The Undead Chronicles | Vol. 3 | Dead of Winter, page 23
part #3 of The Undead Chronicles Series
“Isn’t that a thing?” Sutton asked almost defensively. “You’re not allowed to-”
“You’re correct,” Father Paul answered, breaking into a smile. “We aren’t allowed to have sex.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
Sutton began to realize the group had been handed off to different people several times over, which meant they were looking for inconsistencies in their stories. He actually admired the caution they exercised, which caused him to like the group even more. He took notice that all four corners of the grounds possessed recently constructed towers just as tall as the trees surrounding the property. Any higher and the towers would be easily spotted from down the road, which would certainly alert travelers to the existence of the community.
“Dinner’s ready!” Nancy McAllister called from the largest house in the gated community.
“You said you were taken in,” Sutton said as he and the priest strolled toward the house. “You had no affiliation here?”
“Not really. A few residents knew me from church and thanks to their generosity, Sister Rosa and I were welcomed inside.”
“Do you still hold church services?”
“We call it mass, and yes, we do.”
Sutton tapped his right hip, feeling naked without the weight of a knife or gun. Looking around, he saw everyone from his group approaching with different tour guides, or chaperones in this case, anxious to see what the future held.
Almost like a football huddle, their original group met outside the front door momentarily while everyone else went inside, or to their respective houses if they weren’t invited to dinner.
“If there’s any chance of us staying here, we can’t blow this,” Gracine said, her attention focused on Sutton more than the others.
“This is too good to be true,” Luke said. “I haven’t felt this secure since I left my house in New York.”
“I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up,” Sutton said. “They were incredibly cautious while showing us the grounds.”
A few seconds passed and no one thought of anything else to contribute to their conversation.
“We’re being rude,” Sean finally noted, nodding at the open front door since everyone else awaited their presence inside.
A few minutes later, they were seated at a table for twelve with the community’s power couple, the priest, and the nun. A fire in one of the two downstairs fireplaces kept the house warm, and candles provided the light atop the table. Sutton immediately smelled something delicious, thinking it might be a roast of some sort, but he couldn’t imagine where the community might find beef.
“You must be famished,” Nancy said as everyone took a seat.
Platters with potatoes, carrots, gravy, and the meat Sutton smelled occupied the long table. He felt certain they were about to be murdered, or initiated into the community, at least for the evening. In a pan, atop the nearby counter, Sutton felt positive he spied brownies, causing his mouth to water.
“You’re probably wondering what the roast is,” Nancy said as she cut it into manageable slices before distributing them. “One of our better hunters shot a deer yesterday, and allowed us to reap the rewards with you folks.”
Sutton began to question the excellent treatment, not in a suspicious way, but rather his group possibly filling a need. While they might have found residents capable of shooting animals, he wasn’t convinced they possessed people skilled in dealing with the living. He felt as though the people he strolled with around the grounds conducted a rather informal interview, and for his part, he answered honestly. Yes, he had killed the living during their travels, but Sutton didn’t consider himself a murderer. In each instance he defended himself, or the group when he took a life.
Everyone received a plate full of food and dove in, enjoying their first truly good, warm meal in quite some time. Not until they were about halfway through the dinner did the conversation pick up again.
“I hear you’ve had your struggles out there,” McAllister commented, directing his words at Sutton and Gracine, who sat beside one another.
“It hasn’t been easy,” Gracine answered. “We were lucky to find one another.”
“And I’m sorry for your losses,” McAllister said genuinely.
Everyone ate in silence for another minute or two.
“Not to be rude, sir,” Sutton said, breaking the silence, “but this whole thing feels like an interview, or a test.”
“Very astute, Mr. Sutton,” McAllister said. “We can’t have dangerous people walking around our community. I’m sure you understand our caution.”
“Fully. I wouldn’t want strangers knowing the layout of my community either.”
“We have a tightknit community,” Nancy said. “It’s amazing how the end of the world turned some people into monsters. We don’t want those kind of people here.”
“You’ve been very quiet,” Sean said, addressing Father Paul and Sister Rosa. “You obviously like it here, right?”
“It certainly beats being out there,” Father Paul answered. “It amazed me that when social constraints were removed, some people reverted back to primal instincts.”
Everyone paused to take a bite from their meals.
“Does any of this make you question your faith?” Sean asked the pair.
“If anything, it’s strengthened my beliefs,” Rosa answered. “God has provided for both of us by protecting us within these walls.”
“We’re hoping to create a church in the community,” McAllister said. “One thing we need in this world is faith.”
Sutton wasn’t entirely sure faith would carry the day against the threats that lingered outside of the walls. He didn’t want to bring a negative cloud over their heads at an otherwise festive dinner, so he remained quiet.
“What happened to your congregation?” Gracine asked Father Paul directly.
“When things went bad, it seemed the church was the last place they turned,” he answered solemnly. “Most of them scattered to find their families and protect what little bit they owned. “Sadly, I didn’t see most of them again.”
“We stayed at the church several days,” Rosa added. “We only saw a few familiar faces, and some of them weren’t as we remembered.”
Sutton realized he didn’t need to bring pessimism to the table, because such a sad tale took care of that for him.
“I think we’ve all seen those faces,” he said, recalling the early days when he struck out on his own, before he left his home area.
McAllister cleared his throat.
“That being said, you have a child, a friendly dog, and an interesting blend to your group. We were initially going to provide you with a hearty dinner and shelter for the overnight.”
“And now?” Gracine asked curiously.
“We took a look in the box truck.”
Sutton felt his blood boil, because no one asked his permission to unlock and search his truck. He began to shove his chair back, but McAllister sensed his hostility, quickly holding up a hand.
“Rest assured, we merely looked, Mr. Sutton,” he said. “Should you choose to move along, we’ll supply you with a new lock and key. Nothing was touched or removed.”
“What is this all about?” Luke asked, speaking his first words at the table. “This whole thing feels like a background check.”
“In a way, it is,” Nancy replied.
She looked to her husband, who provided a nod of agreement.
“If you’re interested, we’d like to offer you the last of our houses here on the grounds.”
“It isn’t grand,” McAllister said quickly. “We have water from the well. All of the houses have woodburning fireplaces. There isn’t any power, but we’re working on a solution for that.”
“That’s generous of you,” Sutton said, “but I feel as though this offer isn’t simply out of the goodness of your hearts.”
“I’ll be blunt,” McAllister said. “We would expect you to share your supplies with the community, and we ask that you assist us with keeping the place up and running. You have experience with the dead, and deadbeats of the living variety. We have books, we have firewood, we have running water, and we have walls. It’s not an unfair trade, but we aren’t going to force your hand. You’re welcome to spend the night and sleep on the decision.”
“I don’t think there’s a need to ponder the decision,” Sutton said, drawing wide eyes from his group, mainly because they expected him to flatly turn down the offer.
In the past, when his future appeared far less clear, Sutton might have gathered his family, and his dog, and lived as long as the box truck allowed. After the events at the Navy base, and later his former campsite, Sutton no longer desired to travel. He wanted to keep Sean and Buster safe, and he’d grown to care for the others who traveled with him, even if he seldom admitted it. Additionally, Gracine kicked him in the foot several times, indicating she didn’t want him to act as he’d done in the past.
“How about we toast to our new partnership with some of those brownies over there?” he asked, drawing relieved smiles and laughs from everyone at the table. “If that’s alright with my cohorts here.”
“Yes, it’s okay,” Gracine said, and the others nodded in agreement, outwardly ecstatic about the thought of staying somewhere more than a night or two.
Seventeen
Early December
Metzger grew accustomed to knowing the date and time on a regular basis thanks to Isabella’s parents and their use of clocks and calendars in every building on the property. Phyllis and Harold grabbed the necessities whenever they raided a store or abandoned home, but they also took items that kept their lives a little more normal.
“Keeps us sane,” Harold sometimes said.
Winter came early in the mountains, and Metzger had volunteered to take over the duties of scouring through nearby towns, particularly businesses and homes that hadn’t been looted yet. People didn’t tend to gravitate to the Adirondacks, because both creatures and the undead occupied the woods, ready and willing to devour the living.
Travel up and down the mountain proved challenging, despite having paved roads, because snow removal no longer existed on a larger scale. Harold occasionally used his tractor to clear paths between buildings, and around the start of the road downward, but he couldn’t spare the fuel to travel very far down the road.
On this particular morning, melting icicles dripped water from tree branches onto the ground as a warm front swept through the area. Metzger knew snow remained a possibility between the months of October and April for much of the state, so he decided only a few trips remained to forage for goods down the mountain. After dressing for the weather, he stepped outside and cleared off the gray Prius, prepared to take it into some areas Harold marked on a map that hadn’t been checked.
“I’m going with you,” Timmons said, joining him in the parking lot and wiping an arm across the windshield of the car, pushing the snow away.
Timmons wore an insulated parka and a pair of duck boots he found during one of their earlier runs, to shield his feet from cold and wetness.
“This should be a quick run,” Metzger said, wiping off the driver’s side window and seeing his own bearded face after a month without shaving or trimming it back. “There’s no need to risk it.”
“You wanted me to prove my intentions, right? This is how I do it.”
“You’ve been doing your fair share around here, Scott. And you know I trust you.”
Timmons continued wiping down portions of the car with his parka sleeve. Snow throughout the parking lot became a white mush in the early morning hours, easy to step through, but not ideal for driving certain vehicles.
Within a day of their arrival, everyone was provided with sleeping quarters in one of the cabins behind the main building. During daytime hours, everyone utilized the building for cooking, gatherings, or reading. Harold converted one of the smaller rooms in the main building into a pantry, and sometimes a member of the group cooked for the others. Metzger questioned how their life off the grid compared to a vacation in the area before zombies roamed the planet. Never in his life had he listened to so many compact discs, or read so many novels. Like the others, he sometimes perused books that helped with their situation by telling them how to build, grow, or cook certain items. He vowed that if he found animals in the wild that could be caught or tamed, he would attempt to, so they could expand their farm on the mountain.
No one knew exactly how long such a large group could exist on the property without growing their own food and finding replacements for the appliances and machines certain to break in the future.
Between the two of them, Metzger and Timmons wiped off the Prius in under a minute as the car’s dark paintjob helped soften the snow that fell on it the past two days. Sunlight warmed Metzger’s skin, and he sensed the temperature might reach the low fifties at some point. He wasn’t willing to wait because descending the mountain roads in the snow wouldn’t be an issue. His plan involved making three or four stops if time permitted, and by then the roads might be clear of the elements. If snow and ice remained, however, Metzger knew he might need a hand pushing the Prius out of any snowdrifts.
“I have to go,” Timmons insisted once the Prius became fully visible. “I’m going stir crazy around here.”
Metzger chuckled.
“Fine,” he said. “But what I say, goes. We can’t be wasting time out there and heading back after dark. The last thing we need is people spotting us.”
“Understood.”
Metzger walked inside, finding everyone gathered in the main building, finishing a breakfast of eggs and some sort of salad.
“Want some?” Isabella offered.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“You’re up early,” Jillian noted.
“The captain and I are making a run. The sun is out and the snow is melting. We may not get many days like this before spring.”
“Need some extra hands?” Jillian offered.
“I appreciate it, but I’ve got a few things to discuss with Scott.”
“Suit yourself,” Jillian said, rising from the bar stool style seat where an island and kitchen table combination butted up against the kitchen, making it easy for everyone to converse.
She planted a quick kiss on his lips, considering any secrecy to their blossoming relationship died a few days after their arrival to the mountain. More often than not, the pair shared a cabin, and they began to learn more about one another’s past lives because the tranquility of their setting allowed for more communication.
“Anything else for the wish list?” Metzger asked, holding up the sheet of paper with more than two dozen items scribbled on it since the last supply run.
Food and toilet paper always went without saying, so everyone wrote down personal preferences or other needs.
“Chicken feed if you come across any,” Harold said. “We can always use it.”
Metzger shrugged helplessly, doubtful about his chances of finding any.
“Oats or birdseed will do in a pinch,” Harold added.
“No one else?” Metzger asked, receiving no answers after everyone looked to one another. “Okay. With luck, I’ll see you all by suppertime.”
Before heading for the door, he walked by Jillian, running his fingers gently across hers without saying anything. She squeezed his forefinger for luck, and Metzger never broke stride, grabbing his short sword and his father’s old .357 before heading outside where Timmons waited beside the car for him.
“We good?” the pilot asked.
“Yeah. It’s unlikely we’ll find half the stuff on the list, but we can try.”
Metzger wore a thick blue jacket, something like mountain climbers might don before scaling a steep target, and regular boots that didn’t have much insulation, because he didn’t want sweaty feet later in the day.
He drove them down the hill, mainly because Timmons complained he didn’t want to be caught dead driving a Prius. Metzger simply rolled his eyes and began navigating them to the first location the captain read to him from Harold’s map. A sheet of paper gave them directions, and the location was circled on the map, giving them a few methods by which to locate the country store a bit farther out than other businesses the group had raided during the past month.
Although the drive was nearly two hours away from the resort, the four destinations Harold marked on the map were close in proximity, meaning less wasted time once they arrived.
“What are we going to do when this doesn’t hold out?” Timmons asked half an hour into their journey.
“What do you mean?”
“Supplies aren’t going to last forever, especially with five of us infringing on Isabella’s parents.”
“Supplies won’t hold out wherever we go,” Metzger countered. “But you’re right, because this won’t get any easier.”
“I’m sure the base is feeling the same crunch right now,” Timmons figured aloud. “They planned to build greenhouses, and find animals to breed, but none of that is an overnight fix.”
“Will our illustrious leadership come to the rescue?”
“If you’re referring to the politicians, the answer is no,” Timmons virtually growled. “We pilots are free thinkers, which is why I saw the writing on the wall and followed Isabella to you.”
“Only after you agreed to subdue me and bring me back to the base.”
“Son, that was self-preservation, and I haven’t made one solitary attempt to strip you of your freedom.”
“I know,” Metzger chuckled. “I just like giving you a hard time.”
Snow along the roads proved hit and miss once the Prius descended the road that led to the resort. Fortunately, no heavy drifts bogged down the area in general, allowing the car to navigate normal roads fairly easily.
