Rust, Gore, and The Junkyard Zombie Page 6

  She had worked in the garage since she was five years old. She was monitored until she was ten, but she was still working there. She learned quickly and had a natural talent for the work.

  Chris was more proud of her than he wanted to admit.

  Chris was more proud of her than he wanted to admit. He tried not to show favoritism, but everyone knew Shara was enough like him to earn it. None of his other kids really minded, and those who worked in the garage could see Shara earned the praise she got.

  My favorite of his kids was a tie between Shara and Candy: Shara because of her independent attitude and general ability to get things done, and Candy for her general sweetness and her kick-ass baking skills. That kid made the best muffins!

  Honestly, her mother and brother were great cooks, but Candy made better baked goods. Cooking was not one of my strong suits, well, unless a grill was involved, so I was often grateful for all of their skills. I found myself both glad and sorry that neither Candy, John, nor Amara would be accompanying us. It meant they would be safe, but it also meant we would be roughing it as far as food went. Not a fun idea.

  Amara packed us some homemade MREs. Chris was fond of dehydrating and canning his own supplies. He also had made deals with many of the local hunters to get the meat from their kills, back when it was safe to do that. He had a metric shit ton of dehydrated fruit and meat.

  We should reach our destination in a few hours, but we were leaving prepared for a week-long journey. We wanted to be sure we were prepared for all eventualities.

  The tank was a World War Two model, my grandfather shipped it home piece by piece. He ran a equipment depot during the war, so he got away with it. It was spacious and could easily accommodate the four of us. It would not be a luxury motel, but it would be an armored vehicle to protect us from the walking remains of the people along our path. If we slept, it would be sitting up, but we wouldn’t have to worry about windows that could break. We would be protected.

  Each of us would have to work together to make it work. Teamwork had always been something that I could handle with ease.

  Lizzie

  The past week had been an incredibly long one. I was not a mechanic nor was I really a physical sort. I was not the homemaker sort either. Thus, most of the preparations were above my abilities.

  I couldn’t visit the garage since the memories

  were crippling. I tried, and found myself weaker than I had imagined myself. My input on the fences was about as welcome as a fart in a crowded elevator. Amara, as usual, welcomed me in her kitchen for just general company.

  My usual input was in the lab. I had always

  been more awkward in the personal settings. The apocalypse had most definitely made my life much more difficult. Not only did it take from me the one person outside family who saw through my awkwardness, but I was forced to find my way through more social situations than ever before.

  I was eternally grateful my family was with

  me, but I was not a social creature by nature, which was why when the tank was finally repaired I was overflowing with appreciation. Chris was in his element in the garage, much as my Jimbo had been. Shara was so much like her father. The repairs being done meant that I finally would be able to rejoin them and try to find the answers so that my child could be born safely.

  Tara and I pored over maps and planned our

  route. We chose interstates when possible because we believed it would have less impediments. The tank could travel over most things in our path, but the fewer things we had to run over, the better. Tara would likely be manning the guns so that left me as navigator. Chris was the driver, and Shara was our mechanic.

  The route was roughly ninety miles in total one

  way. On a normal day, the trip should take less than four hours in total, but we had no way of knowing what impediments we would run into. The tank’s maximum speed was only forty miles an hour. Between that maximum and assuming the route to be covered in problems, we were expecting the trip to take three days round trip—one day to get there, one day to return, and the day in between to find the answers we were seeking. We had packed for a week, just in case, to allow for any extra time used on the other side.

  The road out of town was covered in the dead. Most of the zombie movies, which I had only started watching of late, showed cars parked all over the roads. We didn’t see that many vehicles. We saw mostly walking corpses before they were crushed under the tank. It was easily something that one could ignore.

  There was not even a sound to indicate them

  being crushed. The sensation of isolation was complete and terrible. It would have driven me mad without the rest of my family with me.

  Chris decided we would stop in Charlestown on

  the way back to see about supplies. He said that we could acquire vehicles there to increase our storage space for supplies. I had not even considered it that far ahead. I was focused on the here and now and what we would find in Fort Belvoir. He also was counting on coming back quickly and us finding everything we needed at the fort.

  I had rarely left the area we grew up in. I went

  to college in Shepherdstown which was no more than forty miles from home. I had gone once with Jimbo to California. It was a completely different world and not one I wanted to live in.

  My siblings had traveled the world. Both served

  our country and spent years seeing our world. I was never interested in leaving West Virginia. I couldn’t imagine waking and not seeing the mountains out of my windows. That being said, I was looking forward to this adventure.

  Chris did his basic training in Virginia, and Tara

  did hers in Florida. Fort Belvoir was probably not an adventure to either of them.

  Though we planned a day, the trip took us a total

  of five hours. We stopped for a bathroom break at a truck stop along the way about two hours in. Chris took the lead on entry. There were several dead standing outside. He used a machete to clear our path, and I had not seen him in such a way before.

  I knew Chris was in excellent condition. Toned

  and muscular, he was fighting fit. Still, I never paid it much attention. He was my brother after all.

  He sliced through the necks of the walking dead

  as though he was waving a ribbon around. A single stroke took down five of them. I felt like I was watching it in slow motion. The smell of rot and decay permeated the air nearly masking the copper tang as he cut into their skin. I never would have expected the smell of blood from something already dead.

  The blade made a crunching whistle as it slid

  through each throat. The sound was nauseating. My stomach rebelled violently as the sound hit my mind. I usually had more class than to just vomit on the ground like that, but I doubted anyone would actually care considering the world was in such chaos.

  I was the only member of our group who was

  not taking zombies down with ease. I felt so completely useless at that moment. Shara had a large tire iron that she was bashing in heads with. Every hit was spreading flesh and brain matter around her haphazardly. I felt like I was in some caricature of a horror flick. I suddenly felt like a complete germaphobe.

  Chris was right to want to leave me behind. I

  realized that, and it hit me. I needed to grow a backbone or I would die before my child could be born. For both of our sakes, I needed to grow strong.

  I had to find a weapon that I could handle to

  keep myself safe. One that was quiet and could reach far. Perhaps I could get a bow. I used to be good with archery. It was a sport that was less offensive to the girl I was in college.

  We all had guns, but guns were loud and would

  draw more of the dead to us. Tara was wielding a metal baseball bat like it was nothing. She and Shara did not seem to notice the gore they were slinging with each stroke. I wished I had their confidence.

  Inside the truck stop, we found a family and

  three other
s holed up. Chris spoke to them while I cleaned myself up and used the restroom. He must have liked what he saw and heard because he gave them a roughly drawn map to the junkyard.

  We helped them to get into a vehicle to make

  the trip. One of them was a trucker, so we loaded his truck with supplies and the survivors. I felt like we were taking a chance by sending these strangers to our home, but it felt like it was not my place to say so. Chris, as the eldest, was the one to make the final call on it. Since I couldn't even defend myself, I felt I shouldn’t say anything.

  I could voice my thoughts about things that

  involved me, but I was not about to complain about what involved the entire group. I could voice my issues, but I had always respected Chris enough to accept his choices.

  Chris took the time to reassure me after we

  were on our way, so I must have been more transparent than I thought. “You do realize that they may not even make it. If they do, James will protect the community members and the children first. Outsiders will be watched.”

  I was surprised by his unrequested reassuring of

  my fears. Partially because I didn’t realize that I was showing my thoughts so clearly on my face, and partially because I didn’t think he would volunteer his thought process. I nodded rather than speak for fear of ruining the moment.

  We chose not to stop again until we reached Fort Belvoir. We were all anxious about what we would find at the end of our journey. The tank almost reeked of the smell of the anxiety we were all feeling. Even Tara, who really didn’t show her anxieties, was snappish and showing signs of the stress. Finally, she chose to curl up and nap.

  We were all covered in dried blood and bits of

  brains, stressed from the trip, and generally tired. The tired was an effect of the drastic changes in our world. There had been too many alterations in our lives too quickly for all of us to adapt. It was not surprising that we were all exhausted.

  The trip from the truck stop was not an easy

  one, as we found more abandoned vehicles the closer to the base we came. Fort Belvoir was south of Alexandria, Virginia. Alexandria was a busy city, and the streets we passed through showed this greatly. There was an unusual amount of vehicles parked in a practical parking lot between us and our destination. This was not a true hindrance for the tank, but the crunching sounds resounded inside the cabin of the tank. Such an awful disheartening sound. It was enough to drain the spirit.

  It seemed to affect me the worst, at least to me anyway. Shara was enjoying the ride. Tara was tense and vigilant but seemed unaffected by the sounds. Chris was never bothered by anything. I envied him that.

  Fort Belvoir was a unique sight as we entered. The entrance gates were closed and a wall of vehicles was built behind it. There had to be survivors to create such fortifications. I wasn’t sure if this was a good sign or a bad one.

  After all, that meant we could be facing a fight or we could find the answers we were seeking.

  Chris did not want to break the barrier that the

  survivors had built. He suggested we park the tank and enter on foot. While this made logistical sense, it felt like we would be exposed. I found myself uncertain about whether we would survive long enough to enter the base. Then I looked at the three people who I was traveling with and found my fears disappearing.

  Tara pointed out a gate in the wall, obviously

  meant to allow the survivors to go out and gather. There were guards on top of the wall there. Chris told us to hang out while he had some words with them. We couldn't hear what he said, but they seemed to accept him as it was not long before he was motioning for us to come.

  We slipped into the base with less fuss

  than I had expected. The entrance to the base was fairly open, but we were led to a building that must have once been a meeting hall. It was directly across from the base exchange building. Hell, for all I knew, it might have once been a part of the base exchange. I felt like a lost soul in here. The complex seemed huge even though there were only a few streets left unblocked. I could see miles within the walls they had built. I knew there was more to the complex than that which they had fenced off.

  Chris was busy talking to the one who was

  leading us into the building. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I hoped that Chris was getting answers. I knew it was what we really needed now.

  Amara

  I was not the nervous type, most of the time. Still, the junkyard had become a busy place. With Chris and the girls gone, I was having to rely on James, Johnny, and Kevin to keep all of us safe. I found myself worrying about all of us. I needed Chris to return, soon and safe. I needed to hug my baby and to know all of them were safe.

  I was incredibly surprised when we were

  approached by a group of survivors. They claimed that Chris sent them, but they were not from Jarvin. The family had a small child, so I felt sympathy for them. James interviewed them and agreed to take them in temporarily.

  The addition was not something that most of our current survivors were happy with. There were a lot of questions and argument. Chris would have shut everyone up quickly, but I was definitely not my beloved.

  The father was admittedly a welcome addition, as he was a family care physician from Martinsburg. There was no safe haven dumb enough to turn away a doctor. Thankfully, Chris had set us up with a few extra campers in case we had need of them. He left us prepared to survive for the rest of time, but I sincerely hoped he would come back quickly.

  There was a trucker among them. He was good for the gathering group. I felt like I needed to be stronger just to keep our small community from falling apart. I was hoping no one would see just how lost I was without my husband.

  Chris

  How often could a man say the women in his life were his pride? Sitting here watching the three of them sleep, I felt blessed.

  Lizzie was tightly wrapped around her belly, sleeping in a ball. She was going to be a great mother. I just wished Jimbo had been able to see his kid. She looked so fragile when she slept, and I swear it was the only time she allowed herself to relax.

  Shara was spread out across the bunk, hanging over the sides. She was aggressive in having her own way about everything. She was my youngest baby and the one who was the most like me. She had a brilliant brain, doing engineering as if she had gone to college. She understood the mechanics of an engine better than I did sometimes. Then there were times when she was still my little girl, clinging to me as if afraid that I would disappear if she looked away.

  Then there was Tara. She was softer when she slept. She came back from the navy changed. I came back from the marines changed too, but I noticed it more in her. I saw the loss of innocence in her. She said she came back because of the politics in the SEALs, and I thought there might be some truth to it. Still I wondered if part of it was because she was just homesick. Now, she never left home unless she had to, and she looked to me for any major decisions. She drank more than she ever did before. I wondered what she saw that had damaged her so badly.

  I would have been happier if I could have left the three of them at the junkyard. The junkyard would have been a safe place. I felt like I was not given the ability to protect them.

  I refused to allow them to come to harm—even if it meant I had to keep them at my side. I would do anything for them and the family at the junkyard. I only hoped that we would find the answers we were searching for and could get back home safely.

  Lizzie

  Waking up in a cold sweat didn’t suit me. The scene replaying in my dream was one of the worst days of my life. It was one of the worst days in my brother's life too. Details made the moment, and in my mind, the details were engraved deeply.

  Time flowed slowly on recall, making it feel even more surreal. Chris and Tara stormed into my lab in the middle of the day on a Monday, demanding that I come home. The no-nonsense tone in Chris's voice and the ramrod stiffness in Tara's posture told me it was impe
rative that I not argue.

  Chris looked like the world was coming to an end, and I was not sure that I wanted to know why. I finished my work, not realizing how futile my efforts truly were. I was even slightly amused by the volatile nervous energy that was flowing from my brother in waves.

  The handgun with the cloak-and-dagger nonsense confused me. Why the hell would I shoot anyone? I was a doctor, and I helped people. I did not kill them. Killing was always more a part of Chris’s life or even Tara’s life. So as we made our way down, I was a bit more vigilant in noticing the environment than I usually was. I saw two corpses lying around the building, each with gunshot wounds in the head. What in the hell was going on? I swallowed my panic.

  Seeing the bodies told me to expect Chris to be in survival mode. He had been a sniper, so he never shot his gun without purpose. I liked to think that he decided life was too important for casual gunplay. I knew that I would not be able to drive my own little Jetta home since Chris would likely insist we all take the same car.

  I just jumped in Tara's beat-up Mustang. For a second, I saw the hesitation in his face. His jaw worked as though he considered arguing. Pulling himself under control, he nodded and climbed into the driver's seat of his battered old pickup. There was no way all three of us could fit into the cab comfortably, and I believe he knew it.

  The ride home was quietly uncomfortable. Tara kept glancing at me and then returning her gaze quickly to the road. I was glad that there were less than ten miles from the lab to the junkyard. If it had been much farther, I might have screamed from the unknown tension that I could feel but didn't yet understand.

  As soon as we were in the gates, Tara parked, which was unusual for her as she preferred to park closer to her trailer. Chris told her to check on Amara and the kids so that he could talk to me. The anguished look that passed through Tara's clouded hazel eyes worried me. It concerned me so much that as she walked away I demanded answers.

  Chris was very gentle, explaining that Jimbo had been bit and had turned. Jimbo and Chris had so often sat and watched those stupid zombie apocalypse movies. I preferred steampunk dystopian dramas, but who was I to judge their entertainment? It meant, however, that I understood what being bitten and turned meant. The details should have been fuzzy here, as I was so devastated. Unfortunately, my mind focused in. The worst news I had ever received became a diamond to cut the clear bliss of my life at the time.