Life Among The Dead (64 page)

“
It was a long fucking time ago.” He admits to his age. He pushes himself from the wall and looks up to the point of light above them. “There’s the exit. We gotta climb. Careful, the rocks are loose.”

They begin up an incline that seems to be made of large pieces of gravel. The rocks shift under their feet; some get displaced from the pile and tumble down the hill. Rash is in the lead, very eager to get back to the outside world. The slow pace frustrates her.

“
It’s slow going.” She calls down to Bruce.

“
It’s fine,” Bruce says back. “I’m enjoying the view.”

Rash shakes her head, she knows he must be feeling all right if he’s already joking around again. “Your fucking brother better be home.”

13

Bruce exits soon after his companion and dusts himself off. He looks down at his beat up body and ruined clothes. “I look like hamburger.”

“
This isn’t secluded.” Rash states. “Which one is Wall’s?”

“
What do you mean ‘which one’? There’s only one…” Bruce looks up at the property his folks had left to his brother and him. His eyes are wide with disbelief. There should have only been a large blue house on a huge stretch of land. Now, many homes are set up like a neighborhood. White picket fences line yards and driveways.

“
What the fuck?” Bruce can’t believe it.

“
So what, He sold off some land, or rented it?” Rash tries to help the old man come to terms.

“
What the fuck?”

“
Maybe he needed the money?”

“
What the fuck?” Bruce’s childhood memories have been divided up and paved over. People had built their own memories on top of his. He looks around and tries to figure it out.
My mother used to have a garden underneath that white house. Dad’s old Mustang is now a minivan. The tool shed where I discovered masturbation, and later lost my virginity in, is now a jungle gym
. “What the fuck?”

“
He never told you?” Rash asks, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“
No.” He answers. There is plenty he hasn’t told Wallace yet and probably should have. “I haven’t been back here in years. Wall always came to my ranch.”

“
Why?”

“
Bad memories. And, Nancy never really took a liking to me.”

“
Who’s Nancy?” Rash asks.

“
Wall’s wife.”

“
It’s still very impressive.” Rash tells him as she looks over the land. Bruce’s brother must have made a killing on the profits.

“
Our folks died, and left it to Wall and I. We own the quarry too. Well, Wall does. I sold my half to him. I wanted to travel and get out of here. I came back fifteen years ago, but I kept seeing…” He trails off and starts to walk towards the big blue house.

“
Seeing what?” Rash asks. Bruce just walks a little faster, ignoring her inquiry. She protests for the answer. He isn’t telling. His mind is preoccupied with one thought.
If Wallace is alive, I’m going to kill him.

As they near the front door they see bodies lying on the lawn, grass has grown around the corpses, and flies are buzzing above them. Windows have been broken inwards. The neighboring houses are in a similar state.

This is the aftermath of an attack; they can’t venture a guess to how long ago it took place. Bruce examines one of the bodies for clues, but can’t gather anything from it, he doesn’t watch enough TV. Bruce kicks the bloated form, disturbing the flies and rupturing the corpse’s abdominal cavity releasing a noxious stench. The cloud of flies had dispersed only to reform seconds later. Maggots thrive in the open sores of the corpse’s skin. The winter had preserved the dead, now they are starting to rot.

Bruce wonders if they had been hit the night of the bicentennial.
I bet everyone came up her to celebrate as one big block party.
He doesn’t think the dead citizens would be able to get up the hill. He imagines someone must have been bitten, and then came up
. If that was the case, Wall would have cleared the remains after the siege, if he is all right.

Bruce tries the door and finds it to be locked. He takes that as a good sign. He fishes in his pocket to retrieve his keys. He unlocks the door and motions for Rash to stay back. The old man would prefer to enter with his .44, but since it’s empty, and all their ammo is now at the bottom of a very deep hole, he has to settle for Dan’s M-16.

Sour smelling air greets him as he opens the door. Light enters through the windows that have been stripped of their dressings. It is very quiet in the house. The only sounds they hear are the shell casings that rattle under their feet, and their own heartbeats, thundering in their ears.

The walls are pocked with bullet holes of varied size. Bodies lay on the floor in their way as they proceed through the home. Around each corpse a dark stain has formed, soaking into the carpet. The process of advanced decomposition is causing the dead to release their bodily fluids.

Bruce still knows this home. He thinks he knows where he will find Wallace. He bends down and picks up one of the casings, AR-15. It’s the civilian version of the M-16. He drops the brass shell and continues through the living room, a room that is improperly named considering the cadavers that now inhabit it.

The prodigal son leads the way to a long hall; the passage is barricaded with heavy pieces of furniture. At the end there is a door that leads to Wall’s den. That is where Bruce wants to go
. That’s where his guns live
, if his memory serves. Like SWAT officers they creep to the blockade. Bruce pauses before climbing over.

“
Wall!” Bruce calls. “Come on out. It’s Bruce.” The old man waits, but doesn’t get a response. He takes this as a bad sign.

They climb the mountain made out of a bookcase and a sofa. Their feet land on more shell casings on the other side
. He had a standoff,
Bruce realizes
. This should be a good sign. So, why do I feel so hopeless?

The door to the den is locked until Bruce kicks it wide open. The air trapped within rushes out carrying a foul stench of decay
. Worst sign ever
, Bruce thinks, growing more and more despondent. Flies fill the air buzzing loudly.

Except for a sofa bed, this room is identical to Bruce’s. He actually patterned his after this one so his ranch would feel like home. When they were kids they were never allowed in here. There is a lump on the fold out couch, covered with a sheet.

Bruce holds a hand up for Rash to stay put as he slowly walks to the shrouded couch bed. He draws the white sheet back and sees Nancy, Wall’s long time wife, Dan’s loving mother. She has a bullet wound in her head. Her arms are crossed over her chest.

Nancy had always felt Bruce was a bad influence. Not just on her son, but on her husband as well. She hated how snarky Wallace became when the two got together. Although she hated Bruce, he never had a bad thought about her. He actually found her feelings toward him to be a sign of character. She was a great mom to his nephew, and a great wife to Wallace. He could never hold her bad judgment against her.

“
Bruce,” Rash says softly. “Over here.”

The soldier is in the corner of the room, standing by the man of the house’s desk. Sitting in a large high back chair, partially hidden by shadows, is old Wallace Williamson, Bruce’s younger brother and best friend in the world. He is slumped over his desk blotter, dead from an apparent suicide. In Wall’s hand is a large pistol. The flies dance crazily around the corpse.

“
I don’t see a note.” Rash says. She whispers as if her voice might intrude on Bruce’s mourning.

“
No. He didn’t think anyone was coming.” Bruce explains, fighting back his feelings. He doesn’t know if he should cry, or be angry that his brother didn’t trust him enough to wait for him.
Why didn’t you just come out to the ranch?

In a small box Bruce sees checks that haven’t been cashed yet. Room numbers are written in the memo sections.

“
They must have been renting out rooms for the festivities.” Bruce says, dropping the useless bank notes back into their box.

“
According to this they were doing it for a while.” Rash shows him a leather bound ledger, a registry. Some folks were renting on a month–by-month basis. Bruce feels a wave of misdirected anger. He takes the book and hurls it against the side of the desk.

“
He was pimping out my childhood!” He screams.

“
Bruce.” Rash soothes in a calm voice.

“
I’m out there sitting on a pile of cash, and he was out here struggling.” Bruce tells her. Rash realizes it is himself he is mad at. He leans against the wall and slides down, gazing up at his brother.

“
He knows I would have held it over his head.” Bruce says. His voice is choked with sorrow.

“
No you wouldn’t.” Rash says kneeling by him.

“
Yes, I would. He would do the same if the situation was reversed. We’re too much alike, my baby brother and I.” Bruce looks into Rash’s brown eyes and gives her a sad smile as he continues. “We’ve been in a pissing match ever since he was a sperm. Well, those bastard creditors can’t touch him now.”

Bruce sniffs hard as if pulling back any trace of human emotion, or weakness. He stands up and looks at the desk again. He sees a set of plane tickets.

That’s right
, Bruce thinks
. They were coming to Waterloo around Heather’s due date to see Vincent be born
. He had forgotten that. That was part of the reason he hadn’t come out for the bicentennial. Nancy could only take so much of Bruce.

He puts the tickets down and spots a waste paper basket. Flies are swarming all over the mesh wire receptacle. It’s full of gray feathers and what looks like chicken bones.
Wall’s pigeons
, Bruce deduces.

He removes some of the remains and the flies seem angry to be disturbed. They scatter frantically as Bruce puts together a plausible scenario.

“
Nancy got bit,” He starts his synopsis. “Wallace had to put her down. He was left alone in his den with these flying rats. He chose to eat them. Unlike the people of Sinclair, he knew, no real man eats his wife.”

Rash considers that last bit a little crude, but she knows it’s Bruce’s way of dealing with emotions. She lets it slide.

“
He must have thought the outlook of surviving after the pigeons were gone to be pretty bleak.” Bruce points to the pigeon coop in the far corner. There are still three of them lying dead inside, undoubtedly starved to death with no one around to feed them. “So, he ended it before his food ran out.”

“
So,” Rash has to ask. “What now?”

“
Could you go out to the garage and see what’s parked in there?” Bruce says to her. His tone of voice is quiet and tender. She can see his eyes are glazed with tears begging to be let go. “And, see if there is a can of gasoline. If there is, bring it to me. Thank you.”

She leaves the man alone with his brother. Bruce waits for her to climb over the obstacle in the hall before he starts to say his final goodbye to Wallace.

“
Wall, you should have waited. I’m here.” Bruce speaks to his sibling. “Dumb ass. Typical Williamson, more balls than brains. You could have told me about your financial troubles, I would have helped you out, and wouldn’t have charged much interest either. I would have given you the family rate. But, like me you are too damned proud. I should have told you some things too.

“
I’m about two years passed my own expiration date. The doctors told me I should take it easy, cut out the bad foods and the smoking. I quit smoking, but for different reasons. I guess, I didn’t want you to worry about me.

“
I can’t believe I outlived you. I mean, I always did win in everything we ever competed in, but I was sure I’d lose this race.”

Bruce pulls out the plastic locket and opens it.

“
That boy of yours did you proud. Not only did he and his lovely wife give you a grandchild, he went out and rescued himself a stray that they adopted, Vincent and Jack Williamson.

“
I wonder if you were able to see what that son of yours did up in heaven. He told me he feels like he’s never measured up to us. I think that’s a load of crap. He…” Screaming interrupts Bruce’s eulogy.

“
Rash!” Bruce calls out, bounding to his feet. He hurdles over the obstructive furniture in the hallway and dashes through the kitchen where he finds her.

Rash is lying on the floor trying to crawl away from a zombie. The ghoul is clinging to her leg. She pulls it along in her efforts to get free. A trail of blood follows them.

Bruce takes a cast iron skillet from the stovetop and tears the corpse from his friend. He holds the flailing thing to the linoleum and proceeds to bash its skull in with the heavy pan. Again and again he strikes until the deceased man’s face is a concaved ruin. Maggots pour from the fractures Bruce has made like a piñata from hell. Flies that had been scared off during the attack return to resume their cycle of feeding, mating, and dying.

Rash had continued her get away by crawling into the dining room. Bruce has to follow the trail of blood to find her. She is sitting in one of the dining chairs with her head on the table.

“
Baby, are you OK?” Bruce asks, fearing what the answer is going to be.