Hell, Im itching to splat a couple tonight. Dan walked ahead a few steps with long, loping strides, the pinnacle of our small triangle.
Old man Jantz says we have to check out the church. Says its beautiful, sacred ground. Inside the building, with a moon like this, the whole place lights up like a rainbow. Davin stopped and cocked his head to once side, pointing toward the hill that led to the little building. We all knew about the church, the center of so many stories. Supposedly, that building remained mostly intact after all these years; a vestige of old superstitions lurking in our new ones kept folks from smashing it up.
Fine, but I want to show you guys something first. Something my brother told me about. Dan pointed the barrel of his shotgun into a thick patch of inky shadow ahead and strode forward.
Most of the big trees in Old Town were gone, knocked down for safety, but saplings, crooked grass, and snaking weeds groped toward the sky all around. I was surprised at how well I could see with just the moon. With the bright searchlights back at the wall, the rest of the night world look as black as spent oil, but the hunched backs of old houses, broken business, and other buildings rubbed against the blue night and field of stars in plain detail as we walked through Old Town.
Id heard some stories, mostly from Grandpa, that the bigger cities had drained the plains of their population long before the end. In the meantime, the big corporate farms finished off the aquifers and sucked the land dry. Without water, there wasnt much reason to live in the flat land. Without too many people out here, there couldnt be too many of them, the zombies. Hell, Id only seen maybe a dozen in my life, but they left the taint of decay smeared across everything. You could see it all over Old Town.
As we stumbled down the split asphalt of an ancient street, Dan reached into his pack, rummaged around, and produced a jar of booze. It was nothing but rot-gut moonshine, but all we had because most drivers wouldnt risk a run through the wastelands just to drop off some beer for a bunch of hold-out hicks. Thats the way Grandpa painted it, anyway. The scavengers in the wastelands seemed worse than a whole stockyard of zombies.
Dan screwed off the lid, tossed back a swig, and shook his head. Not bad, boys. He slowed, passed the jar to Davin.
No, Davin said, waving Dan off with the barrel of his gun. Not until Im kicked back in the church.
Nate?
Sure, I said, cupping the jar in one hand while clutching my own shotgun in the other. The gun had my great-grandfathers; Grandpa said he used it on birdsquail and pheasant mostlyas a boy. Id only fired the thing a few times myself, mostly at wooden targets that wouldnt bite. The guns did make me nervouswe were warned against using them as the report would rouse any undead in the area. I tossed back a swig from the jar. Damn, that shit tasted awful, but the warm humming feeling that grew out to my finger tips after a few swigs kept me going.
Did hear about Stacys cousin, over in New Colby? Dan asked, reaching for the jar.
Yeah, Davin muttered.
Gawd, I never want to see another burning in my life. Dan spat on the street.
Davins eyes narrowed. I dont want those superstitious old bastards to set me on fire when I kick off.
I shook my head and fingered Dads old lighter in my pocket, fighting a shiver born of too many burnings. Mom, for one, after Melina was born. Too much blood, not enough medical knowledge, a bad mix of both. Dad tried to explain the need for a burning, the whole ritual, but I wanted none of it. I know you cant just bury the dead anymoreparanoia, hysteria, and the real likelihood
that the undead will sniff out a fresh corpse. When I was five, watching my mother burn to black ash, none of that rationalization amounted to a hill of shit. Grandpa whispered something about Viking warriors in my ear that day, trying to cheer me. Great big pyres, big as a house, he said, it was pride, not fear and shame made em build those pyres.
Dan clicked on the lantern hed taped to the barrel of his gun. Here we are fellas. Used to serve food here. Cmon. The light reached out, starting to grope the heavy shadow inside a mashed up brick building. Id never heard anything about that particular spot, and I couldnt figure what he wanted us to see.
Rows of benches stretched down a tiled hallway; some broken with bits tossed askew to the grid. Across a counter to our right sat the old kitchen, a steel grill and some broken cash machines. A few coins littered the floor, shining on the floor like dead minnows. The whole place rested under a thick dust like frost on a January morning.
Ssssh. Dan, walking just ahead of us, waved back with one hand. My heart started pumping against my ribcage until I thought it would spring free and skitter across the floor. I heard why Dan shushed us thenI could smell the thing, too, a rotten, fishy smell mixed with mud.
Davin pushed forward, raising his gun. Dan, give me a little, he whispered, and Dan obliged, poking his flashlight around the corner.