
it wore a revealing silver top.

From a safer distance, Al saw a face join
the hands at the window. It was the beautiful but bruised face of a
twenty-something-year-old. Its eyes were open wide, almost as if
the lids were being tugged upward by invisible strings, and the
eyes were bloodshot. It hardly blinked, but moaned a lot. There was
a contraption on its face that came down below the nose, wrapped
under the chin and continued up the jaw line. It looked like it
prevented the zombie from opening its mouth, but there was a
square-shaped mouth hole, and Al could see teeth gnashing inside. A
strap on the device locked it with a padlock.

He turned away, face twisted in disgust.
“What the fuck? Why do you have one of those fuckshits with you?
And why is she dressed like that?”

Edward looked at Al and chuckled. “Oh,
that’s Desireé. She was with me when our little world fell down the
rabbit hole. She was quite good at her work. What is a ‘fuckshit’,
anyway? That’s a strange thing to call this beautiful goddess.
There’s nothing wrong with her, you know. She’s just like us
humans.” He rubbed the scar again. It appeared as if he’d been cut
with a knife. “Don’t worry, she won’t bite. Not through the glass,
that is.”

“These things aren’t like humans at all!” Al
said.

“Oh, ho, ho!” Edward’s laugh sent chills up
their spines. “That’s where you’re wrong, mein Freund. These
‘fuckshits’ are most certainly like us. She
is
a human, just
more primal, you could say. I should know. They are alive. They can
breathe. Their hearts beat, and best of all, they respond quite
well, sexually.”

Edward’s words froze Al and Fred to the
ground on which they stood. They didn’t know what to say or do, but
soon, Fred’s gas pump clicked, snapping them out of it.

“You’re a fucking sicko!” Al said. Edward
was rubbing the scar again. He lowered his hand from his neck when
he saw Al watching it. “Why the hell do you keep rubbing that damn
scar?”

Edward laughed, a deeper, more guttural
laugh. “All Desireé needs is some food, just like you and I, some
water, and she’s good to go. And you may have noticed that
contraption on her face. That prevents her from being able to turn
me into a living zombie, or ‘fuckshit,’ as you call it. I can feed
her through the hole, as well.”

“You feed her?” Fred said.

“I sure do! If I didn’t, she’d die. I don’t
want that.”

Paled, Fred said, “I’m not even going to ask
what you feed her.”

“Then I won’t tell you,” Edward replied.
“You should come along with us, now. I believe we’d all get along
famously.”

“Not a chance,” Al said. He walked back to
the door of the van.

“No disrespect, Edward, but you have to be
somewhat mad to travel with a zombie.”

“It’s a good thing for one to be mad. One’s
survival depends on it.”

“Aren’t you worried she’ll bite you?”

“Did I not tell you about the thing on her
face?” Edward chuckled, then rubbed his scar.

“Fred, let’s go. This lunatic isn’t worth
our time!”

Fred nodded. “I hope you find whatever it is
you’re looking for, Edward.” He went back around to the driver’s
side. Al climbed back inside the van.

“I’m fairly certain I will, thank you,
both!” Edward laughed and began working the pump he’d pulled up in
front of. Fred sighed, shook his head, and got in. “Farewell!”
Edward waved, bearing his smile. The van drove off.

****

Still thinking about Edward and his sick
face, Al cringed. He looked at Charlotte and then Ben, tried to
take his mind from the encounter.

A medium-sized park with walking trails
sprawling its grounds lay in the center of Ashton. Charlotte and
Ben had walked it many times, but when she looked at him, his face
showed no signs of recognition. She turned back to Fred. “All
right, after Ashton Park, you take a right on Drayton Avenue.”

“Will do, Fred said.

“I really hope this can help you two,” Sara
said

“I hope so too,” Ben replied. “I have a
feeling… Like this will restore everything.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,”
Charlotte said. “On the right side of Drayton, a few blocks down.
4554, the brownish house.”

Soon the street came into view. Ben was
nervous. He hoped things would just slam back together in his mind.
He decided to close his eyes until they pulled into the
driveway.

Ben’s eyes remained shut for another few
seconds. When he felt the bump of the curb, he slowly opened them
and got a good look at the house, hoping it would work.

56

Tagging the City

“Are you all right down there, Max?” Ortiz
asked.

Max was trying his hardest not to look down.
He could see Ortiz’s face peeking over the edge of the building
about twenty feet above him.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Max said. His side was
sore, but he ignored it. What was harder to ignore was the fact
that he was terrified, and he was beginning to question why he had
chosen to go through with this plan at all.

The first day of tagging had gone well;
Johns stayed at base while the others went into the city and spray
painted directions and info anywhere they could. Toward the end of
the second day, Max saw the building.

It looked perfect. It was by no means a
skyscraper, but it was definitely the tallest building in the area.
Max figured it could probably be seen from almost anywhere in town,
and even outside of it, from some angles. One of its faces was
entirely concrete. No windows, just the ground-floor doors.

The perfect canvas.

Anyone still holed up in town, or those just
passing through, would be able to see it at some point. But Max
didn’t say anything, at first. Instead, as it got darker and more
zombies came out, the three got into their Humvee and headed back
to the community college. Lou turned on the radio like he always
did, and it emitted nothing as it always did. That night, Max
didn’t sleep much. He had to debate what to do.

In the morning, as they were gearing up to
head out, Max made his decision.

“Do you remember that tall building, the one
with no windows?”

The three soldiers looked at him.

“Max, you’re not thinking about tagging that
building, are you?” Ortiz asked.

“It’s visible from almost anywhere. It’d be
way easier to see than our other messages around town.”

“He’s got a point,” Lou said.

“It’s risky,” Johns replied. “I don’t even
know how many people are left
to
see it.”

“We’re trying to bring in as many people as
possible,” Max said. “Every person counts. Every one of them.
This’ll help a lot.”

“We have the paint for it,” Lou said. “And
we have the gear to get someone up there.”

“Okay,” Ortiz said. “We can tag that
building.”

Max took a deep breath and prepared himself.
“I want to do it.” Once again, he found six eyes on him.

“Do you think you’re ready for it?” Johns
asked.

“I’m not sure, but I want to try. I’m tired
of holding you guys back.”

“Max, you aren’t—”

“From the very beginning,” Max said, “I’ve
been more of a burden than help. Everything you guys have done, you
could’ve done as easily without me. Maybe even easier.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to us,”
Ortiz said.

“It’s not for you.” Max brought his hand to
his face, felt the wound across his eye. “It’s for me. I need to
know that I can do it. If I can come up with an idea, and execute
it, and if that helps people, then I’ll know I can do anything I
need to. Please.”

The soldiers exchanged glances. “Okay,”
Ortiz said.