We went out empty-handed and that was how we came back to Fortress.
We aren’t the only survivors, that’s for damn sure.
Some of the homes we hit already had doors kicked open and pantries cleared. We found a bunch of empty bags one day that had contained dried beans. Next to those I found a can of condensed soup someone had punctured with a knife and drained. That had to be fun, sucking warm congealed soup without even a straw, but it beat the hell out of going hungry. Probably tasted amazing on seagull.
“Think we can shoot a few birds?”
“Are you crazy? Bring half the damn city to this location just so we can eat one of those scrawny things.”
“I said a few. One scrawny bird for you and one scrawny bird for me. Probably good with the spinach.”
“I’d rather eat dirt.”
“Don’t be so fucking morbid,” I said.
Joel didn’t smile.
Joel was being a jerk. He kept yelling at me about what a pain in the ass it was to watch after me when we went out. Like I knew the first goddamn thing about surviving the first goddamn zombie apocalypse.
“Fuck you, Joel Kelly. I’m good out there and you know it. Just because I don’t know all the Marine hand signals like when to jerk one off doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention.”
“Just stay low. You’re big and you stick out like a sore thumb,” he lectured me. “We always go in the back and we always keep an eye out for each other.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what I did yesterday when I saved your ass at Ty’s place.” I shot back.
Joel relented with a shake of his head and went back to dour Marine looks.
I left and went upstairs to dig around in a closet again. The kid’s room was filled with toys and small clothes but I figured that if I looked around long enough I’d find his stash of candy bars or Twinkies. So far I’d had no luck. He did have a toolbox filled with action figures from some super hero movie I hadn’t even seen — and never would see.
Fortress was a fucking pit. An hour later, I opened the windows on the top floor but the air didn’t even stir. I sat by the open portal and sucked a light breeze but then it was gone and I was miserable again.
You’d think the silence would be comforting, but it’s not. All those sounds you get used to like a television or radio. Heat or running air conditioning. We had none of that. The only sound was an occasional moan, scream, or gunshot in the distance.
We’d been here for a couple of days but it felt weird living in someone else’s home. I had to be careful when opening any cabinets or doors. No telling what in the hell would happen. One wrong move and a bunch of crap would be falling on the floor and all that noise would bring them.
Later, Joel apologized for being a dick. I nodded but didn’t give in so easily.
“All you do is preach about caution but you’re the first one to raise your voice out there, or worse, blow a door off its hinges. No one likes a fucking hypocrite, Joel.”
“Just blowing off steam. Nothing to shoot at today so I guess words are my ammo.”
“Oh that’s real deep, Joel. Words as ammo. You should write a rap album.”
“Are you going to go racist on me?”
“Yeah. Cause I want the only guy with a clue to think I’m a racist. Brilliant. Just shoot me in the head now.”
“Like I haven’t thought about it. Damn engineer. Bullets probably bounce off that thick skull.”
Later, Joel attempted to be patient while teaching me survival skills. I was too pissed off to pay attention. Firing mechanism this and charging lever that. Blah blah blah.
Butch kept circling us. He whined his skinny cat ass off while we bickered. Every time I tried to reach down and scratch his scruffy head, he moved toward Joel.
Cat only had one eye and it was the evil kind and that was all he offered me.
Joel and I were both hungry and that meant one thing.
“You’re the sailor. Don’t you eat that shit up like Popeye?”
“You and spinach—the fuck is wrong with you? Popeye’s a cartoon. What you’re doing is called stereotyping.”
“My black ass knows all about stereotyping.” Joel shot back.
Shit. He had me there.
“I don’t eat spinach. Period.”
“A few days without food and I think you’ll change your mind.”
“Won’t you?” I asked Joel.
“Nah. I’d rather starve. That shit is nasty.”
We both laughed at that and the tension left the room. Funny how that happens from time to time. Other times we strut around and act like we want to kill each other.
We both knew the truth. We were rationing our supplies. If we ate our fill we’d be out of food in two days.
Butch meowed that long and forlorn mewl of his—I guess he’s a he. I didn’t really stop to think about checking to see if he had balls. I shushed him, so he did it again.
“If that cat brings a horde of zombies our way I’m feeding his furry butt to the first shuffler I see.”
“Fucking shufflers. What are those things?”
“Dude. Do not get me started.” I said.
“So many of the slow ones. Bunch of drunk bastards that can’t chase worth a shit.”
“Yeah but get enough of them together…I remember the base,” I said and thought, with sadness, of Reynolds.
“Anyway. The shufflers.”
“They don’t move like people and they don’t move like your garden variety Z. They got that weird step and how the hell do they creep along on their hands and feet?”
Joel got on all fours and tried to duplicate the move. It was hilarious. He tried to stay on his hands and feet and move but he kept straining to stay low to the ground. After ten or fifteen seconds he gave up and rolled over on his back.
“That shit is insane,” he said, panting.
“Thanks for making my day.” I laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Five minutes. Let’s get in the war.”
“A war indicates there’s an enemy out there that is shooting back. So far it’s been pretty one-sided, Joel.”
“Should be an easy one to win,” Joel said and got up to strap on his tactical gear.
I nodded and went to gather up my stuff. I couldn’t help but wonder what we’d do if we won.
The first time we went out was at night. It didn’t matter that we snuck around like a couple of special-needs ninjas. The thing about the Z’s was that it was easier to see them than worry about them seeing us. Besides, we only had the one NVG and Joel wore that because he was the goddamn action hero, leaving me stumbling into stuff.
The next time we went out it was early morning. We left just as dawn was burning away and there was that low mist that hung around. It was creepy under normal circumstances but add in a bunch of Z’s and it’s like some nightmare movie. You just don’t walk around in that soup, see a dude missing half his fucking face, and act like it’s a normal day.
I’d already shrugged into my BDU’s, wearing them over a thick flannel shirt left by the owners of the house. The material was hot but I felt a little bit safer having it cover my arms. One bite was all it took, and if this kept me from losing some skin, I could put up with it. I’d feel even better if I had duct tape wrapped around each sleeve but then I’d have to cut my way out. Besides, I’d worked in an engine room for years and the thick layer was just shy of uncomfortable. See that, grunge rockers? This shit is functional.
We went over the side and then stashed the ladder. The front was locked up and hammered shut. I straightened our “looters will be shot dead” sign, and then we moved out.
We crept around a few houses we’d already searched. Others had boarded up windows and barred doors so we didn’t bother. As much as I’d like to say we talked with other survivors that just wasn’t the case.