The Undead Chronicles | Vol. 3 | Dead of Winter, page 36
part #3 of The Undead Chronicles Series
On this particularly cold morning, he took Father Paul with him to hunt some wild game just before daybreak. Without hunting seasons to keep them in check, and sense enough to keep away from the undead much of the time, deer and other wild animals found fewer predators to thin their numbers. Sutton planned on taking advantage of their higher numbers, their false sense of security, and the fact that he had lured them close to the community with salt licks and other tasty treats.
“This doesn’t seem very sporting,” Father Paul said as he and Sutton assumed a prone position atop a hill overlooking some of the food laid out for the deer.
Just enough morning light emerged for them to see their surroundings.
“It beats starving.”
Without conservation laws, Sutton was free to use whatever methods he chose to hunt animals, which became one of his staple contributions in Maplewood. Typically, he brought a spotter with him, not so much to locate deer, but to watch his back against the undead. He usually asked his son, or Gracine, but Gracine had started spending time with a man inside the community, and Sean was busy helping with other chores on this morning, so the priest volunteered.
Dressed in a winter gear that concealed his collar, Father Paul appeared as though he couldn’t get warm on the chilly morning. Sutton agreed that the light wind possessed the means to chill a person to the bone, but he covered his body from head to toe, leaving only his cheeks exposed to the elements before heading out. Perhaps the priest wasn’t accustomed to the winter weather, or underestimated the temperature, because his teeth occasionally chattered.
Sutton sighted in the POF Renegade rifle he brought along, complete with long-range scope and bipod for stability atop the hill. Without the scope, the rifle would prove quite adept in a gunfight, and might be overkill for hunting, but Sutton wasn’t freezing his ass off for sport. He wanted dinner for himself and more than two dozen people who craved something other than canned goods, rations, and boxed sides.
Father Paul rolled over to his back, watching behind them for any lurking undead, though very few stragglers made their way to the community unless something happened to attract them. A bullet fired from the POF Renegade would certainly gain their attention, though it might take hours for them to amble to the spot the two men occupied.
“You going to be okay?” Sutton inquired, staring through the scope at a doe near the far edge of the feeding area.
She appeared apprehensive about entering the worn patch of ground, possibly because she didn’t have any companionship with her for safety.
“I’ll be fine,” Father Paul responded. “The Lord provides for us as needed.”
Sutton felt safe in their location, both from the undead and being spotted or smelled by deer. Below, the feeding area was a few hundred yards away, and he could make an accurate shot with the rifle. So long as the duo didn’t make any loud noises, the wind would cover their movements and low-volume chatter.
“What does your good book tell you about the dead roaming the Earth?”
“I’m pretty certain that chapter was omitted from the copy I use.”
“Then what does your gut tell you?”
“It tells me our interpretation of the Rapture may be off a bit.”
“Isn’t that where all the good people in the world go to the afterlife, and the wicked are left here?”
“Something like that,” Father Paul answered Sutton’s question with less detail than Sutton wanted.
“There are a lot of good people left in this world, Father.”
“I’m aware of that, Colby. Perhaps His work isn’t finished yet.”
“Maybe He didn’t have a hand in it, and people are just shitty.”
Father Paul looked at him thoughtfully.
“The Lord typically takes a hands-off approach and allows us to make our own mistakes.”
“And the balance is usually restored,” Sutton commented, “but I’m not sure how we do that with ninety-nine percent of the population now dead.”
“Maybe the balance isn’t always about people,” Father Paul suggested. “We may not have factories and computers, but are we not provided for with supplies, water, and the food we’re hunting right now?”
“You like answering questions with questions, don’t you?”
“Isn’t life just a series of questions?”
Father Paul provided a smirk with his latest reply.
Sutton hadn’t spent much time around the priest, partly because he didn’t want to get into questions about the afterlife. Losing his youngest son changed him, mainly because searching for his boys kept him going. Now, he went through life like the zombies he occasionally battled, simply existing to eat, sleep, and repeat life the following day.
He found purpose in hunting to keep the others fed with much-needed protein, but any number of residents could hunt. Sutton just happened to be the best shot.
“I feel like we’re just biding our time, Father,” Sutton said.
“How so?”
“We keep doing these things, staying alive, but the world isn’t going to return to what we knew.”
“It sounds like you’re ready to quit.”
“I’m not saying that. I still have a son to watch over.”
Father Paul waited a moment before speaking again. Looking through the scope, Sutton spied another curious deer, this one a young buck, nearing the feeding area. Perhaps they detected the scent of humans on some of the food, or something else kept them from sampling the buffet.
“I’m sorry about your youngest,” the priest finally said. “Gracine told us what happened at your last stop during dinner one night.”
Likely one of the dinners Sutton skipped, because he didn’t typically feel like socializing.
“Father, I need to ask you something.”
Sutton felt weird calling a man close to him in age “Father” at any time, but it was how Catholics operated, so he wanted to be proper about addressing the man.
“What is it?”
“Do you believe in something after all of this? I mean really believe.”
“Absolutely. Becoming a priest isn’t some trade school class we take for a semester or two. It’s a lifelong devotion, and there were a number of times that I questioned if it was my calling, but I never found myself doubting a higher power.”
Spying a member of the undead heading their way, Father Paul stayed low to the ground, virtually crab-walking away from the hilltop’s crest before standing to deal with the intruder. Sutton remained focused on the two deer below, which hadn’t taken notice of the priest moving away, or using his weapon of choice to puncture the zombie’s skull. Even as the spiked end of the weapon entered the zombie’s cranium, it gave a final, defiant growl that went unnoticed by the mammals below.
“Now, where was I?” Father Paul asked when he returned to Sutton, lying on his back to keep watch for more threats. “Oh, my calling. I can only assume you’re asking on behalf of your deceased son?”
“His name was Jacob.”
“I’m sorry, Colby,” the priest said with genuine empathy. “I can only imagine what you went through, losing him like that.”
“No offense, but I’m not sure you can relate, Father.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Father Paul answered without removing his eyes from the area he watched meticulously. “I may not have children, but I’ve been to dozens of wakes and funerals where I didn’t have answers for parents who lost their children to suicide, or careless accidents, or even child predators. I know there’s evil in this world, Colby, because God gives us free will. I also know there’s something else eating at you. Gracine said something happened with the other half of your group, but she didn’t say what.”
“She’s good at spreading gossip.”
“She cares about you.”
“Is that why she’s been spending so much time with Reggie?”
Sutton wasn’t happy about Gracine seeing the man, perhaps because he felt a bit jealous, but he also understood that he wasn’t good company recently. Reggie Mitchell was a former Army sergeant who became a cop in the regular world after his discharge. Sutton considered the man a bit bland for Gracine, but she appeared to enjoy being around him.
“You’ve been emotionally detached,” Father Paul answered. “She has strong feelings for you, but you haven’t been reciprocating them.”
“How would you know that?”
“I may not have a wife or kids in my profession, but I have eyes.”
A noise reached Sutton’s ears from behind his position.
“Excuse me a moment,” Father Paul said, inching his way away from the hilltop.
Sutton looked through the scope, finding one of the deer beginning to eat as a third, younger fawn dared to approach what Sutton came to call the kill box. He didn’t consider his methods the least bit fair for the deer, or any other creatures that happened into the area, but Sutton needed to provide for more than just a handful of people.
Behind him, he heard a thwack as Father Paul likely used his makeshift crucifix sword to down their latest intruder. A moment later, the priest returned, setting the weapon beside him as he reclined against the crest of the hill once more.
“You were saying about Gracine?”
“Oh, so now you care?” Father Paul asked coyly.
“I’ve always cared. I just didn’t realize she thought about me like that.”
“She’s never said anything, but I feel very certain the woman has feelings for you. But we’re getting off-topic. What happened with the other half of your group?”
Sutton groaned.
“Does anything I say have lawyer-client privilege? Well, the equivalent.”
“Discretion comes with my vocation, Colby.”
Sutton peered through the scope once more, finding a more mature, thicker buck making his way near the box. He visited the area nearly every day to put out apples not fit for human consumption, and salt licks the group had acquired before his arrival. Most of the apples were harvested in the fall and dried by one of the residents with the intention of using them as bait. The method didn’t preserve the apples perfectly, but they remained fresh enough that deer didn’t seem to mind.
“I just about have a shot,” he informed the priest. “I might try for a second target if the doe gets close enough.”
“In the meantime, feel free to start talking about what happened before you came here.”
“You’re awful pushy, Father.”
“Comes with the territory. You can be a little feisty when God has your back.”
Sutton smirked, though the butt of the rifle kept the priest from seeing. Strangely, the priest might have been his favorite hunting companion thus far, keeping him on his toes and providing interesting conversation.
“Someone from the other half of the group thinks I killed her father,” Sutton finally said, realizing he hadn’t really spoken about the event since it happened.
“What do you think?”
“I think it was a perfect storm of bad circumstances.”
“Did you mean for any harm to come to her father?”
“No. I didn’t even know her father was alive, much less living in the town where me and my new group were heading.”
Sutton paused a moment, seeing no new activity below.
“I knew the new group was trouble, but I didn’t know just how bad. I’d gotten separated from the others, and knew I needed to survive if I wanted to see them again. Well, it backfired, and they ended up getting into a skirmish with my former group. That’s when Jillian’s father was shot.”
“It sounds like you’re leaving out quite a few details.”
“I killed three of the four men in my new group, saving everyone except Jillian’s dad. That doesn’t make up for what happened, but I never meant to bring trouble to them.”
“Does killing other people bother you?” Father Paul inquired, possibly angling towards learning about Sutton’s religious beliefs.
“I don’t enjoy it, if that’s what you mean. I’ve never killed anyone outside of self-defense.”
“I’ve only known you a few months now, Colby, but you don’t strike me as a danger to yourself or others. We’ve all made mistakes, particularly in these dark times when survival is far from guaranteed.”
“So, even a man of God like you has made mistakes?” Sutton inquired.
“I’m far from infallible. During the early days of the apocalypse I made some critical errors when people were looking for help.”
“You’re not a survivalist, Father. How could they expect help from you?”
“Spiritual help. I didn’t have answers for them.”
“My shot isn’t going to get any better than this, Father,” Sutton said, seeing the buck in close proximity to a mature doe. “I might be able to nab a pair.”
Father Paul made a sign of the cross across his head and torso, saying a silent prayer that Sutton’s shots hit their marks.
Taking the first shot, Sutton hit the buck squarely in the chest, causing all four of the deer to jump and take a second or two to collect their bearings. The buck immediately staggered after taking a few steps, but Sutton was already focusing his attention on the large doe, knowing only a few crucial seconds remained for him to take the shot or go without extra meat. He lined up a shot in the back of her neck, taking the slight breeze into account before squeezing the trigger.
His shot struck home, and the deer immediately felt the pain, though she ran out of the kill box with blood trickling from the wound.
“We’ve got a runner,” Sutton reported.
“We’re going to have dead heads coming our way once they hear those shots.”
Sutton and the priest made their way to the black Ford pickup they borrowed from the ample supply at Maplewood. Once they were inside, Sutton began driving around the hill to a spot where they could access the kill box without taking an extreme angle down the hill.
“When you said you hadn’t been perfect, you didn’t mean anything with kids, right?” Sutton asked his companion, half-kidding.
“I’ve taken a vow to be a man of peace,” Father Paul began, “but that vow can be broken if you’re going to be insulting.”
“Just wanted to make sure.”
“A few bad apples give us a bad name,” Father Paul assured him. “I like to think most of those men have had their day or reckoning.”
“That’s not very Christian of you.”
“Neither is violating children, my son.”
Sutton reached the bottom of the hill, driving to the edge of the kill box where he and Father Paul were able to load the buck into the back of the truck with reasonable ease. Far tougher was locating the doe and loading her body into the truck bed before the dead located her and began devouring the corpse. As a rule, the dead didn’t feed on something unless they took it down or spotted it falling, but Sutton didn’t want to waste one second.
“Tracking isn’t going to be easy in a truck,” he commented when the two men returned to the vehicle’s cab.
“It won’t be bad unless she made it to the woods.”
Sutton agreed, and the open field around the kill box continued anywhere from a quarter to half a mile, depending on the direction. Most of the grass and weeds were low to the ground and tan from the winter weather. Although snow seldom visited the area, freezing temperatures bullied the plants and wildlife as badly as any other climate.
As though sent from above, the sun emerged from mostly cloudy skies, helping Sutton search for blood along the ground. He spotted the occasional blood droplets, which increased in both occurrence and volume, letting him know they were getting closer. Unfortunately, the woods ahead threatened to conceal his kill, and a hearty dinner for the villagers, if they didn’t locate the doe soon.
“I see trouble,” Father Paul said, pointing ahead of them, slightly to the left, where three undead stragglers appeared to be heading for something.
“Shit,” Sutton muttered. “Pardon my French, Father.”
“Forgiven, Colby. Just get your ass over there before they do, because that’s probably where your deer fell.”
Sutton parked the truck as close as he could to the area before both men jumped out. Father Paul grabbed his weapon from the truck bed and immediately took to swinging at the closest of the zombies, striking it in the skull and making himself the primary target of the two remaining threats. He led them away from their original target, allowing Sutton to scour the ground for signs of blood or a fallen deer. After spying a small pool of blood, he quickly located the dead deer, which remained undisturbed by the attackers pursuing the priest.
He tried lifting the deer by himself, but it proved just heavy enough to give him pause. Not wanting to throw out his back, he decided to assist Father Paul so the man could return the favor and help him load their haul.
Father Paul swung his weapon into the head of one of the two remaining threats, knocking it to the ground, but as he went to pull the makeshift sword free, it remained lodged inside the skull. While he attempted to free the weapon, the other zombie managed to draw close enough to grasp at his arms. Unaccustomed to dealing with numerous threats, the priest panicked a bit and fell to the ground, allowing the zombie to fall on top of him, snapping its brownish teeth at his neck. He managed to fend it off with a forearm under its chin, but he couldn’t shove it aside, so Sutton rushed over, using a knife to end the threat with a jab to the side of the zombie’s skull.
“Thanks,” the priest said, trying to catch his breath after the scare.
“You’re welcome,” Sutton replied, offering a hand to help the priest get to his feet. “Let’s get this thing loaded and head back for a hearty dinner.”
