The Undead Chronicles | Vol. 3 | Dead of Winter, page 26
part #3 of The Undead Chronicles Series
“You’re just showing off,” Timmons scoffed, trying his second vehicle, and having success as it actually turned over.
Unfortunately, the vehicle was a compact car that didn’t help them any more than the Prius.
“I’ll get the car,” Metzger said, always keeping a garden hose, minus the metal ends, in the back to syphon gas from vehicles when necessary.
He fetched the Prius, returning to find Timmons gaining access to the older vehicle’s gas inlet. Unscrewing the cap, Timmons set it atop the car, monitoring his surroundings as more undead lingered in the area. The previously sunny, virtually cloudless sky gave way to clouds that continued to darken and block the sun. Metzger feared he might have guessed incorrectly about the weather, and the warm front was about to give way to more snow.
“We need to hurry this up,” Timmons said, his breath showing in the cool air.
“Did you even try that?” Metzger asked of a truck parked off to the side of the parking lot.
It appeared intact, despite not being driven for some time.
“I haven’t,” Timmons admitted. “I got focused on the car.”
Metzger walked over to the truck, quickly searched it, and found a set of keys tucked in the visor on the passenger’s side. An older two-tone Silverado, the truck managed to start with a few tries, and Metzger felt surprised to see nearly half a tank of gas registering on the gauge. He hoped it didn’t have some kind of transmission problem that might keep it from navigating the hilly roads to the resort.
“Well, I’ll be,” Timmons said. “I’d have bet fifty bucks it wouldn’t start.”
“Saves us some time and effort,” Metzger sighed. “I’ll drive this if you want to drive the Prius.”
Timmons gave him a sour look.
“I’d rather you give me an enema with your sword,” Timmons replied, motioning with a few fingers for Metzger to exit the truck.
“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”
Metzger began gathering the hose and gas can for future use, putting them in the back of the Prius. He managed to remember the route back to the old store, but his mind kept wandering to the two youngsters, curious if they were part of some child cult, barely surviving, or if adults used them to carry out dirty work.
Unlike Timmons, he didn’t consider everyone a threat, and he knew from experience he needed to be thorough when evaluating strangers. Metzger didn’t want to be so hardened against newcomers that he didn’t provide them an opportunity to prove themselves. While he wasn’t looking for more roommates, allies in the apocalypse might make for safer travels and an exchange of information.
Even so, he occasionally glanced behind him to ensure that Timmons stayed close, and they weren’t being followed. Metzger didn’t want to be responsible for luring any groups with nefarious intentions back to the resort. He felt incredibly fortunate to live in such a place, with so many amenities he enjoyed on a daily basis. Granted, everyone who lived there chipped in and worked around the grounds, or fetched necessary items, but none of them complained. Even Nathan did what he could to help, though Metzger’s nephew often appeared lonely without playmates or pets around. Farm animals made for subpar substitutes, and Metzger wished he could find a cat or dog to bring his nephew one day.
When he and Timmons arrived at the store, Metzger parked to the side so Timmons could back the truck close to the store’s main entrance. Both stood a moment, listening for any signs of vehicles or people following them. Hearing nothing, they set to work, carrying cases of packaged foods out to the truck.
“What did you mean that you weren’t a good dad?” Metzger inquired during the third trip the pair made together, each carrying a box.
“You’re going to think I’m the shittiest person on the planet,” Timmons answered before setting his box in the truck bed and shoving it back.
“You’ve already proven that you aren’t.”
“I told you my son lived in Las Vegas,” Timmons stated as they walked inside. “What I didn’t tell you was that he was living with my ex-wife who worked out there as a manager at one of the hotels.”
“How old was your son?”
“He would’ve been about sixteen when the world collapsed.”
Each grabbed another box of dried goods, navigating their way through the store once more.
“You said you and your son weren’t on speaking terms,” Metzger recalled aloud.
“That’s a delicate way of putting it,” Timmons replied. “And doesn’t make me sound like quite the asshole I am.”
Metzger began to question how Timmons, a level-headed pilot, very much accustomed to high-pressure situations, could be such a terrible parent. He felt certain the man exaggerated the extent of whatever poor decisions he made as a father. He waited for more elaboration as each of them set another box in the bed of the truck.
“Cooper, my son, was born autistic,” Timmons said with a bit of a sigh. “I spent all of my life waiting to be a dad, and I just wasn’t ready for what came with raising an autistic kid.”
“It’s not easy,” Metzger said, knowing the difficulties from personal experience as a teacher.
He didn’t personally teach disabled kids, but he saw them, and some of the issues their assigned teachers experienced during student meltdowns.
Timmons waited until they stepped inside to continue his story.
“At first, Sarah and I weren’t sure of the extent,” he admitted. “And, in the scheme of things, Cooper wasn’t bad off. He had some ticks and some issues that set him off, and he occasionally wore the headset to keep the external stimuli from bothering him.”
“But?”
“Things just got progressively worse, because I wasn’t home very often. The kid needed stability, and I was flying missions, or stuck at the base, on-call half the time. Here I was, halfway to my pension in the Navy, so I couldn’t just quit.”
Timmons walked into the back room with Metzger close behind. Each grabbed another box, and Metzger led the way out.
“Things fell apart around Cooper’s sixth birthday,” Timmons admitted. “My own son never really bonded with me, because I wasn’t home much. It hurt, but I guess my career was taking center stage. Sarah and I fought all the time about what to do for his education, and how she wanted me to take specialized classes for parenting an autistic kid. I just didn’t have the time, and we were moving in different directions.”
Each of them placed their cases in the truck bed, taking a second to observe their surroundings to ensure no one took notice of their stash.
“She got a job offer in Vegas, as an assistant manager, knowing she could move up the ladder, so we decided to call it quits.”
“Just like that?”
“It hadn’t been good for a few years,” Timmons admitted. “I was always there financially for my son, but there wasn’t really a relationship between us. Until the end, I helped pay for specialty schools, and I checked in when I could. Hell, at first, I used to send cards, and tried the video chat thing, but sometimes it was literally like talking to a wall. Cooper would stare off into space, and about two minutes into the conversation, he sometimes up and walked away. I guess it got easier over time to do the minimum and throw myself into my work.”
“That doesn’t make you a monster,” Metzger said. “You’re human.”
“I only spoke to Sarah once after this all started,” Timmons stated, his eyes glazed a bit as he stared at the glass of one of the dusty cooler doors. “It didn’t sound like things were going very well out there, and she wasn’t sure what to do with Cooper.”
He turned to Metzger, his eyes misting a bit as he recalled the day in question.
“What do you say to that?”
Metzger couldn’t provide an answer.
“I could’ve gone AWOL and stolen a plane to pick them up, but I knew right away there wasn’t a place for someone like my son in this world. I couldn’t even make time for him before, so what could I have done differently? Instead, I just followed orders like always, and told myself that made it alright.”
Sniffling, Timmons breathed in hard from his nose, trying to mask the pain he felt from thinking about his decisions. Metzger felt certain the man had never spoken in such complete detail about his son and his failed marriage to another living soul.
“Sometimes I imagine their last hours on Earth, and it haunts me,” he admitted. “I was kicked back inside a secured perimeter getting three square meals a day, and my ex probably died protecting my only child. I put on a brave face in front of the other pilots, but inside I was dying a little each day.”
“Is that why you were willing to leave the base?”
“Partly,” Timmons replied, wiping back what little moisture made it to the sides of his eyes. “Being trapped with your thoughts isn’t always a good thing, you know.”
“I’m very aware.”
“I started showing you the aircraft in Norfolk to pass the time. Maybe I thought I could mentor you, kind of like a dad, in the beginning.” Timmons paused, searching for the words. “But the truth is you’re already a far better man than me. You probably think I’m protecting you because of the whole cure the world messiah thing, but it’s more than that, Dan. I’ve said it before, and maybe you don’t see it yet, but you’re going to be a leader in this new world. I just plan on making certain nothing happens to you before you reach your full potential.”
Metzger couldn’t muster a reply, because he still wondered if Timmons told him such things with an angle in mind. He appreciated the captain coming clean, and he trusted the man, but Metzger didn’t picture himself as a leader of men.
Not like Timmons, and certainly not like his brother.
Before their conversation could continue, a female zombie emerged from the nearby woods, spying the two men and heading directly at them. Snow, which fell lazily from the sky during their return drive to the old store, now picked up in both steadiness and thickness.
“I’ll go get another box,” Timmons said, openly looking for a reason to excuse himself and let Metzger deal with the minor threat.
When the captain ducked out of sight, Metzger realized he hadn’t taken his sword from the car as he went to reach over his shoulder for it. Not feeling panicked against only one member of the undead, he gave a gentle kick to her stomach, driving her back a few feet while he picked up a nearby rock about twice the size of a softball. Deciding to try an experiment, he hurled the rock at her forehead, but it grazed the side of her skull instead.
“Guess I need to work on my aim,” he muttered, kicking her back once again, buying time to pick up the rock for a second attempt.
His next throw hit the zombie squarely in the forehead, knocking her back before she reluctantly collapsed to the ground, as though the impact from the rock required a moment to register and kill the brain. Walking over, he kicked the zombie’s arm, but it didn’t move an inch. Hearing Timmons step outside behind him, Metzger turned around to see the Navy man load another box into the truck.
“Fetching the sword was too much effort?”
“Thought I’d try something,” Metzger confessed. “How many more trips?”
“Three or four.”
Metzger followed Timmons inside.
“You really don’t think I’m a monster?” Timmons asked.
“No. Have you taken the time to picture what would’ve happened if you landed a plane out there? You would’ve been swamped, or worse.”
Timmons nodded, seeing his point.
“It’s because of you that I have a chance to find my brother,” Metzger said. “Again.”
“The least I could do.”
“Really, it’s not. You gave up a lot to fly us out here, and I know you’re not entirely comfortable being around the dead. I doubt any of us really are. And I appreciate you being honest with me about your past.”
“You don’t think any less of me?”
“I think I understand where your head was at,” Metzger replied, picking up one of the last boxes inside the storage room. “You weren’t a deadbeat dad, because you provided support, and you made efforts to be in Cooper’s life.”
“Yeah, but a father should be there through thick and thin,” Timmons said, beginning to slide into a cesspool of negativity again.
“You’re here now,” Metzger reasoned. “You’ve got my back, and I appreciate that more than you know. And what you’ve told me stays between us.”
Timmons nodded.
“Thanks,” the captain said, providing a thin smirk. “We’d better get this stuff loaded before the snow traps us here.”
Metzger led the way through the store.
“Keep up, Pops,” he said, trying to alleviate the tension Timmons brought upon himself by reliving his past.
“Okay,” the pilot said, hesitating before adding a word he spoke with a hint of a chuckle. “Son.”
Nineteen
Five Days Later
“Is this our life now?” Luke asked Gracine in the center of a wooded grove. “We just hide from the government like hermits?”
Gracine carried an axe and a small gas can, while Luke toted a chainsaw. Behind them, Samantha skipped around several trees, simply being a kid.
“We’re a far cry from hermits,” Gracine said. “We got lucky and found a community.”
Gracine found their current lodgings, and the community part of it came as a fortunate surprise.
After a month of being settled in, they brought their particular skills to those of the people already occupying the other houses. All of the houses were built with fireplaces, which made them desirable in the apocalypse, though some required conversion from natural gas to wood as their fuel source.
Fortunately, Virginia seldom reached cold temperatures that threatened the group significantly. Although they didn’t have electricity, the collective showed Gracine and the others their plans to locate solar panels and create their own energy. A man who lived across the street from them worked as an engineer for years, possessing a solid understanding of how electrical grids worked. He felt confident he could create a system to power all twelve houses if they could locate the proper materials.
Today, however, the group simply required firewood to keep their houses warm with three full months of winter still ahead.
“We could’ve done a lot worse, you know,” Gracine informed Luke. “We found people with little ones, which gives Samantha some playmates.”
“She has been happier,” Luke admitted. “It just feels like we’ve shifted gears completely.”
“How so?”
“When we were with Dan, everything was about helping the military and finding the man responsible for all of this. Now we’re just settling in, and no one’s really talked about it.”
“What’s to talk about?”
“Is this just another stop?” Luke questioned. “Is this temporary lodging? Colby hasn’t really said much.”
“He hides his feelings, but he’s been through a lot. I think he’s ready to play it safe for a while.”
Both of them stopped when they found a downed tree that simply needed to be cut into manageable pieces.
“That’s already dry,” Luke said, nodding toward the tree. “We could burn that right away.”
“That’s what we want.”
Samantha continued to skip around several of the trees, and Gracine looked around to ensure no unwanted visitors took notice of her.
“Samantha, honey,” Gracine called to the girl.
“Yeah?” Samantha answered, running over to her.
“Would you be a dear and ask Mr. and Mrs. Brown to bring the truck back here?”
Gracine nodded to Luke to ensure he thought it was okay for the girl to run a few hundred yards back to the pickup truck where their neighbors awaited word that a suitable tree was located.
“I can go with her,” Gracine offered.
“That’s alright,” Luke said before turning his attention to Samantha. “I need you to be a big girl and head straight back to the truck, understand?”
Samantha nodded.
“Tell Mr. and Mrs. Brown to bring the truck down here to us. And if you see any of the monster people?”
“I run away and get help.”
“You come to me, or you run to the Browns if you see the monster people.”
Samantha nodded and ran in the direction of the truck.
“I hate doing that,” Luke said once she was out of earshot.
“She needs to learn responsibility,” Gracine said. “We didn’t see any danger on the way down here, and it’s a straight shot.”
“Watch her as long as you can,” Luke said, waiting a few seconds before priming and starting the chainsaw.
He and Gracine both knew the sound of a running chainsaw would draw the undead to their location, and they wanted Samantha to have a good head start, even if the truck was only a few hundred yards away.
Monitoring Samantha all day, every day simply couldn’t be done, because like any kid she wanted to explore and have fun. Gracine taught her safety measures whenever possible, and Luke instructed her on firearms with the knowledge he gained from his partner at the start of the apocalypse.
Gracine didn’t lose sight of the girl until she walked into a thicket of trees, and Samantha didn’t deviate from her path. A few minutes went by, and Luke was already cutting the tree into smaller sections by this point. She considered leaving him to check on Samantha, but he’d never hear a zombie coming, and letting Samantha spread her wings didn’t work effectively if they constantly checked on her.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the maroon Ford pickup truck headed in her direction. She saw Samantha wedged between Samuel and Karen Brown in the truck’s bench seat, looking proud of herself for following through with her errand. Although Karen clearly ruled the roost in their marriage, Samuel drove the pickup truck, backing it closer to where Luke continued cutting the wood. Gracine knew the noise was going to attract the undead, and the group had already formed a plan for a few of them to chop wood while the others monitored the area for flesh-eating assailants.
