Remains of the Dead (25 page)

Cahz started to sit up.

“Not so fast, tiger,” Ryan said. “I put another bandage on top of the one over your bite. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? I mean it was Ray who knew about the first aid stuff; he’d done a course at work or something.”

Cahz looked down at his injured arm. The second bandage bulged and looked ugly, but it was still white and clean with no signs of the blood soaking through.

“Um, yeah.” Cahz thought back to his battlefield training. “If the blood is saturating the bandage you shouldn’t remove it; just put a fresh one on top.”

“You should drink something,” Ryan said. “I’m guessing you’ve lost more blood than you thought.”

“Yeah,” Cahz agreed, still feeling groggy.

Slowly he eased himself to his feet, his head swimming.

“You’ve cleaned up that graze,” he said, nodding to Ryan’s face.

He trudged over to the kitchen sink. There was a row of three open and empty tins on the counter. Out of instinct Cahz turned the tap on. There was a shudder and a hiss of air but no water.

“Used some of the water from the camel pack.” Ryan looked up at the sink. “You’ll not get anything from there.”

Cahz looked up from the dry sink and out of the window.

Cannon was still lying in the backyard. The rain had soaked his uniform and washed the blood clean into the grass.

Cahz stared at the body. His breathing was heavy and laboured. He looked at his dead friend, the only constant in his life these past five years. The big, quiet, reliable soldier. A physical giant. A tower of muscle and stoic reserve.

Cahz was dumbfounded.

“Why’d he do it?” Ryan asked, breaking the long silence.

“Cause he couldn’t live with himself, I guess.”

Cahz turned and sat down next to Ryan.

Ryan offered up an open tin of cold beans.

“The cans are still okay,” Ryan offered in way of assurance. “I’ve scoffed some already.”

Cahz accepted the can robotically. Ryan held up a spoon and plopped it into the can.

Cahz stared down at the juicy beans swimming in the thick orange sauce. He didn’t feel much like eating.

“Why now?” Ryan asked.

“There’s a dead child in there.” Cahz nodded over to the kitchen door. “I never knew he was a dad. I never knew anything about him. I just figured he’d tell me if he wanted.” He wiped his nose with his good arm. “We all had shit to deal with. We all lost someone.”

Ryan nodded.

“I never knew how close he was,” Cahz went on, staring absently at his beans. “It just happened so fast I didn’t have time to stop him.”

“Who can blame him?” Ryan said. “I’ve seen a lot of suicides. We had four the first summer. Then there are the people who got themselves killed on purpose. You know the kind who would take ridiculous risks.”

Cahz nodded.

“There were these two guys, blond floppy hair young blokes. Looked alike, think they were at college together,” Ryan explained. “We called them the Hanson brothers—you know, like the band.” When Cahz didn’t respond Ryan continued, “They were convinced they could go get help. In the end it wasn’t worth trying to talk them out of it. We helped them leave just so they wouldn’t do anything stupid that affected us—you know, burst the gate open or some such.”

Cahz set the untouched can of beans on the floor.

“We need to keep moving,” he said.

“Where to?”

“Somewhere we can secure,” Cahz said. “Somewhere a chopper can land.”

“Rebecca,” Ryan said.

“What?”

“That’s what I’m going to call her.”

Ryan looked down at the baby. The girl was awake, but placid no doubt after a feed. There was a little speck of mashed-up cracker at the corner of her mouth. Her wide eyes caught Cahz’s.

“Rebecca,” he ran the name round. “Rebecca. It’s a nice name. Any significance?”

“I’d thought of Hope or Miracle,” Ryan said, frowning. “You know, ‘cause she wasn’t infected. But…”

“Yeah, a bit much,” Cahz agreed, sensing Ryan’s disapproval of the names.

“Then I remembered Sam had mentioned she liked it,” Ryan explained. “I thought that was a bit more appropriate. I mean she’s going to have it for the rest of her life.”

Cahz levered himself up on the kitchen counter and made for the back door.

Ryan gently lifted the newly named child into the papoose.

“Wait for me,” he said.

Cahz paused. “Wait here a minute.”

Ryan watched out of the rain-splashed window as Cahz walked up to the corpse of his dead comrade.

“You stupid big bastard,” Cahz cursed as he sat down next to the body. He reached over and started tugging at the straps on his body armour.

“Why’d you do it?” Cahz asked the dead man. “You could have talked to me.”

Although the fastenings came away easily, the unresponsive corpse made removing the equipment hard going. Cahz gently slapped Cannons cheek as if he was trying to wake him. The skin was already cold, drained of heat as well as life.

“After all the shit we’ve been though and you leave me in the middle of this.”

Cahz undid the neck protection and left it to one side.

He stood up and switched positions to stand over Cannon’s corpse. With a hand on each shoulder he pulled the body armour free. There was a squelch as the material slid over the raw exit wound. The limp body slumped back into the grass.

“Remember the first day we met?” Cahz asked, patting down the pockets on Cannon’s fatigues. “No you don’t, ‘cause your brains are splattered all over this lawn. I’ll remind you: I was scared shitless. There was me, the Captain and a couple of other grunts who’d made it out of Nelson. And all those fuckin’ yahoo civvies. And there you were, being ignored and avoided. You didn’t seem to care; you just kept your mouth shut and tagged along.”

Cahz stood up, the rain splashing across his face.

“I ignored you—had no idea you were ex-military. I mean, who would have? You saved my life that first night, man. I wish you’d given me the chance to repay you.”

“Put this on,” Cahz said, handing Ryan the body armour and helmet.

Ryan looked at the bloodstains on the neck and shoulders.

“I’ll pass,” he said.

“You’ll put it on,” Cahz said, shoving it at Ryan.

“Watch it!” Ryan blurted, shielding Rebecca from Cahz’s aggression.

“Just put it on.”

“It’s covered in—”

“I’m doing my best to keep you alive. Now put it on. It’ll protect you from being bitten.” Cahz thrust the armour into Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan took a step back, knocked off balance by the shove.

“All right,” he gave in, laying the baby down to take the armour. “You going to show me how to use the big gun then?”

“No,” Cahz said.

“Why not?”

“Just because. You are not using it.”

“Why don’t you use the machine gun and I use your rifle?”

“Where do I start?” Cahz shrugged.

“Why not?”

Cahz wore a blank, weary expression. “For a start, the SAW is a squad support weapon. We are not a squad. We’re two men and a fuckin’ baby.”

“Well, it still fires bullets,” Ryan said.

“Second, my ‘rifle’ is a carbine and yes, they both fire fuckin’ bullets, but they both need training to use. It’s not like the nun chucks on your pissy Wii.”

“Well, that SAW thing is still better than this crappy pistol.”

“And just how the fuck will you be able to fire that with a baby strapped to your chest?”

“Aw, come on! The firepower will be useful.”

“Ryan!” Cahz snapped. “This is not a discussion. You are keeping the pistol. And you will fire it only in self-defense and as a last resort.”

“It’s not like I haven’t shot a gun before.”

“Yeah, and you wasted a mag on Peter Rabbit. The SAW weighs a friggin’ ton and you’re shattered just carrying the baby and a crowbar.”

Ryan opened his mouth to object, but Cahz cut him off.

“Look, I have spent untold hours honing my skill as a marksman.” Cahz’s voice was clipped and stern. “We don’t have the ammo to dick about like you did on the tracks back there. You pumped off half a dozen shots with a semi. God knows what you’ll waste with that on full auto. We leave Cannon’s SAW and pistol here. They’re just dead weight. I’ve replenished my mags and between my M4 and the two pistols we’ve got over a hundred rounds. That’s enough to keep us safe until we get picked up—If we’re careful. Now let’s move out.”

Ryan’s lips were tightly shut, his eyes still looking at the long hunk of black metal that had been Cannon’s SAW.

“What if we don’t get picked up?” he asked, still focused on the machinegun.

“It’s not an option,” Cahz said, opening the door to the hallway.

“What if we don’t?” Ryan asked again more forcefully.

Cahz spun round and locked on Ryan’s eyes. He jabbed a finger in the direction of the back yard. He shouted, “Then we end up like him out there!”

The baby burst into tears from the barking noise.

“Or worse,” Cahz spat.

Ryan was about to say something when they both heard a thump.

“What was that?”

The thud sounded again, this time accompanied by a long, chilling moan.

They opened the door to the hallway. Through the frosted glass of the front door, Cahz could see the shadow of someone pushed up against the window.

He marched up to the front door and pointed his weapon at the silhouetted head. Casually he pulled the trigger. The shadow disappeared.

Picking up the set of keys he’d kicked earlier by accident, he unlocked the door. He walked out of the house, nonchalantly stepping over the dead body.

“Are you coming?” he called back over the noise of the crying child.

“Shit,” Ryan grumbled.

He pulled a plastic bag from a holder by the fridge and loaded a selection of the unopened tins and the can opener into it.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he said as he slipped the papoose into position and trotted after Cahz.

The paving slabs in the driveway were a dark grey from the rain. A trail of black liquid was being washed off the dead zombie down towards the gutters. The suburban street was grey and eerily quiet. The only noise was the patter of the thick raindrops and the gurgle of the water as it passed over the leaf-blocked drains.

Cahz pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and lit it with one of the matches from the MRE. The white edges turned brown then black before it caught. The flames licked up, obliterating the orange and blue scribbles. With the rain failing to extinguish the fire, he tossed the burning artwork back into the house.

“Why’d you do that?” Ryan asked as he watched the hall carpet ignite.

Cahz didn’t answer. He just walked off down the rain-drenched street.

The fire was spreading quickly by the time Ryan turned and chased after him.

“What’s the plan then?” he asked.

“Keep walking,” Cahz said without slowing his pace. “We’ve got about four hours before it goes dark.”

“Keep walking, eh?” Ryan questioned.

“Keep walking,” Cahz said back, his eyes on the path ahead.

* * *

The two men walked on in silence. They weaved their way down the shattered streets of what was once a desirable housing development. The executive cars that would have seen a wax and polish every Sunday afternoon now sat on flat tires, quietly rusting away. The once perfectly tended lawns were choked with weeds and ornamental bushes gone feral.

The odd zombie that stumbled into their path was quickly dispatched by the irate Cahz. The venomous soldier would simply march up to the wailing creature and fire a shot into its skull from point-blank range.

Ryan’s feet felt raw and blistered, his legs were burning from the exertion, and his lungs were scorched with the effort of breathing against the weight on his chest. The forced march was ripping at every muscle in his body. But he dared not complain.

Ahead of them, atop a rise, was what would once have been the home of a company executive, large and imposing, an expansive garden with a tall fence. The building though had caught fire at some point. The roof was gone and the windows were boarded up. The entrance gates lay twisted and useless in the driveway.

As they marched past a zombie lurched out at them. It was naked other than a pair of army style boots and its skin was blackened from grime and dirt. Cahz automatically strode up to the creature so he could put a shot in its brain, but all of a sudden the zombie snapped to a halt. It strained but it couldn’t move any closer.

Cahz stopped and lowered his gun.

“What is it?” Ryan asked.

As he caught up, Ryan could see a burnt-out corpse on the driveway of the gutted house. Snaking up the paving stones was a chain attached to the husk.

Ryan put the heavy bag of provisions down on the ground. His fingers were red where the thin straps bit into his joints. He looked more closely at the zombie that struggled to get them. Around its neck, there too was a thick chain. The metal links bit deep and raw into the dead flesh. The blood encrusted links trailed off to a padlock secured to a fixture in the solid fencing.

“Guard dogs?” Ryan asked.

“Hell of a bite,” Cahz muttered.

He turned his back and marched off, leaving the zombie to strain against its chains. Ryan looked at the pitiful creature chained in the front yard of the burnt out house. Now that he looked he could see the weeds were trampled flat within its range.

“Why would you do that?” Ryan asked no one.

Then it struck him that the house had its windows boarded up. The sort of thing a homeowner would do after a fire or to protect it if it were being left uninhabited. Ryan looked more closely at the soot smudged plywood. Under the smoke damage he could make out writing: ‘LOOTERS WILL BE SHOT!’ with a skull and cross bones underneath.

Then a second warning on a different window: ‘INFECTED WILL BE SHOT!’, again with the skull and cross bones motif.

Ryan was about to leave when he noticed a less prominent sign. On the driveway there was something scrawled in orange spray paint. He skirted past the tethered guard zombie and towards the house for a better view.