Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory (29 page)

“If it’s going to happen, it’ll happen,
right?”

“Right.” It isn’t a concurrence so much as
defeat. “We’ll never speak of this again. Get ready to move
out.”

###

The addition of the Harrington outpost
extends Rubicon’s territory well out of their comfort zone. But
once they have established their presence, they should have nothing
to fear from the dead, or the savage tribes of survivors they’ve
met in the past. Such groups rebel against structure, opting to
exploit the freedom the world now allows them. No rules, no
repercussions, no limits on what they can do. Brass stopped trying
to appeal to them many months ago. He sought to bring them into
Ruby by showing them how much a civilized society can accomplish.
Some defected, while many did not, and others chose to live day by
day, scavenging and foraging for food. They’d rather take what they
want over working for it.

Brass drives his old Riviera south, blaring
Kelly Peel’s latest before the world died. The excessive volume
isn’t only because of his love for the Princess of Pop, as she was
often referred to, but also a deterrent against attacks from the
living threats. Those that choose the savage existence have come to
learn that vehicles with no regard for covert travel have no reason
to fear them, and the occupants are not to be trifled with.

The Ruby construction team has walled off
Gabe’s property completely, sealing in the peach trees Vida once
helped harvest. The sturdy barrier is made from wooden planks and
fallen telephone poles, and barbed wire runs along the top. Brass’s
rattling black car stops at the new gate, alongside a stack of
K-rails meant to prevent attackers from bashing into it with their
vehicles to gain entry.

Brass sits and waits for Abby to take the cue
to get out and open the gate. The young man is in the back, and
Vida must exit to let him out through her side of the two-door
sedan.

“I keep telling you, you need to upgrade to a
better car, Brass. This shit box is older than I am.”

“Personal luxury car!” Brass corrects him.
“It was brand new when I bought it, and it’s perfectly fine
now.”

While Abby opens the gate and Vida waits for
him to re-enter so she can take her seat once more, Brass jumps out
and tosses their bags of supplies on to the dusty road. Even Vida’s
guitar, which gets treated a little nicer. Brass hops back in and
backs away with the passenger door still open. He laughs as Abby
chases after him. The three of them were supposed to break in the
new location together, but instead Abby and Vida are stranded.

“See you in the morning, kids!” Brass
calls.

“You’re a child!” Abby hollers, after giving
up his pursuit.

“Alone at last.” Vida smiles as she collects
their things. “What was that about?”

“Oh, just Brass being a--”

“Child,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah.” Abby doesn’t reveal the true reason
they have been marooned together. He simply collects the olive
colored bags.

The outpost is already equipped with guns and
surveillance devices that Vida will learn how to use. Cameras
eliminate the need for watch positions and allow those manning the
fort viewing options: regular, night vision, and infrared. The
electricity is already up and running from a nearby power plant the
Rubies have commandeered. They have water, food, support from the
nearest outpost should they need it, and as Brass planned they now
have plenty of time to talk.

The two are about to seal themselves within
the new walls when a sight on the roadside catches Vida’s eye.
“Hold up a sec,” she says, leaving the gear to get a closer look at
a plant growing by Gabe’s mailbox.

“Are you in to that?” Abby asks as she
studies the cannabis struggling to thrive. “We keep finding it all
over. I’m not much of a smoker, but some of our guys say
it’s--”

“The dopest dope they’ve ever smoked.”

“Yeah, actually. They say something like
that.”

Vida waters the roots with a few splashes
from her canteen, aiding the potsmith hero that once aided her and
Gabe.

Dan remembers how, true to his word, Uncle
Bruce took him camping despite the forecasted storm. The boy’s
mother compromised, just happy to be rid of the man, letting them
camp out for two nights as long as Bruce left the following
morning. The two walked into the campsite where kids already chased
fireflies in the pre-twilight. Bruce smelled rain and wanted to get
their tent up before the dark clouds above broke open.

“Can we catch fireflies now?” young Danny
asked.

“Those kids are doing it the stupid way,”
Bruce said, not caring who heard him. Shocked mothers and angry
looking fathers scowled at him, but dared not say a word. “Tomorrow
I’ll show you how to do it the right way. Probably won’t be any
left for the other kids after you’re through.”

They cooked beans and franks by their
campfire, and even had time for a few s’mores before the rain began
to fall. Lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the thin tent
walls with a blue glow just before loud claps of thunder. Danny was
scared, but Bruce told him everything would be all right. The stern
man was uncharacteristically tender. He soothed his nephew’s nerves
with stories, his calm voice lulling him to sleep.

Bruce told Danny to grab his jar after
breakfast, which had consisted of the best campfire eggs and bacon.
Danny believed his uncle was the best at everything under the sun.
Confused as to why he needed his firefly jar in the daytime, he
complied all the same. Bruce led him to the edge of the woods where
he crouched near some foliage covering a gnarled tree stump.

His uncle pulled back wide leaves to reveal a
thriving society of soft shelled, black bugs within the recesses of
the old wood.

Danny took a couple quick steps backwards,
“Ew!”

“What ‘ew?’ You kids are over the moon for
these little creeps when their asses are on fire, but one look in
the light of day and it’s a whole ’nother story.”

“These are fireflies?” Danny moved in for a
closer look, allowing himself to admire their red heads and white
underbellies.

“Sure are! Let’s get them wrangled up. Near
sunset they’ll start flashing like crazy, and you’ll look like the
king of all the bug catchers out there. If the rest of ’em want a
firefly, they’ll have to go through you.”

“Why aren’t they sleeping?”

“Bugs don’t sleep, not like we do,” Bruce
said, while helping him scoop their find into his jar. “They just
shut their brains down. It’s called torpor. It’s like a meditative
trance. Fish do it too, only some of them have to keep moving.”

As usual, Bruce proved to be right. Come
nightfall, the jar, a third full with fireflies, began to twinkle
like a Christmas tree. All the other campers were in awe of Danny’s
collection, and they gathered around for a show as he released them
for everyone to enjoy and chase once again. The grateful bugs
emitted their bioluminescent flashes as if to say thank you to the
boy. It was like watching a line of magic rise into the darkening
sky.

Danny joined the other children in catching
them the ‘stupid way.’ He found it harder than Bruce’s method, but
more fun and rewarding. He learned to follow their flash but wait
until they were not lit. Just a dark bug floating in the gloom,
since the glare could trick the eye. To this day, this is one of
Dan’s favorite childhood memories.

###

“Bruce knew everything, huh?” Heather asks
her husband as they snuggle on their couch, enjoying the silence
with both of their boys fast asleep.

“Just about. If he didn’t know the answer, he
looked it up. He liked understanding how everything worked, and he
was the absolute worst person to watch a quiz show with. I always
hated when he had to leave.”

“It’s too bad your mom and Bruce couldn’t get
along. I’ve always wondered, since he and Wallace were so similar,
how did your dad and mom get along so well?”

“Dad and Bruce were practically twins, but
where dad mellowed with age, Bruce fermented. He had lost Rosie,
the world around him was changing. Life seemed to aggravate him to
no end.

“My mom and Rosie were actually best friends.
The four of them used to do everything together. If you can believe
it, they all had plans to live in the house together. One big happy
family. From what my dad told me, my mom actually liked Bruce very
much once upon a time. She tried to help him deal with losing
Rosie. He wouldn’t have it, wouldn’t move on. They had a fight and
Bruce moved away. The rift between them deepened.”

“That’s so sad,” Heather says. “One minute he
was loving life, had everything he wanted, and then it was all
gone.”

Every outpost that surrounds Rubicon is
equipped with enough supplies for the volunteers manning it to
remain as long as they wish. Many people choose this detail, opting
for the quiet serenity. While unpacking, Abby discovered Brass has
added a few supplies of his own. The fridge is full, as are the
cabinets, but on the counter is a bottle of champagne in a tub of
ice with two long stemmed glasses. The lights work but the place is
lit with candles. Brass even turned on some soft music to enhance
the romantic mood he planned for the two.

Such
a
child
, Abby
thinks. He shakes his head, knowing that he’s bound to find a box
of condoms somewhere.

The tour doesn’t take long. Abby shows Vida
the new staircase of plain wood and the best positions in the house
for sniping. It concludes with a demonstration of the surveillance
system, which consists of a few televisions in the dining room that
are connected to an array of cameras they can cycle through.

“Heat signatures can be misleading,” Abby
explains the infrared, after toggling the cameras to a view that
reminds Vida of the movie Predator. “Just because something reads
warm doesn’t mean it’s alive.”

“I thought you said the ‘Smurfs’ were
zombies?”

“They are, and that’s what a lot of our
regulars call figures that give off a temperature reading that’s a
little above or below ambient. But when a person dies their body
cools then warms up again. The rotting process releases energy and
they can appear human. Just look for the clues.”

Abby searches the fields and roads for an
example. “See this one? Tell me if it’s dead or alive.”

Vida looks at the screen where a figure walks
along the road just beyond the gate. It’s a blob of reds and pinks
among a blocky field of swirling hues. The subject strides lazily
along, its arms straight down at its sides. The rigid gait could be
a sign of fatigue, however she notices a clue. “Dead. Living people
are more twitchy. We fold our arms, scratch our heads, we never
seem to know what to do with our hands. A person walking alone, no
matter how tired, would also be looking out for danger.”

“Very good,” Abby says. “We can set our
monitors to pick up motion. That way no one has to stare at them
all day and night. If something moves out there, it’ll pop on
screen and let us know.”

Vida shifts, uncomfortable in her armor. “Do
people wear this stuff the whole time they’re out here?”

“No, you can remove as much of it as you
want.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. Vida knew
from Lady Luck that folks can wear as much or as little protection
as they choose. Since the outpost was deemed safe, she opted
against the rubber cowl and helmet, yet brought them just in case,
along with her fat roll of duct tape. What she wants to get out of
most are her heavy boots that have been rubbing her feet raw since
she first started wearing them. The moleskin helps relieve her old
blisters, but fresh ones bloom.

Abby isn’t wearing much in the way of armor.
Just black fatigues, since the place is zombie-proof. The only
threat they fear is the living variety, and bulletproof vests and
Kevlar helmets are available should they be needed.

While Vida struggles to unclip her
chainmaille, Abby watches and contemplates Brass’s plea. In the
amber glow of the flickering candles, he realizes just how
beautiful Vida is. “Do you want help with that?” he asks, suddenly
very nervous.

“Nope.” She laughs as she reaches behind
herself to unfasten the last clips that hold her metal mesh top to
the matching pants. “I have a system.”

Vida looks up to the ceiling as she
concentrates on feeling for the fasteners, and he finds it
absolutely adorable. She dresses down her armor before him,
removing her shirt blouse and maille to reveal a white t-shirt with
faded bloodstains that reads: I Zurvived the Zombie House.

“The metal is always too cold. I had to wear
this underneath my first day,” she explains. “Lady Luck said some
people put theirs in the oven to warm them up, but I forgot to do
that. Now it’s become superstition, I guess. It gives me
strength.”

He knows the significance of the shirt. It
was where her boyfriend died the night this all started. The
reminder of her lost love is her security blanket. Abby feels
foolish for letting Brass finally get to him. He is angry at the
man for trying to mettle and only giving him heartache. He can’t
compete with the ghost of a guy that sacrificed himself for her,
and he won’t even try.

“Is there a Mrs. Abby?” Vida asks, then
chuckles at how her question sounds. “Do you have a girlfriend back
at camp?”

“No.” He returns his attention to the
monitors. “I’ve decided to wait until life is better.”

“We have it pretty sweet in Ruby,” Vida says.
“No sense waiting when things may be as good as they’ll ever get.
Everybody needs companionship, right?”

“That’s what Brass keeps telling me.”