“Good point.” We headed for the line of trucks.
Most of the morning was noisy. Birds flitted here and there and chirped at everything. There were massive flights of crows and other birds that had to be scavengers of some sort. I bet the seagull population near the water had exploded in growth.
There were blue jays with their angry chant, screaming at each other and probably at us as we interrupted their conversations. I looked up as a hawk called out from where he circled far above. The world had gone to the birds, literally.
Scott was a good companion. He kept his focus everywhere as we walked through the wreckage of the neighborhood. There was a pair of scorched houses that were just burned-out husks. One was a large two-story with a gated entryway. It reminded me of the house from last night.
I wondered how many times the same story had repeated itself over the course of the last few months. How many houses were torn apart, families dragged out and killed. How many survivors were there? I hoped Portland wasn’t a disappointment. I didn’t think I could live like this forever, unless I found a safe community like this one to live in. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Then again, how long would it be before the groups started fighting each other for control? How long until the food ran out? It wasn’t like we could grow anything. A field would be a terrible place to work—a wide-open target—like farming in the middle of a giant bulls-eye.
A flash of movement in the street ahead caught my attention, and I had the gun to my shoulder in a heartbeat. After I sighted along the barrel, I wasn’t sure what I had seen.
Scott reacted the same way. He had a shotgun—big Remington with a pump. He worked it like a pro, head moving with the gun as he walked forward.
It was an old car behind which someone was crouching. I moved to one side of the street, and Scott moved to the other. Houses were closer together here, and smaller—town homes that had very little room and even less space between lots. With all the shadows they cast, it would be hard to see anything coming out of them until it was too late.
Scott scooted forward. He had the close-range weapon, so that afforded me the opportunity to cover him with the M-16. A shape moved at speed away from the car, running like it was on fire. It looked like a kid, but it was in the gap between two houses before I could even wonder if the apparition had been real.
“Damn creepers,” Scott muttered when he joined me.
“Hey man. I was one of those until a few days ago.”
“Really? You do look kind of creepy.”
“Maybe they don’t know they can just walk right up to you and say ‘Hi, I want in.’ You live on the run long enough, and it becomes hard to trust anyone.”
We walked along in silence. I looked over at Scott to find his eyebrows drawn down, as if in deep thought.
“Yeah, you’re right, but we can’t exactly put out a welcome sign. We only have so many supplies.”
“I know, but how long can that continue? What are you going to do when you run out, and you’re ranging out from the hub for hours at a time just to find some canned food? I’m surprised you all have lasted this long. I’m serious. If you want a fighting chance, you need to take some trucks over to Walmart and clean that place out before someone else does. Or move in. The place is like a fortress with a electrified fence.”
“We might talk about that later. Right now we got this quest to complete. What is so important that you have to get to your house for?”
Our voices echoed up and down the street, and I had to wonder if many creepers were in the surrounding houses, watching us—if they had guns trained on us. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. Four months away from humanity, and I was already scared to go looking for it.
“Just some stuff I should have brought with me—that’s all. Mainly a picture of my ex-wife.”
“Hope that shit is better than a memory. We stick around out here too long and we are gonna be a memory.”
We were on Callow Street and had to cut over a block when we ran across an old accident. It looked like a semi had run into a UPS truck and both vehicles had been shredded. Chunks of rusted metal were everywhere. I didn’t want to climb over the wreck, so I led him instead to an old pasture that ran catty-corner to the street. We took to it and passed more than one cow corpse. Someone had shot the things and left them to rot in the sun. They did not smell pretty at all. Not that the pasture would ever have won an award for its stench of old cow shit prior the apocalypse.
We traipsed over land that was being reclaimed by tall grass. There was some skittering, as small animals dashed here and there in the undergrowth. Probably mice or rats, or the occasional snake. Those little critters must have been having a field day now that they were free to repopulate without rodent killer and giant lawnmowers tearing up their world.
The housing complex in which I’d lived was just ahead. The old fence that bordered one of the farmer’s lots was still there, and I thought I could see my house, but it was so close to the overgrown weeds and blackberry bushes that it was hard to be sure from this angle.
The fence was an old chain link job that some cheapskate had built about fifteen years ago. It was sagging and rusted in spots, and I remembered where the greenbelt grew close to the field. Here I could slide in between the shrubs and the metal barrier.
I went first, and couldn’t help but snag my shirt on the fence, which set it tinkling. Scott reached out to touch it to muffle the sound. He followed, and just like that, we stood in my neighbor’s back yard. I drifted to the window that looked into his kitchen. It wasn’t that long ago that I left him here, his dead wife banging at the window. The house was dark, but I saw a pair of rotted legs sticking out of the hallway that led to the living room. I slid along the side of the house and lowered the gun as I got a view of the street. Here, I felt very exposed, even though I was less than a mile from my new friends.
The street was clear, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My house looked much like the others we had passed. The door was open, and my possessions were scattered in the front yard. Pots and pans lay in a heap near a burned spot. It looked like someone had used the yard as a camp and cooked something there.
I looked past it, at Lisa and Devon’s house. It was a ruin. Burned to the ground.
Scott and I had never worked together, but I used signals nonetheless. I pointed at the house and made a cup with my hand like it was binoculars. He nodded, and I hoped he understood that I meant for him to keep an eye out.
Slipping around the corner, I kept my gun high and went to the front porch.
The first thing I noticed was that the shrubs were a mess. The rhododendrons, of which Allison had been so proud, were nearly dead. They hung in clumps of miserable brown that looked woven into the weeds that were taking over the rest of the bushes. The grass, like all the lawns in the lots, was now measured in feet instead of inches. I felt like I was walking through a field and not a yard. If I laid down in the stuff, I would be all but invisible to any casual observer. This gave me some tactical options, if this little jaunt went to shit.
I stepped up the concrete steps and onto my porch for the first time in nearly half a year. My furniture was gone, and it wasn’t hard to guess that the burned marks in the tall grass were all that remained of those possessions. I crouched down by the door, which wasn’t open but was ajar. The window facing out had the blinds drawn, so I had no idea what I was walking into. I slung the assault rifle over my shoulder and drew my handgun, double checking the load for what seemed like the tenth time that day.