Wake the Dead (3 page)

Alex was no slouch in the strength department either, being recently turned twenty-six and a frequent visitor to the gym. He was stronger than most, and kept himself in good shape physically, especially with his job. Nevertheless, these zombies seemed to have the strength of a weightlifter on steroids. It was tough as hell fighting one at a time and he knew how difficult it would be to fight a couple, or three at once. He winced at that thought.

Unmanageable, really. Probably best to avoid that situation.

And so, he proceeded to move cautiously, taking them down from a distance. He was a respectable shot with the bow, and in the coming weeks, he would no doubt get better. The hardest part was trying to salvage arrows. They were broad heads mostly, which were durable, but some got stuck in bone and he could not recover them. He yanked each and every one he could from the bodies once he was sure they were dead, salvaging most of them that way. The weird thing about the zombies he found, was that for a creature of such strength and speed, their flesh was like a sponge.

He’d have to try finding a gun with a silencer if possible, knowing that they were attracted to sound and, quite probably, the smell of flesh. A suppressor on a gun would certainly help. And he had plenty of .45 caliber rounds for the gun in his belt. As he tugged an arrow free from one of the recently downed zombies, he noted ol’ man Robins—or what used to be ol’ man Robins!—staggering his way, slowly at first. And then, as it noticed him, it hurried its pace.

The man, when he was alive, was a recluse, anti-social, gun-totin’ conservative. And Alex knew that his house would be filled with just what he needed. He just had to get there without being overrun or killed.

He nocked an arrow and let fly. He missed the head badly as the arrow skipped off the street as the thing kept coming—fast. Alex took a breath and steadied himself, nocked another arrow, and aimed lower, taking a leg out. It hit with a solid thud and managed to slow Robin’s charge considerably. He tossed the bow over his shoulder and ran for the man’s fence. As he got to the top of it, he noted the old man’s dog, a mean-ass Rottweiler named Scrooge, snapping and barking at another zombie in the yard. He silently whispered a thanks and stood at the top of the fence, balancing himself. Another of the undead inside the yard noticed him and began its charge. He saw an open window not a few feet away, got his feet set on the precarious perch of the fence post, and leaped for it, grasping the edge and pulling himself up.

At least he
tried
to.

The zombie below him held on with the strength of ten men and Alex felt as if his left leg was going to come off.

Then he felt the distinct sensation of teeth penetrating the flesh of his calf.

He released his grip on the sill with his right hand, removed his Beretta from where it rested inside his belt, and fired a shot into its head. It immediately released its hold on his leg.

The zombie hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Shit!” Alex barked, his heart racing inside his chest, his right shoulder aching under the strain of his one arm having to suspend his entire body.

He slowly managed to climb into the window and immediately surveyed his surroundings, which he found to be in a state of utter chaos, possessions and furniture flipped over haphazardly.

 He removed the bow and quiver from his back, and then the satchel, dropping them to the ground. He sifted through the pack and instantly retrieved both a pain reliever and general antibiotic. He downed them both, pulled up his pant leg and inspecting the bite wound. It was not very deep, as the thing could not get a solid grasp on his leg, but it was still bleeding. He looked around the room, pulled free a bed sheet, and pressed against the injured area for several minutes. It slowed the bleeding a bit, but he would need to keep it there.

Then he remembered what happened to Sara. He removed the Beretta from his belt and stared at it.

Staggering into the hallway of the second story, he found the bathroom quickly as it was a very similar design as his own home. He threw open the medicine cabinet, staring and waiting to see if blood would seep from his eyes.

Long moments passed and he stared into his own reflection carefully, considering that he would shoot himself if anything happened to him.

Nothing did. He breathed a sigh of relief, which surprised him and reinforced the fact that he wanted to live.

He opened the cabinet, found a bottle of peroxide, and ran back into the bedroom with his belongings. He tore a piece of the sheet free, poured the peroxide over the bite and tied it tightly around the wound.

The pain reliever was kicking in, he guessed, as the throbbing in his leg began to dull.

He reset his focus and thought he could use some more supplies from the bathroom. He grabbed some more pain reliever, gauze pads, cough medicine and anti-biotic ointments and tossed them all into his pack. He immediately reset to his initial purpose in the house and made for Robin’s bedroom.

Once inside, he took note of a half-drunk bottle of whiskey on the nightstand and grabbed it, tossing it into his pack. Then he found the gun safe, and it was wide open. There wasn’t much left though, as someone had gotten here before him.

Alex quickly tossed two boxes of shotgun shells into his backpack and bent low to grab the lone 12 gauge that remained. He heard the distinct click of a shotgun pumping a round into the chamber and froze.

“What you doin’, boy?” called a voice from out in the hall. Evidently, that
someone
was still here.

“Hey, man, take it easy,” Alex said, his arms out wide.

“Fuck
easy
! Whatchoo doin’ here!?” said the man irritably, leveling the barrel of the gun directly at him. He glanced at the man as he stood up. Alex’s heart thundered in his chest, believing that he was about to be shot. He couldn’t even utter a word and instead closed his eyes.

“This is my grandfather’s house,” the young man said boldly, still not shooting. Alex opened his eyes. He was a rugged looking blonde-haired man with a beard and mustache, Alex noted, as he drank in the image of his likely killer. He couldn’t have been even Alex’s age, probably twenty, he guessed.

“All right, man, don’t shoot me. I knew your granddad had guns here and I was just trying to see if they were still here, is all. No biggie. I’ll leave right now and you can have them all….”

“Get on outta’ here, then,” he said. “Take that 12 gauge and get goin’,” the young man continued, shotgun still leveled at him. “No offense, I don’t trust nobody.”

Alex simply nodded, grabbed the shotgun and all of his belongings, and then limped for the window again. But, before he made it outside, he turned back to face the man once more. “Sorry about your grandfather. Truly. He was a good man.”

He didn’t look back as he climbed down the side of the house gingerly and slowly. Scrooge had one zombie laid to waste, its throat torn out, and another was pinned beneath him. It was a savage dog, if Alex recalled correctly, remembering other neighbors offering complaints in passing. Alex was suddenly very glad that the zombies occupied the dog’s attention as he hobbled to the fence and tried to climb back over, but realized very quickly the futility of that notion. He spotted a gate and limped quickly to it, threw open the gate, and limped off, avoiding any further confrontations.

The ol’-man-Robins-zombie was still out there wandering around. But shortly after catching sight of him, the man claiming to be his grandson removed a pistol and put the thing down with a shot to the head. Then he got in his truck and took off, backing into a car whose horn sounded loudly, remaining on as the truck pulled away.

The man waved to him as Alex reclaimed his arrow in the dead-again zombie Robins, tossed it into his quiver, and made toward the trees, knowing that more of them would be showing up again as a result of the noise.

As luck finally favored him, he caught sight of a bike lying by its lonesome on the side of the road a few blocks away along with a discarded duffle bag, twice the size of the one he had. He grabbed the bag, strapped it and his own over his right shoulder, adjusted the shotgun over his left, hopped on the bike, and began to pedal south. The cold wind turned his face red very swiftly, but his pain reliever was in full effect as he no longer felt the sting of the wind or the bite wound any longer.

This area will soon be swarming with zombies
, was his only thought as he pedaled madly into the tree line.

Alex spent the next morning playing with Shadow, trying to forget the horrors of the world in which he had begrudgingly become accustomed. He stared at the scar left by that zombie bite and grimaced, recalling the pain of it.

He tossed a ball back and forth off a wall inside the cabin and Shadow chased after it, recovered it and brought it back, dropping it at his feet. The wolf was getting used to being around him, it appeared, and had never even so much as snipped at him…yet. But he could not help but consider the possibilities of what might happen as Shadow got older.

Would his instinct to hunt and kill kick in? Of course it will.
Alex realized at some point, that if the wolf were to remain, he would need to assert his dominance and make Shadow recognize that
he
was the alpha in their odd little pack.

He also hoped that during the course of their training, that Shadow would not make a mess of the place. So far, he hadn’t.

The cabin that he inherited was well built and in great shape, and in the middle of nowhere. It stood solidly atop a hill, where in the distance through the tree line, he could dimly make out his old neighborhood. In the distance to the south, adjacent to the front door, was a mountainside approximately a hundred yards ahead, full of trees and thickets.

The cabin was situated at the end of a trail with a slight but notable incline, and was secluded from everything. Other than the smoke rising into the trees as he burned firewood, it might never be found again, he hoped, and it was dumb luck that he even happened upon it when he did. No other living being or cabin was within a few miles plus in any direction, as he had done a sweep many times and found nothing.

He recalled that day, still wounded and haggard, when he had ridden for several miles into the forest before his bike had given out. Again, another daydream took him back to the time he discovered the cabin.

***

The bike had become useless, a clear victim to neglect no doubt, as the chain popped and the front tire, with its slow leak, had finally gone flat. However, it had gotten him to within sight of this place as he had followed a bike trail out here and up a series of sloping hills.

He initially intended to achieve a high vantage point with which to see the surrounding area at first, also hoping to find shelter. He hadn’t really thought it through, but he knew he had to get far from his neighborhood and from areas thick with people. That was when he saw the glint of sunlight through the canopy of trees, on what he would soon find to be a solar panel on a pitched roof. He was more than intrigued to investigate the source of the reflection, he recalled at the time.

That was the night he encountered Shadow for the first time, out here in the woods, as the sun was fading. He remembered being very tired. It was too far for Alex to make it there carrying the amount of gear he had with him and no bike now, and nightfall was coming in, darkness stealing away the light rapidly. So, he found a relatively secluded spot, surrounded by several trees with low hanging boughs just in case he had to get into a tree in a hurry, and did a quick inventory.

He removed the shotgun, then the bow, and then the quiver, and the few bags he had strapped uncomfortably over his shoulders, removed them all one by one, and placed them on the ground. He was never more relieved than to be rid of that extra weight.

He treated his wound again, which had begun to heal over the past week, and shifted the remnants of the sheet to a clean spot. He poured the last of the peroxide over the wound and retied the makeshift compress.

He had the duffle bag he’d recovered from the ground beside the bike, which was strapped poorly to the side of the bike. Inside the bag were some nice surprises and things he wanted to keep close. There was another heavy jacket, which he immediately put on, a thermos, some twine, two rolls of duct tape, a pair of boots and a first aid kit.

Someone was thinking when he or she packed this
, he mused, but regrettably, that person had been nowhere around when he found it.

In addition, he carried his own backpack, which until now, had been hanging from the bike on the opposite side. He was too drained to go any further tonight in the darkness with his wound and all of the gear that he would have to drag with him. And so, bundled up inside his hunting gear, his newly found heavy jacket, a pair of gloves and a hat, Alex began to slowly carve a sharpened tip of a stick to a point, just in case.

He finished off the rest of ol’ man Robin’s whiskey, of which he mostly used on the wound, and tossed the bottle aside.

Afterwards, Alex let the weariness in and he fell asleep.

He awoke some time later, rather abruptly, to the sounds of a skirmish not far off. He also heard the distinct sound of an animal snarling. At first, he thought it was a dog being attacked, and so he fished out a flashlight from his pack and found the source of the quarrel in the distance. To the best of his knowledge, it looked to be a pup facing off against a wounded zombie. The zombie’s leg had been partially torn, and the mutt was snapping at the thing, attempting to hold it off as best it could, though it looked as though it were about to lose the battle.

 Alex wasn’t even sure if the wounds on the zombie were from this whelp, as it appeared to be too tiny to do that kind of damage. The pup appeared more than a bit emaciated and, despite holding its own so far, was in need of assistance.

And so, Alex did just that.

A minute later, as Alex yanked the arrow from the zombie’s head, the hound disappeared.

A short time later though, it returned as Alex heard the movement to his right in the distance. By that time, he had built a small fire to stay warm, gathering fallen branches along the ground, and the pup, which was as dark as the night itself, did not approach, though remained near. The only hint of it in the darkness was the firelight flickering against its eyes. That was when Alex had realized it was not a dog, but a wolf instead.

After tossing the wolf some tuna scraps, the wolf disappeared again and Alex nodded off once more, succumbing to the fatigue. But, in the ensuing dawn, Alex found that the wolf had returned yet again, lying passively nearby. It made not a single aggressive move toward him.

It appeared to Alex, in an odd way, as though it was protecting him as he slept, though the notion did seem more than a bit absurd. As Alex packed his things, he opened another can of tuna fish, one of his two remaining, ate a handful himself, and tossed it to the wolf, which it gobbled up voraciously. Alex made off and the wolf followed, all the way up the hill to the cabin. It was a long journey up that hill, Alex recalled, motivated by curiosity and hope. He looked back to the wolf and shushed it with a laugh, thinking how absurd that might look to someone else. He wanted to approach in silence though, as he was not sure if whoever lived there was alive, dead, or worse.

The cabin was small, but comfortable for at least two people, judging from the outside, and it appeared well built, too. He got to the side of the cabin and peeked inside. He saw nothing and moved to the front door.

A lone zombie inside the cabin rushed to attack him, but met with the tip of the sharpened stick he’d carved with his hunting knife the night prior. He was relieved that it was only one zombie, as it took everything he had to shove the point of the stick through its head. He had avoided packs of zombies for a long time, carefully circumventing them by hiding or outdistancing them on the bike whenever possible, which wasn’t often.

They were goddamn fast!
Alex admitted as he tugged the stick free from the zombie’s head. He looked about and did not see the wolf again as he dragged the body out of the cabin.

As he scoured the area, he was delighted to see that it had a well with water and an old-fashioned hand water pump, and solar powered panels, though it did not seem to provide any electricity. It might have at one point, but he had no idea how to repair them, knowing nothing much about solar panels. Though, he did have all the time in the world to figure it out, he thought with a chuckle. It did have a wood burning stove, and the cupboards were stocked with canned goods. Alex was elated after those discoveries.

He knew there were a few shopping centers north along highway 322, including a ‘SuperMart’. If it hadn’t been ransacked, it would have plenty of supplies. It was a huge risk, and without a vehicle, it would take him a week to get there. Right now, he had everything he needed, he supposed, as he scratched the thickening raven-hued beard upon his face.

He had no razor and his beard was thick with sweat, despite the cold. But, at least he could wash it. There was a fireplace and he had plenty of wood around to chop and gather, and there was quite a stock ready to go beside the cabin, stacked neatly in piles.

It was not long after the winter months ended when Alex had finally gone through all of the wood. And during that time, his bite wound had fully healed, too.

He was pulled from his reverie just then as he dropped the axe head on a block of wood. It was time to stock up again.

One thing he recalled was that in his seclusion and mourning over losing Sara, that Shadow’s presence was the sole thing that kept him alive that long and lonely winter.

***

He chopped wood for a good portion of that day, not long after sharing a couple of cans of tuna with Shadow, and after his morning mini-workout. He decided if he was going to stay alive, he needed to stay in good shape. And so, he performed simple exercises, including push-ups, sit-ups, body squats and jumping jacks each morning and evening. The wood chopping was an added bonus, and one he regretted once he finished and rested.

He also spent the last few months of seclusion training the wolf and trying to assert himself as the alpha, knowing that made sense as wolves instinctually associated with a pack. The only thing Alex recalled was watching a documentary about a man who had lived with wolves. He tried to recall the particulars on more than one occasion.

It was a rough and lonely winter, even with the wolf’s company, but that afforded him the time to develop a bond with Shadow. He was successful in most of his trainings, the wolf responding in most cases as a dog would. However, on occasion, as he wrestled with Shadow, or tried to be overly aggressive, it would end with a snap or growl these past few days. Alex would growl right back, not giving up his dominance and asserting himself. Shadow was beginning to respond to some hand gestures along with speech patterns or tones he used. Mostly, he believed that as long as he fed him, Shadow would continue to respond favorably.

The sun was high overhead and Shadow lay under the shade of a tree near where Alex toiled. It was still chilly these days as he guessed it to be around March by now, but he had lost track of days and months. Afternoons were cool and nights were colder still, though it was warming, he believed.

As he brought his axe to bear upon the center of a log, splitting it cleanly in two, Shadow uttered a low growl and he scanned the area all around. In the distance to the south, he could see a pair of zombies wandering into the area around the cabin.

“Shit,” he said, bending low behind the pile of wood. Shadow stood and growled as the nearest zombie caught sight of Alex—or smelled him, he wondered?—and it charged. Shadow bit the undead thing around the ankle and tripped it up, tearing at the creature’s flesh. The second one, a female at one time, charged Shadow’s flank, but Alex was there to intercept its attack.

Alex swung the axe in a left to right arc, catching the female zombie in the head and sending it sprawling to the dirt. The axe head stuck in its skull and the force of the swing, a swing wrought with anger at seeing Shadow attacked, sent it stumbling away.

He made to aid the wolf, but Shadow needed no help, it seemed. He tore at the zombie and had its throat in its maw, tearing and ripping the flesh. The thing kept squirming until Alex retrieved his axe and split that one’s skull too.

He’d never thought about it, but, as Shadow began eating the flesh of the zombie, he considered the ramifications.

Why not? It is meat, after all,
Alex figured. He wasn’t sure if the wolf was hungry or instinctually eating, or what. He’d never considered at all what might happen to the wolf if it ate zombie flesh, and what might happen to him if he did.

He also realized in truth at that moment, that Shadow was a wild animal, frankly speaking, and that he was trying to influence an animal’s behaviors that had visceral tendencies toward uninhibited behavior. It had never been clearer than now. However, it had been several months since he befriended the wolf and Shadow was growing in size, no longer an adolescent, but had never once hinted at motiveless aggressive behavior toward him.