The Undead Chronicles | Vol. 3 | Dead of Winter, page 22
part #3 of The Undead Chronicles Series
Mullins drew his knife, swiftly stabbing the zombie in the skull, ending her torment. He pulled the blade out, letting her body slump toward the bus window where it would begin to disintegrate, adding to the food supply for bugs and rodents that feasted on dead flesh.
“Well, we keep going until we find your people,” Mullins said, holding out his fist, as he wiped the blood from his knife onto the closest seat.
Weir forced a grin, forming a fist with his left hand as he holstered his firearm. He bumped his buddy’s fist with his own, forming a pact with Mullins, even if he harbored fears in the back of his own mind.
Only time would tell what fate had in store for the two officers at the tail end of their quest.
Sixteen
For one reason or another, none of the buildings and communities Sutton and his small group checked seemed to work out. Some were overwhelmed with the dead, a few appeared in complete disrepair, and some were occupied by other survivors. It appeared residents of Virginia thought alike when it came to their dream apocalypse abodes.
“This isn’t working out very well,” Gracine informed him as Sutton drove the box truck down the road toward another small town she found on the map.
Small towns, it seemed, were also plucked clean of supplies, which meant they relied more and more on the goods stored in the back of the truck. Sean decided to ride with Luke and Samantha in their most recent vehicle acquisition, a Nissan with good gas mileage. Although he didn’t say it, he appeared smothered by his father over the past few days as Sutton tried to reconnect with his eldest son. Several moments passed where one of them wanted to bring up Jacob, but neither dared start the conversation about Sutton’s youngest son or his untimely passing.
Unfortunately, Sean took Buster with him when he switched vehicles.
“What isn’t working out?” Sutton asked.
“Finding a new home.”
“There are tons of places out there. We just need to be creative.”
“It’s too bad your cabin burned down. We could’ve lived on fish forever.”
“Yeah,” Sutton said thoughtfully. “There’s something to be said for food and water.”
Gracine sat quietly a moment, and Sutton could tell that her mental gears were moving when he glanced over. He navigated the truck around a few stopped cars, along with a few staggering dead, and decided to ask what she was contemplating.
“What is it?”
“What?”
“You’re thinking about something.”
Gracine grinned without looking in his direction.
“I’m thinking about this place where I did a very high-end delivery back in the day. It was part of a small, gated community with some incredible houses.”
“The same kind of houses we’ve had no luck securing so far?”
“The same kind.”
Already tired of dead ends, and frustrated that his own apocalypse plan was likely done in by a fire bug serial killer, Sutton debated whether he could stomach another waste of time. He really couldn’t, but he also knew that every nice house and community in the greater Virginia area couldn’t be claimed by the living.
“How far?” he inquired.
“That’s the thing. I’m trying to remember which town it was near.”
“How do you not remember something like that?”
“I can remember the community like it was yesterday,” Gracine said, “but I took thousands of trips in my days as a truck driver.”
“Maybe the map can refresh your memory?”
“Thanks,” she replied. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Sutton caught her sarcasm, but she did pick up the map for another look just the same. Sutton continued driving, wishing he could stop every few miles to relieve his frustrations by dealing with some of the undead meandering in the highway. While he didn’t mind Metzger’s credo about every dead zombie being one less threat, he certainly didn’t live by it. He wasn’t some weirdo who got his jollies by toying with the undead before killing them, but Sutton did consider them a great form of stress relief.
“It might be here,” Gracine said, pointing to a spot on the map.
Sutton stole a glance, finding the destination west of their current location.
“Lynchburg?”
“It sounds right. Unfortunately, I won’t really know until I see the town.”
“Big factory and Civil War town,” Sutton said, throwing out a few general facts.
“That doesn’t exactly give me a visual, Colby.”
“I can’t call up images on my phone. Sorry.”
“Guess we’re going to Lynchburg then.”
“I guess we are.”
***
When Sutton drew near the small city, coming in from the east, he found a threat in the form of undead wandering the streets in mob form. For some reason, their numbers hadn’t been thinned, or something attracted them to the city.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get you that visual,” he told Gracine. “This is too thick to drive through.”
Gracine stared ahead momentarily, not focusing on the undead as she concentrated to remember the landmarks and which way she went through town.
“It’s southwest of town,” she said, her eyes immediately diving into the map. Follow 460 as long as you can.”
Sutton headed west on the indicated highway, working his way around the undead. Their travel appeared to draw the zombies toward them, meaning he needed to pick up speed at some point to lose them.
Once they made their way along the outskirts of town and exited the south end of Lynchburg, Sutton put a safe distance between the box truck and the undead before stopping. Behind him, his son stopped the car because he had taken over driving duties to allow Luke and Samantha some rest.
Sutton opened the back of the box truck, digging a few feet inside the stacked boxes until he located what he wanted, hoping to lead the undead away from them.
“What are you doing?” Gracine asked, her face drawing a perplexed expression.
“This,” Sutton answered, drawing a lighter from his pocket before lighting some fireworks and angling them so they shot into the air, noisily exploding.
Gray clouds left the fireworks barely visible in the late afternoon sky, but the undead were easily distracted, and the noise might be enough to keep them occupied. Sutton found a different type that launched higher and farther, so he lit them and let them fly behind him. They exploded almost directly overhead from the undead.
“A few more,” he said, “and hopefully they’ll keep looking skyward.”
“This won’t work unless we make a clean getaway,” Luke commented.
“We should,” Sutton said. “The road ahead looks clear for the next mile or so.”
Lighting off the last of the fireworks, Sutton urged everyone to get into their vehicles before he and Gracine led the way down the highway. His plan worked, and the undead remained distracted long enough for them to get a head start. Gracine began looking for familiar landmarks again, but a few miles passed with no word from her.
“Nothing yet?” he asked.
Gracine groaned as though perhaps something appeared familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite narrow it down.
“It just isn’t clicking,” she said just above a whisper.
Nearly another two miles down the road, Gracine stared at a sign beside the road, even when Sutton passed it. Beyond the sign, a double iron gate sat nearly fifty yards off the road, and behind it, several large houses barely appeared over the shrubs and the gate. Trees surrounded much of the property, hiding it from view and likely deadening any noise from within. Hitting the brakes, Sutton slowly turned around so Sean had time enough to follow his lead.
He stopped in front of the sign, providing Gracine additional time to determine whether this was the place she visited during her trucking days.
Sutton finally looked at the plate, which identified the community beyond the closed gate, and he wondered if any of the houses had vacancy.
“Maplewood,” he said the name aloud.
“That’s it,” Gracine said, openly confident about the discovery. “There was a collector in there who purchased a motorcycle and it was one of my stops.”
“I thought you did long haul trucking.”
“I did a little bit of everything,” Gracine said. “I had different employers over the years.”
Parked near the sign, everyone exited the vehicles, taking a look around as gray skies above threatened snow. Temperatures remained near freezing, which left them in peril of driving through freezing rain if they continued down the road, or didn’t find shelter behind the gates.
“Not exactly welcoming,” Luke noted, seeing the gates shut and foreboding.
“Leads me to think someone might actually live here,” Sutton said.
A few undead staggered down the road in their direction, and as one emerged from some nearby trees and growled at the group, they turned their attention to it. Sutton slowly reached for his knife when a woman emerged from the trees, stabbing the zombie in the skull with a most unusual weapon.
In fact, everything about her appeared unusual, considering she was dressed like a Catholic nun. For a moment, everyone in the group stared at her with curiosity, and Sutton noticed her olive complexion, as though she might be from overseas.
“What?” she asked, looking at the group, speaking with a thick Spanish accent. “Haven’t any of you seen a woman of faith before?”
In her right hand, dripping blood from the zombie’s skull, she held a sturdy metal crucifix with a sharpened end. As though the scene before them weren’t odd enough, a man stepped from behind her, wearing the black clothing and the white collar of a priest. Appearing to be in his early forties, at least ten years older than the nun, he bore a full, thick beard of red hair that matched the fringe of hair around his head. He looked from her to the group with anticipation in his brown eyes, as though waiting to see if they made a move.
“Do you folks live here?” Gracine asked, breaking the momentary silence.
“We do,” the priest said slowly, as though compelled to speak the truth at all times.
“Oh,” Gracine said as though their hopes of getting through the gates were suddenly dashed.
“We have room,” the nun said, drawing a concerned look from the priest that escalated to a bit of anger.
“It’s not our place,” he said, addressing his colleague, though loud enough that Sutton and the others heard.
“We aren’t looking for trouble,” Sutton said, attempting to get them through the gates via peaceful means. “We’re just exhausted after so long on the road.”
“I’m not trying to be rude,” the priest said, his expression softening. “Behind those walls is a community, and they were kind enough to invite us in. I’m sure we can get the leadership to meet with you. If nothing else, we can probably put you up for the night.”
“Thank you,” Gracine said before Sutton could reply. “That’s very kind.”
She turned to look at Sutton, openly wondering if she prevented him from saying something that might lead them to trouble.
“I was being diplomatic,” he said just above a whisper. “I swear.”
“What is that?” Luke asked the priest, who held a rather long staff in his right hand, with a sharpened point at the end.
It appeared metal in nature, and as he looked at it, Sutton believed it might be a display crucifix from a church.
“It’s what it looks like,” the priest answered. “I took it from my church and did a little modification.”
“That’s one way to use the body of Christ,” Gracine commented so only Sutton heard.
He said nothing, simply shaking his head a moment.
Excusing themselves with little more than a word, the religious duo headed toward the dual gates where they were allowed inside. Sutton and the others waited less than five minutes before the gates opened once more and they saw people inside waiting for them.
No less than a dozen people from the village stood at the gates, studying Sutton and the group as though judging them for a crime. Each of them held a firearm, pointed downward, sending a message that Maplewood was occupied. Both the priest and the nun stood near the front, and the priest stepped forward.
“I suppose introductions are in order,” he said. “I apologize for not doing so before. I’m Father Paul, and you already met Sister Rosa. Folks, this is Robert McAllister, and his wife Nancy.”
He nodded toward an older couple standing in the forefront of the group, appearing experienced and not intimidated in the least by strangers standing at the threshold of their quaint village. Both possessed white hair, appearing to be in their early seventies, and dressed in rather clean, contemporary clothing considering they stood in the center of an apocalypse.
Robert sported a full head of white hair, looking as though he belonged in Beverly Hills with his riches, because he somehow maintained a tan despite the recent turn in the weather. His wife maintained a short haircut, practical in the current times. She dressed a bit more conservatively, blending in with the people around her, though she appeared unfazed by the strangers before her. Wearing blue jeans and a green flannel shirt, Nancy’s face displayed a few dirt streaks, as though she’d been doing some outdoor work when the religious duo spread the word about strangers at the front gates.
“Our scouts spotted you down the road,” Robert McAllister stated, his eyes unblinking. “You don’t appear to be harmful people, but we’ve been burned before.”
“You seemed to have survived whatever issues you had,” Sutton said.
“This place has been standing since the start of things. We’ve endured a number of things.”
“So have we. We’re a bit weary of the road.”
Nancy stepped forward.
“What’s in the box truck?” she inquired, as though it might be an incendiary device meant to bring down the entire community.
“Supplies,” Sutton answered. “I had a camp by the water, but the entire complex was wiped out by fire. We were turned away by the military at Norfolk, so we’re running out of options.”
Silence filled the air a moment, and Sutton felt certain they were about to experience life on the road again.
“We’re being rude,” McAllister finally said. “Leave your weapons and the truck outside the gates, and we’ll discuss this over dinner.”
***
Within a few hours, the group was shown around the gated community, though they weren’t allowed inside any of the buildings. Members of both groups interacted, and it became obvious they were being tested, if not groomed, for occupancy within the gates. At first, Sutton tried to frame all of his responses accordingly, but he finally decided to be a bit more forthcoming, because the residents appeared to want a true depiction of the new group.
He spoke with several people, but none of them gave answers that varied much from other residents. Sutton began to believe they were coached to give only surface information that revealed nothing about the inner workings of the community. Being pragmatic as usual, Sutton observed that only half of the community appeared to carry firearms. Some of them worked outside, and he began to notice a pecking order of sorts where some people did certain jobs that suited them, or assignments given in exchange for some unknown favor.
He counted twelve houses in all, with a few smaller, common buildings along the grounds. A pool and workout facility were likely built with homeowner association money before the apocalypse, but now the pool looked only halfway full with fall leaves floating atop its dreary water. Sutton estimated the price of the large houses before the world collapsed, knowing he could never afford one with his previous salary. By no means destitute, he knew the limits of his means, and a community where people purchased exotic vehicles and pets online wasn’t in his price range.
“Can I ask you something?” Sutton asked when Father Paul took a turn showing him around, though the group had been informed dinner was nearly ready.
“Sure.”
“How did you come up with that?”
Sutton referred to the long crucifix the priest carried with him to deal with the undead. It separated into two parts, both iron, making them easier to carry. They screwed together when Father Paul required their use, resting in a modified backpack when he didn’t need them. Sutton likened the pack to the one Metzger used to carry his swords, both practical and sturdy.
“My father was a machinist,” the priest answered. “He taught me quite a few things growing up, including how to work metal and customize it. I followed Sister Rosa’s lead and saw the potential in this as a weapon, both for stabbing, and as a spear.”
“You divided it into two parts?”
“Yes. Part of me feels bad about using a religious prop as a weapon, but there’s a story behind that for another time.”
Sutton heard children laughing, and when he glanced, he found Samantha playing with two other neighborhood children as they chased one another around one of the houses. He grinned, hoping against the odds that they might be welcomed into the community.
“You care about them, don’t you?” Father Paul asked with a comforting grin, accented by rosy cheeks brought on from the cold.
“I suppose,” Sutton answered, trying to fend off emotions because he needed to be scouting the grounds.
“You’re their leader. There’s nothing wrong with saying you care.”
“I’m no leader,” Sutton scoffed.
“They look up to you. Gracine says you’ve saved them on several occasions.”
“I’m a father who’s been looking for his sons. Not like the kind of father you are, because I’ve done it before.”
Father Paul looked at him curiously with arched eyebrows as they stopped walking momentarily.
