Mr. Elkins and the Zombies of Elbert County (3 page)

“I don’t detect a hint of malice in these creatures,” added Ruth.

Something seemed to dawn in Dwight’s mind. “But isn’t that how it always starts?” Fear reasserted itself in his eyes. “They haven’t eaten anybody
yet
. Doesn’t mean they won’t.” His hand dropped to the handle of his revolver. “An’ what if it’s you, or Ruth…or…or Seth…or the little ones. We won’t be standing here like there was some sort of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade passing by. This is why we have the Second Amendment!”

“Dwight,” cautioned Ruth, “I hardly think that the Founding Fathers thought we need the right to bear arms to protect us from zombies, for goodness sake.”

“It’s good we have ’em, just the same. We’re being invaded, goshdarnit! I shouldn’t have let you talk me out of takin’ ’em out. I had ’em right there in my sights. God only knows who they’re eating now?”

Ruth and I exchanged looks of dismay that Dwight didn’t realize both of his shots would’ve had a low probability of hitting the side of a barn. Dwight lifted his cap and scratched his head furiously as he looked into the dark empty trail of the zombies across the road.

“Jessup Canaday lives over that way,” he said with new urgency. “Have you seen him or Sandra lately? Maybe the zombies are having a barbecue over there and that’s why they’re flocking in that direction.”

“They don’t cook their food,” interjected Seth.

“Seth—” I corrected him with a stern look. “I saw Jessup at Beasley’s fruit stand yesterday, and he looked fine.”

“Well, I better go warn him,” Dwight said, making for his truck. The engine roared out of its slumber, and the red flashing lights went on again. The wheels spun in reverse, then sprayed gravel as he sped off.

“Should we give Mr. Canaday a call to warn him?” asked Seth.

“About the zombies or Mr. Yarson?” I responded. “No, Mr. Canaday can handle the zombies
and
Dwight Yarson. Let’s get to bed. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Even as the words came out of my mouth, I had a hunch that I had greatly underestimated what was in store for us. Ruth and Seth went off to bed and I settled down in our den to make preparations for the next day.

* * *

By the time sunlight creased the horizon, I counted three news trucks outside of our house. The Fox Network had their truck there first, of course. Dwight had undoubtedly called Sam Reynolds, the county Sheriff, who put out an APB, which was picked up by the news stations.

“You won’t be making it over to see the principal this morning,” Ruth said as she peeked out of the curtains. Without saying another word, we set out on our usual morning routine. By the time the kids came down for breakfast, I had coffee brewed and pancakes on the table. Because the kids’ bedrooms and our kitchen faced south, they came down to breakfast unaware of the news trucks.

“Kids, there’s going to be some activity around here today,” I began. “Some news trucks are parked out front—”

“News trucks? With TV cameras?” broke in Michael, eyes wide with anticipation. “We’re gonna be on TV! Cool! Wait’ll the kids at school hear about this!”

“Michael,” corrected Ruth, “You’ve interrupted your father.”

“Oh, sorry, Dad. Only this is wicked!” Seth elbowed him with a stern look and a
shush
.

“Like I was saying, the news trucks and reporters are out there and I’m sure they’d like to interview each of us.” I paused and looked Michael in the eye. “But I’m the only one who’ll be talking to them.” His face sank.

“But Dad—”

“Michael, you haven’t even seen them,” Seth snapped.

“Celia and I both saw them last night, out of Mom and Dad’s bedroom window, when Mr. Yarson was shooting at them. Man, is he a lousy shot!” I noticed Cecelia was staring into her pancakes, avoiding my eyes.

“The only one,” I reasserted, looking each of them in the eyes. “Your mother and I discussed this last night. When they approach you, and they will if they can, you’re to walk straight ahead with your mother and get on the bus. She’ll meet you after school as well.”

Michael sunk his head into his propped up hand and stabbed at his pancakes. Cecelia looked a bit confused by it all.

“I’m sorry I drew a picture of the zombies, Mom. I guess I let the secret out.” I’ve always marveled at that child’s wisdom for one so young.

“Oh, it’s alright, honey” assured Ruth, rubbing Cecelia’s back. “It was bound to come out sooner or later.”

“Seth, if you don’t have a test today, I’ll be needing your help around here,” I stated.

“What?!” Michael blurt out. My raised eyebrow set him straight.

“Yeah, that’s fine, Dad,” Seth replied. This was a tack we’d only taken a few times in the past, like when a heavy wind had uprooted one of our big cottonwoods and driven it into the roof of our barn. Great shade trees, cottonwoods, but darn near useless in heavy weather. I asked this of Seth a fraction of the time my father had asked it of me when I was in school. On a family farm, a father walks this fine line cautiously, knowing that his children’s education comes first, yet facing urgent situations when extra hands are needed. And Seth understood his role to do his best at school in order to be prepared for times like this.

Breakfast finished and cleared up, Ruth helped the kids on with their coats and backpacks, then waited with them in the foyer.

“Seth, grab the video camera, a ball cap, and your sunglasses, and follow me out front. We’ll run interference for your mother.” Seth ran to his room and came back ready to go.

“Got fresh batteries and a tape in that thing?” I asked. Seth nodded excitedly. “Good. You follow my lead and videotape everything that goes on outside. But do it from the side, out of sight of their video cameras.”

We went to the front door, turned and looked at Ruth, Michael and Cecelia.

“This is so unfair,” grumbled Michael. But he knew not to argue any more. Seth gave Michael a smirky smile.

“Have fun at sch-o-o-o-l,” Seth gloated.

“When we finish here,” I informed Seth, “you’ll be mucking out the barn.” This straightened out his smile and drew a stuck-out tongue from his younger brother.

I walked out the door, followed by Seth, and over to the corner of the yard by the driveway. They were on us like dogs in a kennel at feeding time. Lights switched on, mike booms swung into place, and reporters ditched their coffee cups and jostled for position. Questions tumbled out like wagging tongues. I held up my hand, nodded at Seth, and waited for them to listen. Seth stepped to the side to take us all in and turned on the camcorder. Funny, somehow they didn’t take to being videotaped themselves.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I will answer all of your questions on one condition. My young ones need to get to school and go about their day as usual. If you question, approach, or even videotape them, you will hear no more from me. Is that clear?”

The reporters exchanged I-won’t-do-it-if-you-won’t-do-it looks amongst themselves. No doubt they had heard of Cecelia’s zombie drawing and were anxious to interview her. The air of temptation was thick.

“Do we have a deal?” I asked. Each nodded, casting sideways glances at the others. “Fine. Now, if each of you, as representatives of your news station, will sign this affidavit prepared by our lawyer, guaranteeing the privacy of our children, and that no images of them appear on your broadcast, those of your affiliates, websites, and print outlets, we can begin.” I passed out the affidavit and watched their faces cloud with confusion. With furrowed brows and furtive looks, the reporters skimmed the document, glancing quickly at each other to ensure they weren’t the only ones signing away their rights. I could see the gears churning in their heads, wondering if this piece of paper was legally binding and calculating their dodge for getting around it. My hope was that they would stall long enough to give us some breathing room over what was to be a stressful next 24 hours. One by one, the pens dashed across the bottom of each page and the papers were handed back to me.

“Very well, then. Who’s first?”

As if on cue, the school bus came rambling up the road and stopped at our mailbox. The front door opened and Ruth and the kids made a beeline for the bus. Instinctively, the cameraman from Fox spun around to get them on tape. His female reporter rounded on him.

“You moron!”

He swung the camera back, looking a bit sheepish. I stared at him calmly, the way you do when your kid has done or said something stupid, as if to say, “Don’t even try to explain your way out of this.” The school bus pulled out and Ruth went back inside.

The other reporters looked at the Fox crew with a mixture of panic and frustration. The Fox reporter’s eyes darted around, hoping for a reprieve.

“If you’ll excuse us,” I said with the faintest of smiles.

“You mean—”

“I’ll resume when your truck has pulled out,” I stated.

Jaws clenched and eyes flared as the other crews stared her down.

Seeing she had no way out, save one, she turned on her cameraman and hit him with her microphone, then shoved him toward the truck.

“You idiot! You just cost me the lead in the 5:00 news!” The cameraman tried to shield himself from her blows as best he could. I pitied the poor fellow. He was acting on instinct, which in his business served him well most of the time. But like they say, “Hell hath no fury…”

When they had pulled out, her ranting still audible through the rolled-up cab windows, I turned to the other reporters. Each bore an unmistakable sliver of a grin. The man from Channel 4 went first.

“Mr. Bell, is it true that you’ve seen zombies walking across your property at night?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Can you describe them for us?”

“Well, they’re a rather unfortunate sight. Faces are ashen, clothes are untidy, kind of a glazed look in their eyes.”

The woman from Channel 7 was next. “What was your first reaction? Revulsion? Terror? And have you heavily armed yourselves?”

“I would say more like pity. And, no, we have not armed ourselves.”

Her eyebrows arched in question. “Pity? Weren’t you afraid for your family?”

“No reason to be. They made no threat to us.”

Back to the man from Channel 4. “You said ‘they.’ Exactly how many have you seen?”

“Five.”

The woman again. “Were they eating corpses, Mr. Bell?”

“No, they just walked by.”

“Where do they come from?” asked the man.

“Well, we don’t know exactly. They move from the southwest corner of our property, across the vegetable garden, up the driveway and across the road.” Their heads quickly turned to look across the road like our golden retriever when you fake her out by pretending to throw a stick. The two shot glances at each other, questioning if the other would bolt for Jessup Canaday’s property. “Beyond that, I haven’t got a clue.”

The woman fired another round. “Why do you think they’ve come to your property, Mr. Bell? Is there anything here that might attract them? Wiccan ceremonies? Occult practices?”

I paused to consider the sensationalistic tact she was taking. It was more the line of questioning I expected from the Fox reporter. “What brought them up out of the earth, one can only speculate. Scientists and theologians are better equipped to address the cause of such phenomenon. Why here? Well, I suppose it’s merely coincidence. I can assure you there’s nothing about reading the Bible to your children that attracts the undead.”

She looked as if I’d just cut off her approach to the cookie jar. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Finally, the man asked, “Would you mind our camera crew coming back tonight to document the zombies? You know, in your back yard?”

I smiled. “You’re welcome to stand across the street, off of our property. That’s the Canaday’s land, so you’ll have to inquire with them.” His shoulders sank a bit and he realized the interview was over.

“You all have a nice day.” I nodded to Seth, who lowered is camera and we started back to the house. Then I stopped to face them once more. “You will honor our agreement, now won’t you.” The reporters nodded solemnly and began to pack up their gear.

In the kitchen, Ruth was folding the laundry. She raised her eyes to give me a soft smile, then returned to the laundry.

“Mom, you should’ve seen Dad! He was awesome out there, the way he outsmarted those TV reporters. Especially the guys from Fox! Man, I feel sorry for that dude.”

Ruth nodded knowingly. “Your father’s no country bumpkin.” Then turning to me, “Principal Mortly called. He’s on his way out here with Francine Rakus and a few others.” I looked down at the legal pad on the table. On the right side was a list of the day’s chores, and on the left a list of names: news outlets, neighbors, and notable townsfolk and busybodies, several of which had been checked off.

I turned to Seth. “The barn’s waiting for you.”

* * *

Within the half hour our living room looked like an ad hoc town hall. Mr. Mortly arrived first, shortly followed by Councilwoman Rakus, Felix Torte, the county attorney, and Bertrand Carey, the head of the Rotary Club. Felix hustled to keep up with Francine, nearly tripping as his eyes darted this way and that, no doubt looking out for zombies, while Bertrand casually eyed our house like a prospective realtor.

“Good morning,” Francine quipped, her hand outstretched and an I’m-nobody’s-fool smile creasing her face. Years of going to council meetings had never quite prepared me for the voracity of that woman’s handshake, particularly compared to Felix’s more feeble one and Bertrand’s long-fingered clasp that had me checking for my wallet afterwards.